Category: Poetry

The words I love you
oversimplify the love I share with you.
They could never fully encompass
the love we have for each other.
These words are too simple
for the complex feelings we harbour.

I’m in the darkest place
right now.
Maybe I’ve fallen in
this finite space
of infinite darkness.
I can’t see anything
past the madness
that creates all these shadows
but how can that be?
How is it possible
for me to see
more darkness within the blackness?
Maybe all I’m doing
is watching the dark
for the monsters that I’m hearing
that may never come.
But for all I know,
I could be the only monster here.

I am no stranger,
though you treat me like one.
You used to treat me like your sister
but whatever connection we had, now there’s none.
We used to laugh till we’re out of breath
with too many inside jokes that had no end,
but now we stand as still as death
where we buried the titles of “best friend”.
Those jokes won’t hear another laugh
and those talks we had, we’ll never have again
because you are no longer my other half
and of this friendship, nothing remains.

On some days,
getting out of bed
proves to be a difficult task
and pretty much impossible.
Your body could feel weak
and your mind could be tired.
The sleep you just had,
it barely helped.
The exhaustion you feel
keeps you in that bed.

For those days,
maybe you should
let yourself stay in bed.
Take it as a rest day –
call in sick,
then don’t think about
work or school,
homework or meetings.
Just rest and let yourself heal.
Stay in and eat takeout
as you watch your favourite movie.
Take a very long shower
and maybe give yourself a facial.
Wear only your pyjamas
and do everything that relaxes you.
And if what relaxes you
is doing nothing,
then do that too.

Just as long as you
make a promise to yourself
to use that day off
as the motivation to
get out of bed the next day.

Times heals all wounds,
except for the ones you keep tearing open.
So, stop picking at the scabs
and let yourself heal.

Shoot me why don’t you,
I’m sure it wil hurt less
as long as you look me in the eyes when you do it.

If you tell me you love me,
I won’t believe you until you show me;
For words are beautiful things,
And beautiful things can be very deceiving.

I’d rather live a life
of experiences,
both good and bad,
than a life not knowing
how to distinguish
between what could be
a good or bad experience.

Sometimes, I feel
much like a
porcelain doll entombed
in glass for
the world to
see but for
me to never
experience a thing.

They deemed me
fragile, so they
locked me up
thinking it would
keep me safe
but all that
did was drove
me completely insane
with the want
to feel freedom
and the fear
of never being
able to experience
anything apart from
the glass coffin
that keeps the
world out and
keeps me in.

I don’t normally dream.

But when I do,
I still feel
the rattle of my teeth
as you shake me
with the thunder in your voice
and the earthquake you cause
with your hands around my neck;
I still see
the potent hate in your eyes
coupled with a glimmer of satisfaction
as you continue to spew venom on me;
I still hear
all the anger and resentment
in your tone as you slap me
with every derogatory word you knew;
I still remember
the throbbing on my cheek,
right where your knuckles were,
as the pressure in my chest
builds up from not being able to breathe.

All this I recall
with so much clarity
that I wake up
robbed of breath and innocence
because my dreams
are only ever nightmares
of how you abused and violated me.