“i was born like this”, I lie,
when I really want to say
“the normal ones, the sane ones
are surprisingly excellent at
breaking anyone without any guilt whatsoever.
i no longer have strength
to leave them, or beg them,
or handle the repercussion of wanting them.
i fear them only when i cry
though i am not exactly sure why it should be so.
the positivity, the kindness, the unity, the charity, the world peace
that they talk about
looks so beautiful when put in action
there are holes in me though i have never seen a bullet in my life
and i am not allowed to say it is their doing
“it is a result of my negative thinking and bad karma” i parrot
like i have been taught to.
this burnt skin, this distrustful heart,
the layers of clothes that are prerequisite of proving my modesty
if god-forbid i let loose an animal in someone just because i exist,
the logs of missed calls and blocked calls and blocked memories
that are the only things protecting me now.
this is how i was born.“
Though absurd, it sounds like truth the more I say it.
This is how I hurt whatever is left of my heart.
The sandstorm is just another setting
for this story to continue.
There are no trees in our desert
that could be broken.
There are only lights that learn to flicker,
there is only skin that knows what this wind carries,
there are only roads that will drown.
With half closed eyes you walk out
to search for what you have left behind.
With half closed door I wait for you to return.
I find another quote in another book
foretelling the loveless life that will continue henceforth.
Another book, another friend I must burn
for speaking the truth, for wanting my best.
I am destined to die on the night of a full moon
without a reason, without a witness,
with a piece of broken mirror becoming a new part of my body-
another prophesy that I wish you had not gifted me.
Three fairies sleep in our bed,
who do not yet know the violence of your broken heart.
I hope you get what you cry for,
I hope you forget our names,
I hope this storm saves us from every moon, every sky.
I hope this storm saves us from you.
All the lights that were meant to light the way,
end up looking like spotlights fragmenting the world.
Fragments so beautiful
that I never bothered with moving
towards the place I was meant to go;
that I sit here, saying goodbye to people
who hope to see me wherever they will end up at.
But we won’t be seeing each other.
I let them hope anyway.
That hope makes them smile brighter.
that’s the way I want to remember them,
that’s the way I want to remember this world.
It is not easy though – to love all who love to keep walking
and to love my small place and my small heart
at the same time.
It is easier for everyone – for the one who must stay
and the one who must walk
to think of empty hands as freedom
however hollow it might feel.
What am I leaving behind
that I force myself to smile only because it hurts?
What am I leaving behind
that I hear my voice calling out to myself day and night?
Being saved, being loved
is the ending I cannot accept for myself.
Whom have I hurt so badly
that all I want is – to be never at peace?
I do not know how to help you.
I am used to relying on you,
to make everything right.
You are supposed to be the strongest one.
Or were you always like this?
Was your strength a make-belief,
for not caring,
for not doing anything.
I do not know how to hold your hand
when you refuse to be held.
I am confused if you really mean it
when you ask to be left alone.
Teach me through your tears,
who you are, when you are not my pillar.
the metal melts on my tongue.
this must be the fever that everyone warned me against.
now i will never know how to die properly.
i used up every drop i could find on this planet
to make the broken trees in me grow.
and there are so many,
so many skeletons with stunted growth.
i read we need not only the sun, but also the leaves, the green
to make something that can fill our stomach.
that light by itself can only gift hope .
how long can one live on hope?
just long enough to hate everyone
who has a piece fleshy fruit stuck in their teeth.
the only way to live properly i am told
is to become the the tailcoat of someone better than me.
i must make someone’s life easy,
must become a photocopy machine for their blood,
must cry silently into the sink as i clean the dishes at night
to live a proper life.
but it is too late i guess,
i have lost the plan i was told to follow obediently,
the only color that remains on my skin are the ones i was born with,
the unflattering shape of my body
won’t be bought with the coins of love in any shop,
my finger, my unshapely hands have become un-holdable.
the adjectives, the rumors, the sad future of mine
they falls like pieces of metal on my ears everyday
and yet they are not the words i can say, or accept.
these word, this metal melts in my mouth
they say i will die a sad death,
that i will die as i have lived – by myself.
i am so fed up of this love
that only exists in my head.
my heart is a glacier, my skin a floodplain
i speak of home and family
as if i am filled with warmth till my brim.
what do i know of love?
what do i know of love, to hold you back?
we have held hands long enough,
it is okay to let go now.
how long are you going to nod along?
your phone has been ringing for an eternity,
it is okay to say the goodbye
that you have been swallowing for my sake.
don’t start loving me
for putting your freedom back on your plate.
i just don’t want to see you
die like this because of me.
i am fed up people giving up on themselves
to love someone like me.
so, please leave.
i dream of another now.
i choose faces cautiously.
i choose people who do not remind me of you,
who cannot turn into you.
but sometimes i end up falling
in the traps that you have left around
and i end up wanting you again.
i end up paying people in love and skin
just to kill what you have left in me.
i crawl into another embrace,
scratch the surface of my fake love
to find something true.
is this what they call hope?
it must be.
the coffee turns cold as my story ends.
again i am wearing a skin i have stolen.
the one breathing beside me
has a knack for sad stories recited by happy girls,
of being a knight to one he doesn’t have to save.
i love drowning the world in sadness
(the only way i can take anyone’s breath away)
i love leaving loose ends,
leaving people behind-
i call it the fear of being left behind.
i have a list of similar innocent motivation
for every mess i make, for the mess i have become.
when he leaves
i throw away the coffee he never drinks.
i get over my urge to be seen for what i am.
i dip my fingers into another color
that he might like, or at least remember.