I have read a lot of books
That tell me
How my body is a temple
I should consider it sacred
Worship and respect it
Because, if not me
I’ve read a lot of poetry
On intentions and aspirations
How positive energy heals my temple in rubble
I wish that I could tell them
I do not consider
This body of mine
My body is no shrine
No place for the holy
It is a forest
In between is a swamp
You will find only twisted pathways
Wetlands that will drown you
A bottomless pit
For an excuse of a heart
A shallow hole that only wants
It functions on parasitic needs
The canopies have poisonous snakes
Spiders hide in the ground
If you think this is
Young, wild and free
I am sorry
To deceive you with my words
It is a forest
That does not give birth to life
It is overshadowed by rage and cruelty
Left by inhabitants that once tried
To make a home of it
It is not free
The vines will trap you
Hang you in mid-air by your throat
If you dare venture in too deep
There is nothing saintly cherished in the atmosphere
So, if you think that this body is a temple
Go look somewhere else
Because, this is a forest
Thick and Cruel
It will devour your heart
Make you a fool
Remember the time you locked yourself inside the ribcage and hid underneath blankets of self-doubt and sadness? I haven’t forgotten how you shriveled into the corner. I still get glimpses of how we both rocked back and forth to music that would mute out the inner screams and the outside world. My fingers were laced with self-hatred and I am sorry that I clawed into you so deep that it started to resonate in every beat of yours. All that time when I wouldn’t breathe or inhale in hope that maybe, this would take me down, you banged on the walls inside my chest until my lungs had no choice. How I tried breaking you but you pleaded to not give up. There was a time when I wanted to bleed you out through my wrists and my thighs but you never left. I remember that time all too well.
I gave you hell, dear heart.
You eventually gave up. I saw the tiny grenades that I had planted on you go out but this time you didn’t make a sound. I smiled knowing how a war had been won. I took blades and butchered you but there was not even a shriek. Until, one day I sat outside your door hoping to start the pain charade when you did not show up. I kept on knocking but you did not answer.
“I hope you do not hate yourself because your soul was one of the most beautiful ones I ever had”, was the only note you left behind.
Dear heart, come back home. I never realized that there are far worse things in life and not having a heart is one of them.
I keep walking and along the way meet strangers who speak more of soul than just bodies.
I take one step forward and two back ending up in lone corridors with demons who speak of wisdom never spoken of before.
I dance in the muse of the night under the sky with no moon and only stars while looking up hoping to find God.
I hear lies on the lips of priests who have black hearts preaching to the crowd of goodness in the world.
I stare back into empty eyes and find stories the world never knew before.
I have seen broken wings take charge of the air with a single struggle.
I open up like a book to whoever shows me kindness and a bit of love.
My inside is rubble and my outside is just the same. I carry scars like warrior marks and my heart chained to the walls of my ribcage.
I howl at the moon and see through the mountains the dimly lit city below waving “hello” to me.
I hear sirens when the lights go out and screams when people surround me.
Nothing is audible to the world around me but I hear the thud of a broken heart and screeches of a dying soul.
…Everyone speaks of home as a destination and here I am trying to carve one on spot.
Lovers claim of broken hearts and yearning.
Lovers claim of having enough but wanting more.
Lovers claim of bliss and solace in eachothers arms.
Lovers claim of loving to the moon and back.
I claim of tearing your heart open and making a home.
I claim of being on my knees and worshipping you like a God.
I claim of clawing into your soul and breathing in love.
I claim of loving you in the moment and that moment lasting forever.
It is 45 minutes left to a new day. The clock will strike 12 and another day will peak through the hours.
The night will continue to sway in gloom and our shadows will dance, hands entwined to the piano muse.
Between gulps of whiskey you will tell me that when you were young there was a time when you were afraid of the dark because the shadows on the wall reminded you of monsters.
Between puffs of smoke I will tell you how loud noises scare me because my parents always fought and screams are what I heard that haunt me to this very day.
Today, while were young and high, two youths wasted and bruised by the past. The dark doesn’t scare you anymore because my shadow is always there with you. Loud noises don’t frighten me because I know that I can always bury my head inside your chest and shut the world out.
It is 2 am and the only sound in the dimly lit room is of the clock ticking. Empty bottles on the floor and cigarette buds are a common sight. Wasted like a gambler who traded in all his cards to lose whatever he had, I had nothing much to begin with but now, I know the true meaning of nothing.
When I was a kid, I thought the, term “the sky is falling”, really meant that someday it will fall and the strings it is attached to above my head will break. I liked the idea of something so big and mighty crumbling.
When I was a kid, I thought the term “the earth split open and swallowed it whole”, meant that the earth tore open to engulf whatever it wanted. I liked the idea of being so small in comparison to something so big.
I liked pretending that whenever my car drove over a bridge it will collapse and I will be beneath the rubble of something that I once walked on. I liked the idea of everything being temporary, even myself.
Now, 19 the silence resonates in my bones like all other elements that I drank to pass the night away. I realized that people fall apart and come crashing down into nothingness within seconds. I don’t have to be swallowed by the earth to disappear but shunning the world out is much easier than trying to fit in. I don’t have to be big to feel small, I have always been small no matter how big I got. It doesn’t take much to collapse like a house of cards and is much easier. I drown into the well of nothingness each day without a sound, without a rush, with silence and the world moves on.
It is dark and I lay here with chemicals hitting my bloodstream. They embrace me like a lover after years of separation and I concluded that every gambler who once lost has to get back in the game. The game carries on and even if you have your soul left to bet, bet on it and play.
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.
Lately, I’ve been seeing that my extremist tendencies take the best of me. I have no midpoint and my emotions are all over the place, but nobody sees them because I camouflage the tsunami as mild winter rain.
Ever second my heart is bombarded with a surge of emotional rush and I can’t help but control the tears that fill my eyes as my nose turns red.
I’m like a pendulum which keeps swinging and crashing between two poles minute by minute, not halting at mid.
I need a midpoint. Its hard? I feel it becoming unbearable to control my extremist tendencies. It’s either north or west, left or right. Why can’t I ever have a ground where I stand firmly in between? watch the world from there. Everything laid on the ground and open for the world to see. I dig up whatever I lost. My people, myself, my home, my friends and mostly my place. I need to carve a home in this midpoint. I cannot and race between the two extremes. A fugitive.
I have taken up people as a hobby to distract myself from the things that keep me awake at night. I have taken up work to keep my mind busy. I’m afraid to look inside and find no soul or a damaged one.
Lately, I’ve been seeing that I’m meeting other souls and I see kindness in them and a lot of love, but as I camouflage my extremism they camouflage the love they have to give to the world- appearing, “normal”- as I do. We all blend in quiet well.
*and as she sipped on her last glass of whiskey, the typewriter halted and the only thing that lingered in the air was-a feeling of being lost yet knowing where to find herself.*
You see the clouds in dark glory claiming the night. Bitter cold that seeps loneliness in your bones.
Its just you who popped another pill and gulped another drink. Blood twirling down your naked wrist is a ballerina just starting her show.
Your heart beats against your chest in a desire to be let out. The cold in your ribcage is killing it and you hear howls of pain, agonizing calls of help from within yourself.
Remember, you killed all your saviors and bid a farewell to those you liked.
While, lovers make the angels sigh to be humans behind closed doors, you make the devil be proud of not being human.
Let madness dance in the air as you lay staring in open space. Infatuation with voids is a developing cure to all that your soul cannot bear.
Its after midnight. Your voices shunned. The screams hushed into a corner and you lay as the crimson shade dances on your skin, thinking?
Life is a bipolar bitch and I am its abusive victim with no escape.
They told me to write honestly
Not about love
Not about drugs
Not about sadness
They told me to write honestly
To write about myself, for once
I had no words you see?
For a while It shunned my speech
I couldn’t find a word that explained a soul lost like mine
I searched for a word that elaborated the broken pieces of my existence
I sought a word that depicted the state of being happily melancholic
I thought hard about the words that could describe the state I am in
Beautiful girl with doll eyes, lost soul, Addicted to self destruction
All these words did not seem sufficient enough
They told me to write honestly
But, I can’t
Not when it comes to me
So, I will continue to rhyme
Until, somehow I find myself in between the lines of all that I ink down.
Until, somehow my incompleteness makes complete sense.