Slowly I plucked each tooth of mine, I tore my tongue out and he called me beautiful.
He called me beautiful so I left my clothes roll down. I let my skin, my guards, my skeleton touch his floor. I sat there watching him build a fire out of it all. The fire was too cold for me so I didn’t smile.
He told me he only speaks the language of rough, that his heart beats and falls slower than the rest. I told him I have known many like him. I told him I didn’t mind. He seemed to mind that a bit but he also seemed to be a bit relieved.
As I sat under the the waterfall of his blue curtains, I felt thousands of eyes at my back, behind windows that couldn’t be closed. There were always windows behind my back anywhere I sat from the day I was first told that I was the type of beautiful not worth keeping and staying around.
Those eyes filled with lust, question, resentment filled with hatred, filled with violence, filled with sweet words for my ailing heart, filled with knives for soft skin, for the right time, were my burden so I knew at least this was not his fault.
I asked him what he could give, what he could make me forget. He didn’t answer and seemed a bit lost. I wondered if he also couldn’t think or speak clearly, if there were eyes on his back that he never spoke about.
As I climb, my steps remembered the shoes I once had the ones that didn’t hurt so much and how hands of mine that hacked through them just to become my own person, some sort of grown-up. I climbed over the yellow soft dress and the light that it caught just to get this, this body that looks held together but is not (this body knows only how to fall apart), just to get few more shadows that ruin my beautiful wrist with their persistent passion. They claw through me, to see how I am made, how I look and speak once I break. A stranger once left me at the bottom of a black pond and called it love just so that I won’t cry and in return I called him my love just for few breaths, just for my life. I climbed over the right to mean the word “love” thereafter and the dream of knowing a heart other than mine. I breathe as if I have sinned yet I walk like I am happiness and determination in flesh. I cling to all the bitter bits of this world as if they would ultimately save me. I climb over, get over, and forget so easily, so bitterly that each feeling of mine is just a shade of resentment.
i close all the doors as if a storm in coming, as if closed doors can protect me from something so huge, as if hiding is a better option than fleeing. ‘i wish i had created more places to hide in my life’ i thought this as tried to burn all my best clothes as if i will freeze to death otherwise and nothing i wear, no new face i paint on myself will deflect or reduce the hate in the eyes that look at me. soon i had nothing to burn, nothing to destroy. only resentment against myself, only a feeling of failure continued to live in this body growing each second, trying to push me out.
Most my life is about standing at the edge with the others and choosing whether to push them first or giving up on myself, by throwing myself away. And all my decisions have ended up in wait for someone else to decide my fate. Wait long enough to think we are friends who are here watching the world set on the sun, wait long enough to feel betrayed by the choice I myself would have made at some point.
But I think there may have been iterations that I choose not to remember where I was the one who severed my feelings for others with series of selfish decision. That is probably why even when I fall instead of feeling resentment, I say to myself “suffer a little more, pay it all off that is all that is left too do now.”
I want to love you with the sincerity that I don’t have. I want to want you desperately, even when I am fed up with you. I want to look at you as if you are my everything even when I know that you are not.
The only thing that stops me from being the love that I dreamed of being are my own shortcomings. I am not patient. I am not true to my words. I do not hold an endless sea of love in me, if anything you might only find misdirected anger, petty grudges and resentment in my heart. I am too sensitive, not in a good or sweet way, but in an irritating intolerant way. I am someone who wants all sweet things but have only bitterness to give back. In my spare time I make list of what I lack not to improve but so that I have ready excuses when I need them and I only need them with you. I need them so I can stay selfish, so that I can continue to be by your side and not fall apart with shame.
I know you deserve the world
but let my greed win for once,
for this life
close your eyes on everything I do wrong.
My love may not be great or even good enough
but I love you
even when my love for you and want for you
makes me the worst person in my own eyes.
That must count for something.
Make this one mistake for my sake,
let me have you for this life.
On evenings such as these when the all the withered flowers of my heart have regained the life that once left them, when I have known what is it to die, when I have known how rare it is to find a road back to life when I have known the pain of losing, I feel even now I can try once more. I can try to hold your hand. I can try, I can stand at the edge once again because even though you are not mine yet, but the thought of days without you seems grayer and sadder than all that I have suffered. No, I won’t die. It won’t pain even if you don’t end up with me. But the possibility of a life with you has made me a bit more greedy. I have started expecting a bit more from life and you are the only difference between between my now and my dream.
On evenings such as these when the soil of my heart have been dug too deep, have seen the seasons of happiness that never stays, when it has known how tiring life can be and finding my way back once doesn’t mean I won’t be lost again. Though the memories of your smiles are as fresh as the ones of filled with your resentment. I find my heart filled with nothing but you. I am where I once was and I want to stay here forever always in love with you. Praying for one more day with you. Praying to always be the one who gets your love. Even when you are here, even when you are mine I want you more, a little bit more of you.
“Yes, I do have plans for my future my dear aunt.”
I say, after I see her put her cup down and look at me
with sympathy and resentment.
“How can we not worry.
It is your future we are talking about.”
Actually, I never had these conversation,
at least not with my aunt.
I never had such an aunt to bother me.
But there are relatives and other faces
that I am hiding under the name of a non-existent aunt.
Sometimes it is me who is hiding under that name instead.
I am handed down spare maps
that I am supposed to study and follow.
Mark my route and choose someone
who could help me get up in the morning
even if it out of hatred.
I am sure it will be hatred
because I have seen no one one who has sorted their life
to wake up feeling that they have done it right.
My bitterness might make me seem like
a remainder of uneasy and uncomfortable families,
but it is not so.
There are just too many non-existent aunts in our house
who thinks we could have done better, chosen better,
if only we could get our act together
and stopped acting like the world owes us some kind of happiness.
This constant re-evaluation of life
and its result coming out as failure every time
makes everything we live with
and everyone we choose as a mistake.
What is this “better” that doesn’t let us live?
Spare me from your prayers
and spare me from your hearts.
I do not yearn for heaven
for I never believed it from the start.
Spare me from your world.
The fear and resentment of being left beind
feels less like resentment each day.
The reality of life
the pain I have given myself
turns your crimes against me into kindness.