Excuses are futile, reasons unnecessary.
You may have sad story
but who doesn’t.
I don’t want to know what you went through.
I don’t want to melt my indifference and disregard
and become the only character who suffers for their understanding.
I don’t want to be that lone person
who considers even small actions
so that the ones who are already hurt,
don’t break on their watch,
don’t die on them.
But it is difficult to be kind
to the ones who end up living for their pain,
who think their pain makes them special,
who would do anything to keep their status of
the ones needing protection.
It is tiring to continuously ache for others.
It is tiring to see everyone walking back to their mistake
in the name of love, in the name of passion.
Don’t tell me about your sadness and worries.
Don’t ask me for support and advice.
I cannot forgive those who return to the normality of their hell
leaving me as the only one
who should have known better than to help those
who can’t make up their mind.
I cannot ask you why your mind is so twisted.
I cannot ask why you are not fair.
Maybe your situation didn’t allow you to be ideal
and that’s why you don’t care.
So I will stop now.
I will stop asking questions that you need not answer
because there is a lot more to us, a lot that we have suffered
that we can neither speak of, nor expect to be understood.
So you can continue to fight with your darkness
and I will continue fighting mine.
And if we find each other on opposite sides
lets forgive each other for being who we are.
I tell myself again and again
what it is that I really want
as I force myself to sit there and listen to every word
that diminishes the efforts I have put in my dream.
It makes me feel strong and pathetic at the same time,
that my wanting too little
could also be something that I must be criticized for,
something I must apologize for.
They force in their way into my mind
and take away every picture, every memory that exists
not for my happiness, not as a proof of my life
but a reminder, a reason for me to forgive and let go
of all the hurtful words that my dear ones
speak at me casually in the name of care.
I beg and cry inside,
outside I look unbothered.
I resort to everything,
anything to postpone this dismantling and rating of my life
even by a day.
I tell myself again and again
I can bear this
but I don’t think I can.
Every morning I convince myself
that all I do will make sense to them someday.
But will it really?
I do not have one person who believes in me,
in what I am capable of.
How long, how far can I walk
only by the strength of a delusional value and importance
that only I can attribute to myself.
I checked my diaries
for the hints of regrets,
for the eroding structures of demands
I once made from life.
I checked my skin for the trace of scars-
the remains of the unreasonable
yet necessary decisions.
The sharp bleeding memory
of the blade,
of the hatred I inflicted on myself.
I checked the outline of my mother’s lips
do they finally approve of what I am.
While I eat all three meals
that were supposed to keep me full,
I wait for the forgiveness that never comes.
that my heart
(half eaten by my self loathing)
can never grant.
It has been long since
I saw your face for what it was.
Now the ends of your lips droops
and your words stings and
your action have become
the endless screech of a madman.
I didn’t want to spare my words
to remind you of your change.
I didn’t want to forgive you for the nights
there was nothing but your shout and your anger
bouncing around in my head
and in this house.
I want you to know how badly
you have ruined yourself.
But you are not there in that body
and I am playing pretend of a family
with the whatever has been left behind.
I have a habit of breaking promises
especially when I mean to keep them.
I have found I am no longer the one
who made those promises.
Know that when I see you
my heart beats a little different now.
There is a tinge of anger and blame
that can only be felt for the ones we love.
And probably because we still love them
even when we know that we shouldn’t.
I tried to forget you.
I tried to forgive you.
I have failed at both.
And promises are least of my worries.
What really happens
when I untangle my lies
from my heart?
Could my heart bear the harshness
of cold glance?
Could my fingers really stop
knitting a new scarf of falsity?
There are better questions out there
that cannot touch or hurt me.
There are stories
where God has planted my struggles
in life of others-
for me to witness,
for me to relive,
for me to cry,
for me to heal
for me to forgive myself.