Walk towards me
with no hidden agendas,
only openly declared intention to use me
for gaining whatever you want.
Call it love, if only it makes you feel better.
Not for my sake.
For me, it only makes it worse.
with apparent contempt
at what is left of me,
when everything in me wilted.
I know you can only love the spring and its freshness;
the gentle and the forgiving.
I understand, so leave with a light heart.
It was too much trouble anyway
to flower everyday,
to hide my sorrow every time you looked at me.
My real skin is now almost colored in the darkness
that it was hidden in.
Thank you for always holding my sleeve
and not my hands.
Thank you for not staying too long.
Thank you for being forgettable
When you found my door
I was in my workshop
in the middle of chiseling and crafting my memories
Now I am half made up and half real
and there is no point of opening this door
and forcing you to accept a half that you won’t like.
I couldn’t look into the eyes of the people I knew all my life
or even people who never knew me.
Every morning I woke up
I felt I have left a part of me in the nightmare
of the last the day.
I was afraid that with every hello that I said
I will leave open a crack in my mind
for people to look into.
That all that I had written on paper
is printed on my skin.
I was afraid that if people knew of my condition
I would not have enough energy or excuses
to refute their point
if they put their suspicions in words.
I was afraid of lot of things
for a long time
and most of it was to be seen in a way
that I didn’t want to be seen.
You are a thorn in my heart
that only hurts, that only digs deeper
when in rare moments
I find my way to doors in my life
that can’t be opened now
and I stand helplessly in front of you
whom I no longer love.
When you utter the same words
but they sound different
and I realize that I have never been around
to notice this change.
We may walk in a present
disconnected from our feelings in past.
We are nothing to each other now.
Your sorrows are no longer due to my mistakes
and I feel nothing but relief for that.
an unfulfilled dream breathes in me
refusing to die,
for it is happy to have you around.
I find myself longing to look at the sun
and the morsel of half-cooked food
stays on my tongue
a little bit longer than it should.
The door opens with a sound of crashing waves
and so I know it is you who has come.
With my back to your face,
I smile to myself.
I have kept aside a portion
of this tasteless life for you.
The silent mornings, the passing time,
these aging bones-
don’t seem as bad as it did,
now that you are here.
All of us remember all the ways our bodies have felt small and vulnerable, open to destruction—like they are not ours at all, but objects for which we have to always be on the defensive, apologetic, abstractly and consistently afraid.
– Why I Wanted to Write About Anger, Lynn Steger Strong
Let me give you company on your afternoons
and let me think of things I would rather listen to, while you talk.
Let me open my mouth to keep you close with a secret
and I will watch as you cut my string of words
and remind me of who you are.
Let me forge a new myself that you can approve of,
one less thing for you to complain about.
It’s no trouble for me.
I have lived like this throughout my life.
I do not see you.
You do not see me.
And we need not been seen, to be what we are.
I open a paper that will travel
but will not have the good fate
of getting lost.
The confessions of my affection
reaches every ear
but not your heart.
I make some space on my cluttered desk
for my head to rest its worries.
And I find a string of light
as a keepsake
to take with me when I’m buried.
What else am I going to miss?
There are so many things I miss in life already.
But I can’t make my heart strong enough
to reach out to a life
that I have lived without.
I can’t make myself
go out of this room
open the door to see
the spring that I always dreamt of,
the spring that waits for me outside.
Do not tell me your secrets.
Do not open your heart.
I have done same mistakes.
The boundaries that you erase
for the sake of love,
can never be made again.
It is a sad thing to bear
for you will always feel the hands
of your love
whispering of death.
They leave everytime
and yet death doesn’t come.