Are they finally drowning? The sails, the flags, the songs the party, and the expensive backless silks. The rings and guns and blood shining. Always shining. They are finally coming for us. We will again have someone’s face in front of us at least for a while and we will sing songs that they have no choice but to listen to. The cries and shrieks and the stories that we had saved in us will not go waste.
They have not yet seen us rotting feets and feets below them but somethings take time. The water will fill them but they will never grasp the slow violence and its finality. They will look above at the lost sky, they will not know what they are looking for as the concepts of hope and god and saving becomes grayer in their head. They will keep struggling feeling all promises becoming breathless in them and they will miss the point of saying goodbye. We always do.
Darling, they are coming our children, our neighbors, our dear strangers, our ministers, our wood, our sky, our eyes, our new memories. Now we can die together and actually die and not be haunting blue in this green ocean. I missed living dear but I missed them more – everyone, everything taken away from us. We have waited patiently, wishing them life. We have prayed for them to stay away from wherever we are. But now they are coming and I cannot help but selfishly smile at seeing everything coming back to us.
In the rubble with nerves hiding sparks, in the nest of sleeping explosives, again it is you. Again you are here to prove something by doing something unasked for.
You build a place for warm tea, for all our shivering ghosts to haunt. You place the chairs that are not chairs but buckets that cannot hold anything now. There are chairs that are lying around just fine but you want don’t them. You don’t want the old purposes eating away the beauty of all that is left behind.
You console the ones holding onto what is no longer there but you don’t want the ones who want way back to what it was. You ask us questions with your bleeding lips you want us to answer with something real, not just words. “You are cruel”, you laugh when we say that. You make us leave everything we are just so that we can finally sit on empty buckets thinking about the hands we cannot hold, thinking about hands that are no longer hands.
“The city is no longer burning”, you tell us as you place our empty glasses in front of our empty eyes and tell us it is fine if we don’t believe it now. “Sleep. Dream and stay for a while with the molten and bombed, the lost and the dead that still have your heart. Take your time.”
As we lay awake in our heart-wrenching grief, as we lose ourselves to your favorite world of sleep, you stand beside the fire that keeps us alive. You stand beside the fire that is not actually fire but your heart that burns like sun.
We wanted to tell you, “You are kind. You are too beautiful for this world. Have our heart and burn it instead.” But we couldn’t . We knew these things were easy only in words, that these were things we couldn’t do, yet. That we have not smiled and laughed with bleeding lips, helping while being hated. That we were too selfish to be you.
I planted the idea of a happy family, a happy tomorrow, into the eyes of my mother with breaking tips of my pencils against her granite eye lashes.
I told her the story about the boy who is ever so sad because his parents didn’t care enough, who weeps on his empty birthdays, who weeps into my heart. I tell her I am not so fine myself. Maybe she didn’t hear me clearly, cause she didn’t stop her daily charade of writing her “the last letter”.
I cleared her bed, her table, her words, her being from the perfectly modeled replica of world in my mind. I showed her, “Look, this is how I will look with you gone. Look, look at what you must not do to me.”
She pulled me close, and held my hand for a bit too long, a bit too tenderly as if letting me know, telling me “Look, this is how I look when I am alive. Look, look at me pouring out of myself, dragging my feet even till the end. Look, look at what I can no longer live as.”
And I stood there for a long time, slowly understanding things I possibly couldn’t. I stood there for a long time, till my mom’s face was replaced by that of the ever so sad boy as he held me, letting me cry into him for the hundredth time.
a library of all my roles stands in the middle of my heart. i have placed your face as the title of this poem that i am going to drown. i lie on the beautiful lake of love and press my ears, waiting to hear your last breath in my world.
She said “The moment I glace at the empty parking space in the sky, I wait for you to appear with the plastic wings and your boyish grin.”
The sky does that to me too. I look at the drooping branch the sky holds in its mouth, I wait for you to tear your most beautiful dress at the knees, your tiny tiara clutched in your hands, taking that unsuccessful flight again, leaving behind all the burdensome part of your being just to tell me the precious secret of your heart. Just to fall into me, to take me away, to fill me with life, to fall and bruise with me, to make me yours. As I fail to catch you again, as you pretend to die over me trying to hold in your laughter, I couldn’t help but smile. I couldn’t help but want you to be the only weight that I carry in my heart.
the one thing i can’t be is honest. though there are many other adjectives that stare at me from their balconies at midnight as i walk and crawl through the dirt road, through the pool of lights, crying and shouting and breaking dreams in every home that i pass by. i hear them shaking their heads with disapproval and hopelessness. i look at their hazy shadows and try to hate them in equal measures but i don’t because they are so easy to forget. but this honesty, this honesty that people expect vexes me. this expectation makes me want to hide, run, run over their hearts all because it is so simple. all because the ones who ask me of this through their tears are not mere observers but are the ones struggling to stay close to me fighting the unnecessary sandstorm i create everyday. they are the ones who deserve honesty. they are the ones i don’t deserve. but my dishonesty is not only for this world. it is the only thing i can offer to myself as well. so again, i wake up in their arms with another lie ready on my lips. i hug them with with my true love and my false heart. i don’t try to make it right when they are in shambles again because there is no fancy way to put it, there is no beauty in what i do, there is no promise i would keep. there are only people who i leave. even when i can’t bear to miss one more person again.
i cried again today – a silent sob hidden behind the highest volume of television. yesterday i found my grief for a second in the fading of another song. it lasted for a second- my glace, my hopeless glance at your retreating figure and my fruitless love left in its wake. a shallow love clenching my heart.
I want this sadness that dissolves in me, that never goes away, never stands apart from me, never looks me in the face with questions or even answers. I am ready to take vow with this heartbreak as long as it feels like you, promises eventually to replace you, as long as my love is greater than you. I do nor have to miss you, call you, beg you, force myself to forgive you, hate you silently, or practice breaking with grace. I do not have to do things that have nothing to with love as long my sadness is mine alone. I can bear this and more as long as I remember my genuine heart and not you.
i try not to think about the places that are lost and evaporated only leaving clouds of colorless memories floating on my not so blue sky
places that are lost not only to me but to this world now no one will ever know the sweetness of the light that was never beautiful enough to be captured and framed light that is only beautiful only in its death beautiful only when it rises up without a reason on the surface of our eyes
how my eyes miss seeing everything that now cannot be seen my eyes wake up from the dream of yesterday into this new day that i must write feeling that again i have lost something, something meaningful in that dream that will never return to me a dream that i have no right to dream again
i try not to think about such losses losses with name or reason or heartache but no matter how much try some days that is all i can think about
It is time that I try hard to get my heart broken and pretend that it is happening for the first time,
to claim that I trusted blindly knowing it is not something I am capable of,
to fit my body awkwardly in the kind of life that people call ‘life’
to find words, to practice the new lingo that can make something about me relatable, so that my skin soaked in a tiring tale of sadness doesn’t make me an alien,
to fill me up again with pictures of parks, cafes, malls, and roads filled with people who supposedly like each other, if not a lot, then at least enough to not let their ailing self ruin the perfect moment, the perfect teamwork, the perfect promise. (Perfection that relies on someone else doesn’t sit well with me.)
It is time I find something new that I cannot be or cannot have before I lock myself up again for next hundred heart years.
So while I am out to find something to write about and hurt about miss me my cell, pray for me. I am afraid that once I am surrounded by all that I have learned not to want, I might start to hope again. I might slip again. I might forget to see the distance that I carry in me and get disappointed by the doors that I can’t reach.