there are mornings when i have forgotten how to forget. i open my eyes only believing the dream just broken. there are mornings when i hate myself for waking up and my body for needing reality so much.
“i cannot give my heart to you”, i remind myself to say this as i gulp down a glass of chocolate milk, in case someone decides to fall in love with me today. it is unfortunate that i have to force myself to say these words, when it is so much easier to utter “yes”, especially when i have hunger only for love.
as i untangle my earphones i almost step into another puddle of my previous life. there is something odd about finding my tears again. i stand there, wanting to be of comfort to myself but the one who is still drowning, drowning for years i do not want her, i do not want to catch her disease of hope.
there are days like these, when taking a step forward is the most cruel thing to do. when being human is risky, is the first step towards defeat. when healing comes with a downtime, time that I must answer for.
on days like these i find myself losing my sight, and it is in that darkness that I find you. how lucky you are that you will stay like this stay beautiful, stay mine only here, only in my moments of madness and helplessness.
P.S. i am always amazed at how easy it is to give up on myself that to give up on you.even when you were the worst of us.
twenty-six steps away from the cold end, we stand together as if we are both looking at a foe we must defeat together. a child passes us by with a yellow balloon. how misplaced it seems, this child in this place made of storms.
this is something i don’t want to do. our steps will fade into the deep end of this lake while the mother in me would summon the face of this child as a hope of what i could have had if I could endure a little bit more.
an invisible small hand curls around my fingers as your voice falters and you mess up our last song. the ghost of your future, whatever face they may have, have also arrived. so i put back the sweater on and you check the calls you must return as the ones who intend to live on only do.
I walked into troubles, into fogged minds, into friend circles that cultivated their alter egos on every meager piece of earth that they otherwise couldn’t plant their feet upon.
I walked into crumbling cities, into impossible dreams, into the lifeless replicas of your heart- hoping you would come after me. But as time ate me up I just hoped that you’d remember name at the least.
I wish that you had stepped a little closer to me, given me false hope, and broken my heart. but I have nothing of you, nothing to hate you for, nothing to remember your love by, except the empty place I made for you to stay in me – the only part of me that makes living difficult for me.
I think of the clothes that are too tight or too loose for me, of my skin that doesn’t like me the way it used to. How the mirrors in my home are hidden by the growing towers of books. I wonder what this says about me? I think of the fear that I feel when I am alone, the fear that I feel when I walk into happiness. I think of the kinds of fear that fill my heart. I count them for a long time but nothing happens when I finish counting. I wonder if knowing myself is really the first step to solving my life. Do I want anything to be solved? I count the people that who no longer speak to me and half way through I remember that it was me who had thrown them away first. Silence is my weapon, not theirs. I realize I need to always hold a grudge against someone to live with strength. I wonder when this strength became so important to me. I wonder when this love that felt like a lemonade in summer actually became a commercialized product with an expiry date stamped on it before it even reaches our hands. I think of my skin by which I am stuck to a world like this. I wonder why I pretend to be better than this world by saying such stuff? Why am I so into acting all deep and philosophical? I wonder why I love to call myself broken even though I hate to be seen so? Don’t misunderstand me. I do not want answers. Answers are painful and pointless, answers are a tasteless end to the struggle that otherwise makes my heart bleed colors.
I came here knowing that you would be here as well, knowing that you won’t like to see me here or anywhere. But I have been always good at not seeing the truth. So as I put on the dress I wore when I first met you I told myself – if you hate me, resent me for showing up, it is because you have not forgotten me yet; if you avoid me it is because you know you would love me again.
The distance has dulled all the pain that I felt with you and I prepare myself to dive again into the turmoil, the feelings that result from seeking you out again.
But as I enter this room this crowd that knows our history can’t decide whether to get us closer or to keep us apart. No one says your name around me, even though you are in front of me and I wonder, how long it has been since you have heard my name as well.
I have taken a step and now I have to wait for you to take the next. Would it have been easier for me if you could just utter the word ‘end’, instead of avoiding me like this. As the hour I have allowed myself to be shameless ends, as I wonder how will I ever make my way out of this world of yours, I feel the air beside me shift I feel the old me waking up in myself again. But it is not you. You have already left. I realize the end I could never imagined exists, that a ‘you’ without me exists. That I must find a new way to exist now.
I fall into pieces in your love, fall like rain and make puddles out of your footprints, there within the boundaries of your steps, the steps you have forgotten, lay my tears, lies the remains of my sincerity and my heart, lies my world, lies my love that you have forgotten as well.
Thank you for seeing my rough and the jagged mind, blood running down my arm, hope running out of my eyes.
Thank you for trying and for telling me when you couldn’t try anymore. You have made me feel that I also deserve decent goodbyes.
You cannot love me.
I could have loved you,
though I didn’t.
But it is fine.
Call me at the end of a tiring day,
when you cannot move one step further,
I will try to soothe your heart
just like you did.
I was sat down and told repeatedly everyday that though the world belongs to all of us, sometimes it is better to step back, to only take up the space we need. I misunderstood it to be a lesson in humility, wanting less, and sacrifice, but I realize now that it was not so. I was told to stop before I anger someone, before someone got jealous, or before they saw the weakness of my gender.
As I stand on the balcony at midnight and hear drunk shady men shouting, cursing, and stumbling, as they make their way to their broken homes, I remind myself this is what I am supposed to fled, a person who is allowed to loose their mind, a person who will always have excuse to hurt. This what everyone wanted me to become, someone who is proficient at spotting dangers, who can conjure up the worst possible scenarios when they hear another’s footsteps on deserted streets, and see the worst possible demons in the face of men.
These days I often hear people say that the new meaning of a powerful woman is the one who walks into misfortune willingly, before she is stalked and defeated by it. Is this the only alternative to what I am living?
I wish that when I walked past a stranger on streets I could smile and wish them a good day, without having to fear being misunderstood, without the echoes of ‘she asked for it’ in my mind.
Now the dark corners
are the only safe place remaining.
The loveless days
are the only memory where we can rest
where we can hide from
all the passion that we wished for,
all the feelings we couldn’t handle.
You once wrote to me about the night
that hung as a curtain over your window,
about how you can’t gather the courage to see the light
until I came along and tore away those curtains,
broke your shields
so that you could see what lay beyond.
I once took pride in being the one
who destroyed all dark cells within you.
But I realized too late that you were a flower
who could only bloom in dark,
that shields exist for a reason,
that each step you took towards your fear
thinking it would bring you closer to me
was just the beginning of sacrifices
you made to stay in my world.
As I lay beside you
trying to undo my harm
trying to teach you how to forget me,
what I regret most is that
when you struggled with what you are
I was only proud of my love that could make you do all that
instead of being seeing your love
that could do what I couldn’t.
The moment I pass any door
a part of my brain whispers-
too many people,
watch you step and watch your tongue,
lest you want to be branded as one of those women
that you are are and aren’t at the same time.
For if you are not careful enough
you will soon believe everything that people say about you
as you are doing right now.
Right now only half of you exist in this body.
I know this because that is what I was calculating
in the class of areas and volumes,
as teacher taught how we determine
the volume the water left at in a cylinder of flesh
once it starts leaking from all the words that have pierced it.
Or that’s what I heard at least.
I got had good score for that class
and I got called many more names.
A little more of me seeped out
and now I am less than half of what I was.
I know this because I have lost my friends
(maybe they see I am no longer me).
I know this because my heart no longer protests
when I hear people calling me by wrong names.