There is a kind of happiness that eludes me, a kind of fear that grips me in my sleep, a kiss that makes me fear losing everything I shouldn’t treasure. A person who kills me every second by loving me, by giving up his hollow self to my hungry mouth. A person whose sadness, only sadness is mine. A person who has loved too much, been hurt too much, who now substitutes pity, anger, jealousy, and need in place of true love (what is true love anyway?). I remain awake trying to make this equation work (what is true love anyway?). I weigh my heart against yours and I realize what a waning moon feels like. I collect such new feelings without blaming you (what is true love anyway?). All my treasures are feelings I would accept only by your hands, however cruel and hurtful they may be.
The river is finally running dry. I heard someone rejoicing to hear this. What is a river without it’s water? I am told it is money, it is development, it is more money.
Another colony, dozens of businesses springs up. There is nothing to be sad anymore. I walk on the roads trying to trace the skeleton of what is lost.
Now, I know the names of few more rivers that are nowhere to be seen on maps.
The numbers of such ghost keep increasing.
There is a language that no one cares for. There is a city that forces everyone to leave. There are words that don’t sound fancy anymore. There is an accent that needs to be exorcised from tongues- the identity of what we are is a secret, something we can be killed for.
But it is the season, the world where rivers dry out beautifully, where aches turn into anger, into revenge, into art, into denials, into search for something new. But rarely does it turns into tears.
How is it we have so much to lose, so much that is already lost and yet have so little to grieve about.
i think this suits me most- to lose myself and yet look okay. god gave me a face that always looks okay even when i don’t want it to. (there have been only handful of days when i want to look as miserable i am.)
i wonder how it feels to say “do i look broken today yet? “i cried all night”. i have never cried at nights. i have never skipped a meal for my sorrow. i feed my heart too much fats and instant unhealthy happiness. i cut down my green trees and kill few birds, make a fresh trap that smiles through my gaping wound.
i live life the only way i can. look okay cause all parts of me are still working fine. god gave me a heart that doesn’t break the conventional way. i walk this world fearing this heart the most.
I let your hand become my crutch. I let your feelings for me become a means of my own validation. I let “love” slip from my mind. Being the center of your tiny universe has ruined me, has undone my heart. You are too close, too close to be seen or to be cared for. Each morning your face reminds me how you are become one step closer to achieving invisibility in my eyes. “i cannot imagine not being your everything” is not the same as “i love you”. I wonder if you know that. I wonder if you know that this difference of what I feel and what I should is killing anything humane left in me.
“warm” this word has become cold sitting at the base of my throat my throat burns and my everything else? my everything else -my pretty flesh and my ugly insides- who want me to be there and at the same want me gone. i guess they want me to change. this is my new low where my organs are my imaginary friends the only ones Ican talk to, the only ones who need me, the only ones I can disappoint, my new friends who are learning the weariness of living for me. I ask around for a lover who has a love for knives and tolerance for madness of all kinds. I hear a hundred thousand sighs in me when the new replacement of romance appears, asks me my name and digs his sharp canine teeth on the last bits of my happiness as a hello. The hundred folded cranes look more like ravens and the one who promises me an end is now my only hope. Now things are easy now that I can’t hear myself breaking now that I have this strange loud laugh to hide behind, this person stranger than me, taking up the blame of everything I have done, helping me hide from everything that I have killed in my life.
i am in love with the woman who sings and becomes the background of my every night.
i like to listen to her voice as she takes my every second keeps it out of my reach, teaches me some really suspicious ways to keep myself safe from the her demons.
she glows in the darkness that she sews only for me, for me to hold her hand the way she will never be held, the way i will never be held.
i hate to cry, i have cried for a long time for people who called me their option when i was out of earshot my tears are cheap, now all they do is make me feel equally cheap but the tears i shed for her life are beautiful the tears i shed for her (who feels like me) stops me from taking pills i don’t need.
another lover of hers sat opposite me few days ago. she looked so much like her. it made me wonder if i looked like her as well. i wonder she knows her lovers are running amok in the world that she paints with her pain. i wonder if she knows that we are catching all her fears, staying away from guys who speak like her ex, staying away from the patterns she has pointed out.
i wonder if she knows that we tell strangers “she sings well, she writes well” when we want say “she made me embrace the woman in me that i have been trying to kill for a long long time. she stood in my moonlight counting all the daggers that make her bleed every day, the same daggers that i fear to acknowledge, telling me about the exact number of days it takes to collapse again, about the face, her heart, and her womb that are for anyone’s taking, about her rage, her mind, and her will that she was allowed to keep. how she wanted to give up last night. how giving up can become a concept of life every easily but she didn’t want that, because she didn’t want to be the sad pathetic corpse of the woman that the world said she would eventually be.”
i am in love with the woman who wants me to be more than a silent background.
my other head bleeds and falls off as does my bloody knife
i can no longer call myself a victim of life now that my sin is set in stone
few more hours for the sun to rise few more hours i must bear the company of my face in few more hours the world will love me now that i look like them and kill like them they will surely love me for having one less brain and one less mouth
my eyes look back at me not accusingly but with pity of what have i done to myself but i dare not cry and act as if i am the one being wronged my tears- i’ll be burying them under the red petunias that you loved
my hearts beats furiously as if running towards something, perhaps an end end of me? end of her? it feels wrong saying “her”, “you” as if a knife is all it takes to set things conveniently wrong
i close the door and leave my open mouth and questioning eyes on the kitchen table i break a nail and break my heart as i dig two graves for myself
in my cramped world you find a place for yourself.
you become one with all the bright things that i collect at the cost of breaking myself.
as you smile, i wonder whether you have a thing for girls who have forgotten the taste of truth.
i wish you do. i would like to love you once, before you learn to hate girls like me.
this room was gift from my ex whose hobby was to be loved by the one he wrongs.
but it is a story for another day. my story with you is not that deep. you don’t need to know that my corners of my lips are ripped from smiling while being hurt, that they still hurt when we kiss.
it kills the mood. it kills me a bit, to be honest. all your words, the beautiful things you want me to have, want me to be they are enough for me to love you for a while. it is enough for me to forget the demon i see in you.
aren’t i an easy girl? one day you would hold that against me as well. i fall for you knowing that.