My darkness.

He did not remind me of big pretty things like the moon. He did not remind me of the sacrifices people have made for love. He did not  remind me of the stars lighting of the night sky, or the warmth of the campfire or the wolf howling for the moon. He wasn’t the night in shining armour saving me from this terrible terrible world. He wasn’t my prince charming, he did not kiss me back to life.

I have done all of that for myself. I did not need someone to fill those cracks in my heart, to make blood flood my cheeks, to clean those thoughts in my head. I did not need someone who made me feel incomplete to make me feel complete. Cause I know all that is bullshit. I am complete. I needed someone to stay. That is it. And sometimes, Lucifer does listen to you.

He was everything. His kiss was caffeine for me, waking up every cell of my body. His eyes nicotine for me, irresistible. His words had the effect of champagne, soft and sweet on happy occasions. On days when words failed him, his silence was Scotch, burning my throat. His laugh was weed that I always got high on. He was the drug I had at five in the morning, and the drinks I had at seven in the evening.

He reminded me of sunburns and dirty plates and empty boxes. He reminded me of sofas that have been jumped on too hard, and clubs where we made out. He reminded me of cassettes of old music, and books about war. He reminded me of jackets on a cold night, and kisses on a rainy day. He reminded me of movies we watched as we cuddled in a blanket too small for both of us.

He reminded me of sweat, shoulders and crumbs. He reminded me of conversations on things that don’t even exist. He reminded me of tan lines, dirty pillowcases and T-shirts. He reminded me of closed doors and lost keys and eyes too tired to stay open on the terrace. Not some wave moving back and forth hitting the shore or some light millions of miles away.

Yes, he was the conversation I had on the terrace as I put out my cigarette. He was the chest on which I lay my head, while cigarette buts and bra’s and shirts were thrown all around. He wasn’t some light, he was my darkness.


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Hope and caution. 

“If only you knew how terrified I am.” – Unknown

I’m the pieces of a puzzle no one wants to solve. Not even me. Why would I when it will only make an abstract image that makes no sense? Why would I when I’ve been told time and time again by my own heart that I am not worth it, that I am not good enough?

Fears reside in the darkest corners of our minds. They’re the monsters I fight. The demons I try to contain. They’re my invasions. I know I’m not perfect, and I know no one is, but I’m just a tad bit more imperfect than you, and that just haunts me.

I don’t know what makes me imperfect, but something does and I’m pretty sure people get annoyed when I talk too much about it. Every time I say something, I’m afraid that soemthing will go wrong. Every word of mine is wrapped in hope and caution.

I’m afraid. I’ve always been. And so when I’m asked about my story, I just smile like it’s no big deal and ask them to repeat theirs for the thousandth time, and I find joy in the subtle changes in the story that they make to make it more memorable and perfect. Every time they speak about scars, I close my eyes and feel the skin under my sleeves tingling with sensations of blood and pain. I smile and talk about how beautiful they look in their crop tops and funky hats. Every time I burst with excitement and say something stupid, I stay quiet and regret it for the rest of the day. Everytime I have a story to tell, or a new hobby to show, or just want someone, I just listen to music and find my solace in the pretty words and crazy beats.

Every time I am at a party, I dance a little softly and eat not at all, because I want to be invited the next time too. Every time they crack a joke that I don’t understand, I laugh anyway because I’m sure I’ll understand the next one. Every time someone shares their food, I ask twice and then confirm one last time before having the smallest piece I can find, and saying Thank you. I want to have more, but I wait for them to offer.

I dont have a best friend. Unless you consider 234 pages of a white notebook that I carry with me everywhere a friend. I don’t write diaries because I don’t understand the idea behind it. But I do write poetry which reflects my life as a beautiful world and me as a happy being. But sometimes, it’s sad and just not good enough. Quite like me.

They call it Atelophobia.


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Tsunami

I’m as messed up as this poem. This just might not make sense.

Home.
It’s a strange place
You never know where you’ll feel it.
Two arms and music inside a chest
Or four walls and family dinners
Or spin the bottle and hopeless friends
Or maybe just a city.
My mind is a crazy mess
My heart does not rhyme anymore
Everyone has a story
I’m living a story that
I just can’t put into words.
Nostalgia is a dirty liar.
But it’s my happy place.
You see,
When I write about love,
Words flow nonstop.
When I write about pain,
I don’t try to rhyme, it just fucking happens.
But when I write about home,
My poetry is a lost cause.
There’s a tsunami in my head.
A tsunami of words that don’t match,
And there’s no way to put them together.
I’ve been trying and trying to write
About home
About my time there
About my time here
About what I’ve felt in between
But words of no purpose pop into my head
And although they can be made
Into something beautiful
Like everything can
I’m just not the one to do it.
But I so badly want to.
I want to frame sentences,
And beautiful verses,
Phrases that make sense,
Something.
But here I am,
Going on and on
Not having a clue about what I’m writing.
I’m so sorry.
I just miss home.


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Blind hearts.

The blind man
Across the street
Sees more
Than the men around him
Who won’t lend him a hand.
He feels objects
With his fingers,
His ears,
And his anticipation;
And wonders more often
About how beautiful
This life is.
He knows no difference
Between red and blue
And yet tells his daughter
That she looks beautiful
In that black dress of hers.
He thanks you
For every little thing
Because he knows
Gratitude
More than you do.
He doubts himself
More times than not;
But he knows how to
Trust his gut.
He is blind,
And he is across the street.
A street you’d only cross,
If you were blind too.


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Diamonds.

“And we created you in pairs.” – Qur’an 78:8

When the love of your life is on her knees, holding a promise of forever in the ring in her hand, and asks you to marry her, do you know what it means?

  • You’ll wake up every morning to find her sleeping beside you, or smiling at you with a warm coffee mug in her hand. And it will be routine to you, but you will smile anyway because you just love her so much. Every morning will be the same, but it’ll feel wonderful every single time anyway. You will be in love every morning, for the rest of your days.
  • Every lunch with her won’t give you butterflies but you will feel happy and alive every time she cracks a joke. She will repeat the joke again and again, and giggle endlessly, and you will be used to it. But you will laugh too, because she is undeniably weird and beautiful. (And well, the joke was funny.)
  • It’ll be an adventure. The two of you, hand in hand, will enter the jungle of happiness and insanity. You will love each other so much, and so often. The diamond on her finger will be the key to your happiness. It’ll mean forever. Commitment isn’t your strength but that’s what love is. Keeping the promise anyway. You will be thrilled every step of the way. Cross your heart and hope to die.

But it won’t always be butterflies and gardens.

  • You will see her cry, and you will feel devastated. You will realize that rubbing her shoulders won’t always comfort her, and that sometimes words just won’t be enough. And so, you will learn to hold her tight and close, and just stay. You will learn to just listen as she rants.
  • You will fight, and it won’t be easy. She really will be hurt, and sometimes you will shout at her anyway. She will shout back, and you will exchange mean words, but you will learn to apologize, and you will learn to forgive.
  • Someday, you will wake up and she won’t be there. And you will wait for her to come back, and call her whenever you can. You will realize that without her, your life is a mess. And you will be scared of losing her. She will come back almost every time, and make you the happiest you ever thought you could be. But when she does not, you will be the lost kid in the jungle. Breathing, but dead anyway.

So if you love her, if you can promise to stay after seeing every shade of her because you will, if you can assure her to always stay, then say yes. Because even though there are ups and downs, you will be in love and it’ll feel so damn amazing, that you will forget to breathe and start living.

And anyway, when Ross does it thrice, you know there is something addictive about it. Say yes, you fool.


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