You took my breaking hand and told me stories of a world where humans can be built again, where all that darkness that has seeped into me, into you can be cast away with a kiss and mornings with warm breakfast, a hunger of two. You placed your old sweaters beside mine and that dark cupboard became a symbol of an enticing spring that would never end.
Within all that beauty and warmth how was I to know that you were meaning to leave, willing yourself to make that exit, even when you welcomed me into your arms. How was I to know that this darkness in you, in me would continue to only grow in new directions making us fear not the breaking, but our breaking to be seen by each other.
I remember you waking up early and trying to put the clothes of “forever”, ironing out the new folds in your skin so you can continue to love this life made of dreams. I remember you placing my name on your tongue, in the body of your thirst in a whisper and then crying silently knowing you cannot love this anymore.
Yet I kept my eyes closed thinking of springs, and sweaters, and a home filled with two of everything. I kept my eyes closed giving you time enough to find the strength and the numbness to embody the person you were long ago. I feel your weight at the edge of the bed, I feel your sigh and your hands still filled with care thoughtlessly placed on me. Love is so beautiful, isn’t it, even in its end.
so my blue dream is not even mine now. i am just a mesh of people who hate me. their fingers are my fingers now poking my skin, endless railroads of red are built with their nails that they do not even cut before they sell me their fake love-filled eyes. their eyes are my eyes that wants to smash every reflective surface where i fall. every reflective thought is just a poison. a poison, a gossip, an untrue version of me running wild in the minds of those who look at me. they gossip about me so i gossip about myself , whisper my secrets into the air or better, into the ears of lovers who are chosen especially for their talents in indifference, vulnerability, and emotional violence. lovers who can break me – are all that i want. i need someone else to do this breaking for me because i am coward who can’t move towards the end i want, and also because my hands are busy. i have more things to do. i need my hands to tear my talents apart in the name of value, tear my feelings apart in the name of my worthlessness. i need my hands to paint again and again. paint indifferences on my insecurities that come a bit too often to the surface of my skin now, paint laugh lines on the bleeding corners of my lips, paint dreams of love, moments of hurt, grand betrayals on my otherwise lonely mind, paint humans that match the shadows in me, painting causes and assurances. i must paint. i must paint a reason- a reason why i suffer so, why this world works like how it does, why i must break as the world breaks, why i must break even for fixing this world. i must paint a face so that others don’t break at the sight of my face. i clip my nails everyday so that when i become someone’s ghost when someone suffers because of me at least my hands won’t leave them scars.
I have to sing and keep singing, have to keep begging people to dance within my heart, within the confines of these bricks, with the parts of me that can’t die and parts of me that I wish I still was. I have to keep inventing reasons and occasions I have to paint every meaning within me in the boldest loudest colors.
Because the moment it all stops I will hear the shouts again. There is no silence in this world. Outside, everyday the fearful children of a fearless god shout his name again and again. Asking for reason, for rain, for roses carrying their name.
I also once stood there, in the dark corridors, on burning roads asking god to love only me, to hold my hand, to save me alone. It is a very dark road, the one we take to find the light that will only belong to us.
And there is only this home of blindness far away from all the crying and ceaseless hoping where I can use these eyes of mine for something more than holding and spilling tears, where I get to sing for the god within the song. I worship these walls that hold me in my place. I worship all of your laughs, all the steps the never stop.
But I am still afraid because tears still come easy to me, because even this borrowed light whispers the name of one who I still hope to reach. The one who should exist somewhere outside these walls. But I can only be here in this world of his if I don’t run to him all the time. I can be his, without falling short or falling apart, only if I substitute what he has made for what he is.
someone whispered you are special and i knew that this is sleep (the pleasantly confusing side), that this is a memory of something that will never happen again (should i be sad?). paper dolls hurried me down the aisle of a supermarket, opening up packets and packets of laughter that I had not yet paid for (should i be worried?) They made me stand at the counter, chirping “it’s time”, “it’s time” “it’s time” and someone who tried hard to look like a human, who had tried to scratch away the face of demon drawn by my hands, stood with a trolley filled with sad colors, handed me his card with my name written on his scratched out one and told me “now you fall”. and all i could say was “i hate you” “i hate you – not in used-to-love-you way” “i hate you – the way i hate having a broken heart” “let me wake up”
I wish falling for you was easier but it isn’t, it could never be that is not how you like it- easy love goes only as far as that and maybe that is why I loved you. Or maybe that’s what I tell myself. Everything I tell myself is a whisper, a secret from you. I tell myself stories of a ‘you’ that probably never existed. I hope you never get to hear them, for now even my sacrifices feel like betrayals. I am afraid, till the end my heart would only be able to love the fiction of you. I am afraid, till the end you would remain unloved. Even when you don’t deserve to be. That hurts me more than knowing that even I cannot be truly loved by you.
With each day crossed out. With each dresses, each mask added to the my wardrobe. With each hand that passed into mine, with each hand that moved onto the next too easily, I realized I knew how to dance to this tune that used to frighten me once.
Another stranger, another potential lover, another sun that has already grown cold, whispers in my ears – words I do understand.
I search for a harmless smile in my bag. I hang it carefully on my face. I turn myself into a gift, into a substitute of love for this person – who is dying like me, waiting like me, for something, anything to fill the time left.
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.
The sunrise that I always wanted to see
slipped out of my hand and eyes once again.
Though my heart feared falling asleep,
my eyes could not longer bear to stay awake.
And I found myself in the only place
where I can’t fool myself by smiling hard.
As my mind deserted me here, as it always does,
it only left me with broken words of farewell:
“why me…it’s hard…and it keeps getting hard…i want to give up”
Your heartbeat whispers
the sounds and songs
that I lost to life.
Here by your side
I find myself again.
In this embrace
I can finally heal.
But sadly this is not
the girl you want.
So I say,
“I’ll be broken,
if you like me broken.”
The trees don’t whisper,
don’t console me with lies
that they have heard too many times.
They tell me that this sorrow won’t go away
atleast not without me.
That there will be days I will look at
the empty chair opposite me
and my coffee would taste of tears.
Days when I would wake up
with a blanket of despair over me.
That I will stop at certain words
and certain names,
and feel too broken in this happy world.
That I would stop taking certain roads.
Stop going to certain places.
So that my ache in my chest
won’t eat me up.
There will be day
when I would have given up
on all that I was.
And sure enough
the sorrow went away,
taking away everything we were.