today’s sadness is brought upon
by the increasing count of the words
that i have forbidden myself to speak.
today’s sadness is brought upon
by the particularly sad song
that i have chosen to listen.
today’s sadness is partially due to the strangers with sweet eyes,
partially due to my angels with weak hearts,
and also the fact that i must love (and have loved) everything wrong
without causing pain to anyone but myself.
i must write without baring myself.
i must write to never let myself forget what i can’t speak.
do not write this, do not be mean, do not be ungrateful
do not blame, no names, no dates, do not put anyone’s weakness on show
all such favors that i must do
for the sake of my perpetrators and my protectors.
i must act like a better person, even when i am not
in my fingers i am told to hold
everyone’s shame and everyone’s guilt,
and find my freedom in that.
today’s sadness is a breather,
the rare moment i allow myself to see
how messed up all this is,
before i turn off the light
only to stumble through life again.
As I sing your praise
I end up recalling
how I used to look at you
as if you could save me.
But now we stare at each other
while my life remains what it is.
I don’t call it a mess now,
to get some sympathy out of you,
to get a miracle out of you.
I don’t call it a blessing
just so that you would know
that I appreciate what you gave me
and hope to get a little bit more.
One song, one hymn after another.
I play at the seams of my skirt.
I pick at the skin that I once was.
“is this how we lose ourselves?”,
I want to ask you.
“is this we become who we are,
by cracking and crumbling invisibly,
the moment to mourn-lost forever,
the innumerable funerals no one grieved at,
is this why growing up is painful for all?”.
Instead of prayers
I come to you with only questions.
Instead of your forgiveness
I end up asking your understanding
for what I have done and what I have become.
This where my moment of collapse,
where my undoing starts.
Me, sitting in front of something that I used to love,
something that used to carry a part of me.
Me, in front of bookshelves,
looking at the list of movies that broke open my heart,
moving my hands over the quotes
that I took pains to scribble
on everything I own,
half-hiding behind the high dining tables,
not really eating,
not really listening,
making cracks on my glass skin
with the fork that has forgotten how food feels,
hesitating to touch that reply button,
hesitating to hold his hand.
“i am empty, i can’t find in myself the will
to love anything in this world”, I want to say.
But it would be so unfair
to break another’s heart, only because I have lost mine.
But won’t it be equally unfair
to give someone hope with my meaningless smiles.
We are the mediocre television soap
that no one wants to see.
We have learned to gulp down bland food, bland life.
The books that get us jobs, get us friends, gets us love,
we have learned to pay for it without bitterness.
We adore the mania, the depression,
the moments when we don’t want to think clear-
that makes us feel alive,
anything like that,
we are ready to call it love.
In our small hands we carry
whatever meaning we have left in us-
the offering that no gods want.
We are ready to break for anyone
who is ready to break for us.
The world is still blue,
but blue looks so beautiful today.
Today there is no better you or better me
that haunts us in our happy moments.
So you can plan your solo journey on your old map
while I get ready for my work.
Let’s mark date on calendar, a place on earth
where we can return if the life and dreams get tough.
Let’s see the world for what it is.
Let’s become what we are meant to be.
I do not want to be your anchor dear,
I want to be your sail, your another dream.
when i stood
in front of the respected uncaring adults
who could never see me,
beside the fickle-minded fun-seeking friends
who smoked ‘idgaf attitude’ every night,
holding the hands
of the demanding demeaning frightening voice
of the one i wanted to love,
the one i almost loved,
i knew how to smile.
i knew how to let them off the hook.
i knew how to care for all those
who don’t have to care for such things.
and so i make it through another day,
another month, another year,
trying not to break anyone anymore,
trying not to abandon anyone,
making a list of all things that were once beautiful about them,
convinced that this imperfect me deserves only suffocating relationships,
careful not to see hope in any short-lived moment of affection.
I did mean it all,
I just didn’t want you to know.
My momentary courage-
the result of my long sleepless nights,
let’s agree to call it my foolishness.
For I won’t do anything as preposterous as that ever again.
I won’t expect much from you again,
not because I was at wrong.
Even though it was the only thing I could do,
I regret it so much.
I hate myself for trying to believe in you,
for pushing myself to do the right thing
for your sake.
As always you eat fast and cut me off.
As always you have somewhere to go.
There are too many people whom you must keep happy.
Today I won’t throw everything on my plate for you.
I won’t come to door to see your cold back.
I wish I could go back to the dreams
where I told you about my life, about my pain
and you held me as I cried,
where you took me to the doors of my new life.
But instead all I see in every face is your face.
In your face all I see is my pathetic self
who wanted to lean on someone like you.
once in a while
we move to the edge
that separates what we are
from what we can be.
we try to look as far as we can
and tell ourselves ‘we don’t want that’.
but what is it that we see there?
what is it this we can never ignore?
why are do we find ourselves trying to catch a glimpse of
all that we don’t want to be?
my moments at that edge have always brought me tears.
and i never know what my heart hurts for, yearns for, mourns for-
the ‘now’ that can easily be lost?
or the life i can never move towards?
I was convinced that if I wrote a bit more
my skin will turn into the golden sand
that lines the beach that I write of,
that I can finally dig into myself
without anyone’s help,
without anyone’s love,
and find something of value in myself.
But when I reached that shore and I saw that sky
I forgot to dig, to look for myself.
I sat there and thought
‘I am lucky to see this beautiful sky’.
I think it was fortunate (and surprising)
that I didn’t ruin that moment, that feeling
just for the sake of finding myself.
Once I could write of rains
and the pain they bring.
Today I am afraid of the umbrellas, of shelters,
of the short-lived moments
of what I used to call happiness,
of the ill-planned escapes from cells
filled with my own darkness and filth.
How have I grown into this person
who recognizes only one face,
that is my own.
Can my selfishness be something
that I can blame someone else for?
Is this also some form of loneliness?