You’ll fall in love so many times and hand your heart to the wrong person before doing everything right.
I don’t know if I make sense, but I try hard to make sure that you of all people understand. I want you to know that, I am like a wooden cabinet and not the glamor you see or I fool people with. In me reside fear and insecurities. In the corner you will find doubt spreading like termites. I am unsure of how life will be-but I try to make the best of it because I don’t know whatelse to do when things go down like a house of cards.
I am scared and more than scared I am terrified of losing things and people who mean the most to me. I have lost people but it doesn’t fit in how one second can put a dent of permanent absence. I have been left stranded on the shore by people who claimed to stay by my side a lifetime.
I am unsure of most of the things I want in life, big cities, money, lights and glamor they don’t seem not enough. I shift from one thing to the other like changing gears during a race on the highway.
I am lethal but warm at the same time and that doesn’t fit in the density of my cerebrum. I seep into veins like poison in a struggle to make home.
I do things to fuck me up and then repeat because one lesson isn’t enough for me. How many times have I puked in cracks and found God in narrow corridors-I don’t know.
I don’t know if I make sense to you but I try hard to make sure that you of all people understand that even with my doubts, fear, insecurities and nightmares of being lost there is one thing I am sure of that nobody will love you as I do. Nobody would be by your side like I am.
I remember kneeling on the floor as tears made way down my cheeks. People said if you prayed when it rained then it would come true and God listens if the motive is pure.
I prayed during thunderstorms. I clasped my hands and begged in the darkest hours of the night. I wished on shooting stars and made strangers bless me, too.
I was helpless against the universe because I wanted something-my missing part-for the world to make sense to me.
Till, I realized
Scrapping my knees at the shrine with empty prayers escaping my breath is not going to help in finding myself. The thunder in my lungs and the fire in my eyes is not going to give me answers.
I have to learn from the path I take and there will be plenty of paths I will chalk out and venture before I find the right one.I will meet a million crossroads in life and might have to dust myself up and begin, again. I realized that I need to be kind to myself and others as well because we all bleed the same color and we will meet at the ultimate path at the end.
I realized, in the search of finding myself-stop looking around-but start the search from within.
And if you kiss her lips I’m sure you’ll taste heaven
And if you look into her eyes I’m sure you’ll see hell fire
And if you touch her you will freeze
And if you try grasping her she will fade away like smoke
The ballerina unchained herself
The shackles of despair broke off
In the air her muse played
She swayed with the fading memories
Under the dim lights of her glory
Her steps lingered with glitter
It rained whiskey that night
He swayed with her under the shadows
Held her close and pour love down her soul
The ballerina danced on her feet
Claiming freedom and love
He swayed with her
Finally, chaos found its light.
It is winter inside me and a blizzard echoing against the walls of my chest, that won’t stop. My heart has shriveled into a corner and the suffocating beats are the only sound circling out of my body. My soul keeps howling at the crimson red moon inside my body but lately, the howls of bravery seem like sighs of desperation. My mind refused to acknowledge my state and gave home to insanity in the density of its cerebrum.
I keep tapping my veins every night hoping that maybe a needle would answer my pleas or an ocean sniff would revert me back to life but the winter inside my chest keeps growing. Summer, spring and autumn don’t make a difference to me, anymore.
Sanity and my mind don’t get along that well.
My soul keeps knocking on the door but my heart won’t let it in.
Love and insanity anchored my gut.
I camouflaged the hurricane
As mild winter rain, instead.
The noises grow louder and even the ticking of the clock gets on my nerves. I’ve been lying all day in bed thinking about life in general and about myself. It is one of those days where the path I have chalked out for myself doesn’t make much sense and I end up thinking whether I should change my course and run towards another direction?
It’s a case of running away-which I’ve done all my life-the faster I could the better it was because avoiding it only fueled me and countering it I knew my destruction was not far. Who on earth would like to be destroyed? I always thought that the faster you could get away from life, from people, from your problems and from yourself helped in surviving.
I often used to wonder if a bullet to the head was all I needed to end this chase. I still do and think it might be quiet feasible. It gets better but lately nothing is getting better. Hope for the hopeless is like trying to revive the dead with CPR, if you ask me simply that it does not work. I can sugar coat the life around people but I cannot sugar coat my life mainly, because I know the bitter core. I wouldn’t want to deceive myself.
It happened so suddenly that the world seemed suffocating and tiring. I wasn’t prepared for it and like all things that strike me out of nowhere so did this. It became suffocating and unbearable. I occupy very little space I can and even so, have reduced myself to a four walled chamber where only my thoughts engulf my existence. I cannot seem to get out of this and the more I try to be free, the more this world seems like a cage.
I really hope I get better. I really hope this too passes me by but for some reason, the optimist in me is dead. Whatever it is can hit me dead and I would be happier than ever, if I do not survive this depressive spell.
I walked down the road I used to walk a million times, years ago to meet you. I wondered how time had changed and how we had drifted apart suddenly and then gradually. I recalled how early morning or afternoon I used to pace down the street among crowds of people. Each step increased my anticipation and the swarm of butterflies in my stomach unleashed a new feeling as I grew nearer your place, hoping to see you on the same couch smiling back at me.
It has been ages since someone loved me like you did. Someone held me with the same eagerness and warmth that you held me with and whispered love into my veins that seeped and made home in my bones. Each step I took down the road and each corner reminded me of you, the hunger and love I held for you back in those years. I smiled but I swear my heart ached and the dead butterflies in my gut cried because, even they miss the way you used to make me feel.
Remember, how you always held me close enough. I still remember how you tasted and how your scent infused with mine. You would call me silly, but sometimes when I smell a similar one? I think about you. It is weird how a fragrance brings back so many memories.
I walked the same path again and the weather was the same, gloomy, dark, windy and the sun peeking out a bit. Just the way we liked it. I paced down the streets but now with a heavy heart and slow steps because I wanted to take the walk down the memory lane slow. There was no urgency in my walk and to be honest? I tried my best to relish each step and recall what I had with you. We lost it. I changed. You grew up.
If given another chance? I swear I would walk right back to you like I always did and collapse in your arms like they are my only refuge. I would repeat each mistake, each innocent sin under the curtains drawn and dimly lit room because you were the only one who gave me my first rush of butterflies when I had an empty pit.
They say that in your broken places, you are stronger than before. I disagree.
You are not stronger but decayed. Your are plagued and infested in those broken places with hate, hurt, agony and pain. Yes! You are not stronger but in those broken places, you are dying.
What in the world is more stronger than a dead person?
Simply, feeling nothing is a blessing. You are dead in those broken places and you give it a positive name, ‘strong’. You know the truth and so do I. Humans have optimism to cover the bitter reality of life.
It is said that if a person loves the places you are broken and dejected from? It is love. No, if a person loves parts of you dead then it is love.
It is difficult to love the dead for long and sooner we forget about them. It is easy to love the living for presence makes it possible.
Dead or living, we all hope that someone might love us. Someone might cherish us. The only difference is, the living hope that it will come true and stay forever.
The dead hope it will come true but rot into nothingness, like everything.