“CRUELTY”- A LOVE STORY

love
Credits

How long will it take you to notice I’m  gone
How long till your heart is emptied out, like your empty arms
This is the last straw, the last firework shot up to the sky
In hopes that someone will see and come find me
I hope they will notice the shivers along my freezing skin
Hopefully they’ll have food and water and a blanket for me

I spent an hour telling myself I’m cruel
And it didn’t matter what you meant, what you said, even
The only voice was the one in my head
Cruel
For being sick
Cruel
For reaching out
Cruel
For putting you through the darkest paths I had to walk on; and you walked with me
Because I loved you and that
Was cruel of me.

But what is the definition of cruelty?

Is it my merciless cry for help
Knowing you cannot save me
Is it wanting you before me
Arms spread out, is it holding you
till you fall asleep?
Oh how cruel I am for loving every inch of you
How cruel that we made us all that we could be
You and I, that was the deal
Forevermore, we were sure
But how cruel are we to never give this up?
Is it cruel to love unconditionally,
in which case, we share the blame equally?

Or is it the wicked one
The shadow whispering from the reckless parts of me
The ones I still can’t control
“I’ll die of this I’m sure”, 
that’s all it says
and I promised I wouldn’t hurt myself
But it tells me I don’t need to, to die.

Just open your eyes! Your soul is gone;
And how long till they know
That when they hold you
Against their hearts
You stop the beating and burn them out?
How long will it take for you
to see the truth:
Nothing you do, matters. Nothing you are, matters.
Do not ever
touch love
ever again.

But they must have been right when they said that love saves your life
Cause all that keeps me alive,
is that I,
I love you,
Endlessly.


(More posts from this series)

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“THE PICTURE OF ME”

Depression is a dish best served cold:

When the remnants of hope have become frozen icicles
on the porch ceiling
When the sun has stopped trying to shine through
When the day looks like night
and the night looks like death
When your demons are free to howl
As wolves on a frozen mountain top.

And in that ice-cold, post-apocalyptic, abandoned town
You still live.

Can you imagine the what power runs through you
When you use your own warmth to melt every piece of ice?
Each wolf runs terrified of the fire in your chest
You turn the sun into a lamp and burn it with oil made from your (un)dying hope.

So can you imagine what power runs through me
There is no moving out of here.

-x-

Hello. I finally wrote the next part of The Purge Series. This is, embracing the reality of living with depression and being proud of yourself for making it all the way here.

“Soaring”

This is the second poem in my life that I’ve written for someone else; usually my poems are about personal experience and feelings. But this human being has been extremely kind to me since the day he discovered my writing and I have learnt so much from him as a person and as a writer. To you, I know it feels impossible right now, but just you wait. Wait till I see you,

“SOARING”:

Take all the time in the world
We ain’t goin’ anywhere
I’ve seen you fall enough times before
To know in my very core
That you can learn to get up again
And soar
Through the sky
With all that you got, fly
And show us all how it’s done.
Oh you will be the one
They’ll tell their kids of.

And I will smile when they ask who this poem is for
I don’t know how tall you are
Or what you sound like when you laugh
But I know your soul
Believe it or not
Cause you won’t believe it, but I know
Your soul
I have seen it with all the darkness
Trust me we have all been there before

I wish I knew how to see you, and be you
When you told me I pulled you to light
Cause you light up my life
Even when yours is dark enough to drag you
down to, the ground
And it shakes beneath you
But don’t fall
For I am right here to give you
a hand and a prayer
I’ll be standing there
When you come back home.

“THE PAST, THE PRESENT AND PROMISES”

Part 4 of “The Purge” series: 


 

I used to wear my halo
like the devil wears his pride
Well, look here, I broke it now
The truth, I will not hide.
No more never swearing
at assholes, no more smiles.
And when you say, ‘fuck you’
I say, ‘you’re too late to the party’

mmm…kay?

Did you think this would continue to rhyme?
No, it wouldn’t.

My slightly broken, slightly erratic,
badass-as-hell self, welcomes you!

This body is my turf now-
I will fill it with flowers,
paintings, and chandeliers made of dewdrops
… and healthy food maybe?
I will decorate the walls with awards:
“Congratulations on getting up today!”,
“Congratulations on working out!”
“Congratulations on not killing yourself, or wanting to!”
“Congratulations on making it this far”

I will tell it
that it does not have to bend, or break
every time somebody wants
to feed their ego with its cries.
You can go around me,
if I’m taking up too much space.

Now I won’t lie and act
like I don’t care anymore;
My heart still breaks
when a little kid fixes my car,
when babies are thrown away if their body parts,
do not conform to the rules of normalcy,
when you tell me that I’m
too damaged,
too erratic,
too caring,
too
much
me,

It stings.

And it stings most of all, to fight back.
It stings to let the light in
It stings to like being loved
It stings to not hate, loving me.

But watch as I do it any way.
For the darkness may be comfortable,
familiar,
even easy;

but the light,
oh the light!
When it runs through my veins like electricity,
I think,

I could do this forever,
And never get burnt.

Flowers in Tombs

My therapist told me that when I get anxiety and urges to self harm; that I should start writing. So last night, I did. (If you have trigger points, related to self harm, do not read further.) 

 

I’m a disease. An epidemic. And I’m gonna spread like I always do until everyone I love is the same broken worthless piece of shit as me. Until they also become dysfunctional.
The worst part about me is that I look like a wonderful human being but all that is a lie, a cover up to make people fall for this act of innocence and purity. And when they start to love me, oh boy. I start releasing my venom slowly into their veins until the began to need me and become paralysed. Then I heal them and act like I am an angel.
I’m a disease. An epidemic. I go around pretending I have a disease and I take medicines for it but that is not true. It’s all me.
And that is why I deserve these scratches on my arm. Heck I deserve them everywhere. I deserve blood coming out of my broken skin cause I am a seemingly beautiful mess that deceives nice people.
Why am I even asking for help and letting them know about this? Now that they have started to realize how full of shit I am and have begun to try and care for themselves away from me because they really can’t do it near me because I ruin it. Why now? I should stop. 11 times or 121; why should anyone know? Why not cut them all off and run away? Once and for all? Just me and my demons dancing together in perfect harmony cause we belong in each other’s arms.
It’s better than slowly being hated and hated and hated and hated and hated until one day they just say it out loud that I don’t deserve anything from them. It’s better to say it to myself beforehand. It’s better to leave everyone beforehand. Before I hurt them. Before I burn them. Before I make them bleed like they made me.

Damn, that felt good. I would say I’m sorry for making you read that but I’m really not. I wanted to show you what anxiety and depression look like and I was in it when it was the only reality I could see so I don’t want to apologise.
Now, to the “beautiful saviors” themselves, the mental illnesses.

First of all, fuck you.
I would say I hate you
but you’ve lived inside of me
For more years than I can count
And I don’t want to accidentally say I hate myself.

Come on, you already made me do that
nine thousand and two times
(not counting accidents).

You say you’re here to protect me from all the abhorrent people
but they seem to me, to be
the ones who birthed you within me
And now you want me to be the surrogate carrier?

I’m sorry but I don’t love you that way
Or them, for that matter.
You’re not here to save me
from anyone but myself.
And I’m the only good thing I know
So no.
Thanks.

I don’t want to be safe from my best friend,
Or my mom
Or even the boy who left,
These are my loves.
You can’t twist them and break me
and take them away.

You’re a perpetrator

A trespasser.
I know I fell for your tricks
and that should make me less than you
but fuck you
I am strong as hell.

And you can watch me someday,
spreading all the love I have in me,
today. And so can they.

For my heart will forever be open
Even if it’s scared to fall in love again
Even when it can’t trust people
or want to make my own bed
or eat
or sleep
or pray to my Allah.

You won the battle last night,
and I am going to have to carry these scars on my arms
as proofs, forever.
but fuck you
I’m winning the war.

Threads #33

​There are some people we meet that are destined to make us failures. They’re part of our losses and pains.

But you? You’re part of my win. And I don’t mind if it takes me my whole life to get to that win, I will get there. Because when the universe does us favours, we don’t give them up. We don’t let go.

Read more “Threads”