Who I Am

When I am helpless and have nowhere to go, I turn to my writing to give me some peace.
When I am in doubt, I write.

These walls of my  room are damp with all the tears I have cried for you.
My breath comes in laboured, staccato bursts from my lungs.
I am more alive in this moment of extreme grief than I am when the world sees me.
There is no mask, there is no wall.

Our conversations are a mirror.
You help me turn into myself and see myself for who I am.
I don't like what I see at all.
You make me feel naked with all my clothes on.
I detest the vulnerability.
I detest the devotion that flares up, unchecked when I see you.

No, you are not on a pedestal.
Your flaws, short comings and mistakes all make you, you.
I love you the more for it.
Your skin glows under the night light in your room.
Everything is perfect and peaceful.
Except me.
I am a wreck.
Not because you don't love me, though that is also an important part of my grief.
But because I realise I don't deserve you.
How can I give you what you give me?

I am nothing but my good intentions, stitched hastily by my impulsive deeds.
Is this a question about self-esteem? I don't know.
But I feel after everything that has happened to you,
You need a haven, a place of calm, a balm.

I am a whirlpool of emotions that causes destruction when let loose.
Which is why I am always guarded, always unreal
I know how dangerous it is for someone to love me.
I have seen what has happened to the men who have truly loved me.
They never got over me.

I wouldn't wish that on anybody.

Slow Motion Car Crash

This morning you walked me back home and I was hesitant to let you go.
It was 6 a.m. and we garnered curious looks from the neighbours.
I know what they were thinking, 'there goes the sad girl again, but who's the new guy'?
Who's the new guy, indeed?

The Universe works in mysterious ways.
Or maybe not.
Maybe all this chaos has some hidden pattern to it.
Maybe not.
Last Friday, I would have done anything to never breathe another minute in this city.
Now, I see the irony of a love evolving out of borrowed time.
Maybe the Greeks did get it right, the gods do have a wicked sense of humour.


And now,  you tell me, there is nothing that can be done, except live in the moment.
But I close my eyes and the moment slips away.
I open them and realise- some people are destined to meet at a goodbye kiss.
I don't feel that I learn something new about you from our conversations.
Rather, it feels like I'm remembering something again-
something ancient and elusive, I can't quite put my finger on it.
I try to tear this feeling away, running my hands across my face and knees, but it remains indifferent to me, burrowing in the dark hollow of my collarbone and clinging to the bits of your skin under my fingernails.
I don't want it. Not another broken heart. Not now. Please. Not now.

Yet, there are some needs that bleed freely, invisible to the naked eye.
And when you find someone who figures out the unsaid parts of your sentences, who touches you first with his mind, then you roll up your sleeves and resolve yourself for the imminent heartbreak that is to come.

A slow-motion car crash that you cannot get out of. 

Try

You dipped your blue toes hesitantly,
one foot at a time,
testing the unsure waters
of Evermore.
The waves beat incessantly
the sea was alive with nerve, breath and sinew
Waiting for your departure.

A new land.
Red and white.
Five stars.
Hope, Courage, Promise,
Opportunity and Freedom.

But first you have to conquer-
A pulmonary being- the sea
of self-doubt
where you must drown old flames and regrets.
And unsheathe your unused dagger
clawing away painstakingly at those rocks
Bit by bit, coin by coin-
till you reach the embedded diamond.

First, 2011.
Then, 2015.
Fail. Fail.
Finally, 2017.

Will persistence be finally rewarded?

Invisible Paralysis

Once there was a boy who woke up one cold, rainy morning and decided to go for a jog. Now it was bad weather and his girlfriend mildly chided him for not wanting to stay in bed with her but he smiled lazily as he pulled on his boots. He'd make breakfast for her when he was back and she was fully awake.
He plugs in his earphones and starts his warm up. Shuffle. Play. Shuffle.Play. Skip.Loop.

Imagine Dragons- Not Today comes on. PERFECT.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JV6UrDhsWN4

And then a sudden screech and a flash and a dash of yellow and BAM.
He's down and out. He's been hit by a cab.

And he wakes up after two days but he can't understand why he can't feel his legs. They're there. he can see it, he can touch it.
 But he can't feel it.
He is paralysed, waist downwards.
Sometimes the old familiar feeling returns and he can almost walk- almost walk again. Almost. But not quite. Phantom Limbs.
Perhaps.

 Well, what do you say to him? You should have stayed home that morning? Who runs on rainy mornings? It will get better. Maybe. But how much?
And does that even matter?
How much should be enough before he is allowed euthanasia?
 Why is it not legal here?

Will he walk again? Perhaps. Will he run again? Difficult.
We must realise that there are certain things that once broken, don't work again the same way anymore.

Some people splinter their spine and can't feel their legs.
It is an accident but it's done.
You can blame anyone but it doesn't change anything.
Sometimes physio works and they recover.
And sometimes they don't.

It's not that they don't WANT to walk again.
Hell, they'd do anything to go back to how things used to be, but some experiences are watershed moments and you can't go back to how things were before.
They have instances when they feel their phantom limb
 but it isn't there.


It is the same for those who splinter their hearts.
Maybe even worse.
Because a heart still works, even if you can't feel it anymore.

If you didn't blame the boy for his paralysis.
Why do you blame me for mine?

The Light Is Always On the Inside

Her brown eyes

were fireflies 

in disguise.

Only lighting up after dark.

I stayed up all night to memorise their flame.

I can still see the white light

behind my eyes 

whenever I close them

.

The light is always on the inside.

But when I wake up to this

never ending December world-

I am met with

 endless violets printed on rough yellow paper 

lining my smoke-filled, four walled room

that suddenly seems endless

to my lovelorn heart.

What good is rain on an iron heart?

You thought it  would wash away the dust.

You thought flowers would bloom here.

But everything turned to rust.