I have to sing and keep singing, have to keep begging people to dance within my heart, within the confines of these bricks, with the parts of me that can’t die and parts of me that I wish I still was. I have to keep inventing reasons and occasions I have to paint every meaning within me in the boldest loudest colors.
Because the moment it all stops I will hear the shouts again. There is no silence in this world. Outside, everyday the fearful children of a fearless god shout his name again and again. Asking for reason, for rain, for roses carrying their name.
I also once stood there, in the dark corridors, on burning roads asking god to love only me, to hold my hand, to save me alone. It is a very dark road, the one we take to find the light that will only belong to us.
And there is only this home of blindness far away from all the crying and ceaseless hoping where I can use these eyes of mine for something more than holding and spilling tears, where I get to sing for the god within the song. I worship these walls that hold me in my place. I worship all of your laughs, all the steps the never stop.
But I am still afraid because tears still come easy to me, because even this borrowed light whispers the name of one who I still hope to reach. The one who should exist somewhere outside these walls. But I can only be here in this world of his if I don’t run to him all the time. I can be his, without falling short or falling apart, only if I substitute what he has made for what he is.
I left my thirst in your well- the only way to get rid of it, get rid of it I must. For three seasons I filled it up with dirt. I waited for rains to hide my steps, to hide what I have done. I built few hills every time you crossed my thought. I built it with love. I built it with anger. I built it nonetheless. I prayed and prayed till I couldn’t see your ghost, till praying didn’t hurt. I grew up a little and I grew mad a bit. The sound of fate now rings louder in my head. I lay on the ground, smile at the sun that cannot reach my heart at the bottom of your well.
“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 prod and push the glass slowly, carefully to the edge of the table, where your glass stands. At the edge where you place your suitcase, where you always tie your laces once again just to be sure.
That is the place you tell me to love when you think I might lend something of me to keep such place alive, to keep you warm while you keep the door open like the way the you like them to be.
This is the place you tell me to forget when the color of my skin doesn’t match the color of your new sky, when your new birds keep singing songs of ‘soulmates’ with better specification when it becomes your new caller tune, when you think of the best version of your life. You think of that too often, quite loudly for me to really forget anything.
This is all I remember of you:
“i never thought you were weak enough to need anyone or anything.” “i thought you were wise enough, i thought you were better than your gender.“ “call me. meet me. i am feeling down.“ “call me. meet me. listen to me, no one else does. only you have ever cared.“ “call me. meet me. i want us to end.“ “you are too much for me. you are too little in the eyes of anyone in this world.“ “you are so close to having my fickle demanding unfair love, why do you ruin everything by being yourself. i would have loved you for 2 more years, if you were not messed up.“
When I think of the glasses, of my life, of everything that I dangerously left at the edges just to be your equal, just to make sense of you- I am glad I have claimed back my madness instead of trying to understand yours. I am glad I do not have to live my life compensating for your weakness, calling it love.
There was this one girl who was too bright. I liked her a lot. She was a little more loud, little more caring, laughed a little more longer. As if that ‘little more’ was her essence, was a rule she couldn’t break. I liked how I could see what she was without that ‘little more’, that all of them would never know her like me. I wonder at what point they will get to know, that she is drifting away. Would they would find her too plain, once she stopped trying? Would they also feel betrayed? By then, would they have learnt all the cruel words that can break her, words that she already knows. I hope not. I hope they are too young to recognize the masks they see or the masks they wear.
Every night as you sleep, I fold myself up into someone I used to be. I try to fit into the space beside you where no longer fit.
But your warmth now only brings me tears. I wish it didn’t. Even though I stopped wanting you, I don’t think I stopped loving you. I wish I didn’t. I know I will give you up someday but till then I wanted to gift you few more days- few more days of ignorance. You will probably sleep through them not knowing how much I must have loved you to stay beside, you even when you were not watching, withstanding my pain as long as possible.
The night grows deeper, your sleep lasts longer, my cries become louder, but there is no one for me, no one to care, if I cry.
Please wake up and see my tears before I can hide them. Put me to sleep, please love me back, love me again, before I give up on you.
love? no, i suffer from no such thing. even if i do, that is an easy illness. there are delusions that i can buy that can ease all these pains of affection. if nothing else, my lover and my heart knows all the lies, that can put me to sleep even when my world burns.
loneliness? maybe, it could be one of the things that i do not know how to get around.
self-doubt? yeah, probably that’s the reason why i feel lonely even when i am not. no there are no bad people in my life. all of them are too good and too sweet. though there are loud voices of arguments in the middle of night and things i wish had never seen or heard, there are threats of abandonment, there are days when we end up playing this game where no can hear what i say- it is not much fun for me, but i hope they enjoy it. i need to be a bit fun, to keep everyone around. but it is nothing serious, nothing I cannot ignore.
i need to leave though. uncomfortable? no, not at all. just things that i must get back to, life that i must live, people i should bow to, who never ask me how i’ve been. so i’ll get going if you don’t mind. don’t be sorry that you couldn’t help.
This loud and constant dripping of doubts is this all I need to mute, to mask, the voices of people who have known me too less, who have loved me more than they needed to.
. . .
I am filled with fear, tempted to run away when they make sacrifices for my happiness, to stay by my side. I know what I feel should be love, but all I feel is burden- a knife that pierces my skin and feelings testing how thick is my concern, seeing how far it can go before it finds the cold bone hidden in me. I bleed to little and give up too soon. It all ends before it even begins. This all was a bad idea to begin with.
One day I was watching TV
or I thought I was
until it seemed that
the boy whose silence alone was unsettling to many,
the loud girl who dreams of becoming the nightmare she suffers,
even the clueless proud parent who try hard to be cool
were all angry, everyone was shouting
not at each other but at me,
for missing my cue to act,
for leaving it to others to sort my life.
I hate these times
when even entertainment
has to be so painfully self-reflective.
Or maybe it always was.