Tuesday, 18 April 2017

Silent hearts

You, will always be silent Zemër. Your silence keeps you safe from the world that wants to bite into your skin and drink your blood until you're dry. Your silence, Zemër, I envy so much, yet heavy, it traps you like an armour done wrong.
Zemër, you're a ship that never sails, a plane that never flies, a war that never starts. Zemër, you're the most precious, the most wanted, the most loved and loathed you are and you, you're safer when you're silent.
Zemër, you're safe in your bodysuit of fake giggles and foreign eyes that look down at your legs, because it is easy to conquer eyes like that, it is even easier to let go of eyes like that and you like letting go Zemër.
You thrive in hard work, behind a desk, typing away at words that you say have real meaning to you but you never spare a comma for what really matters Zemër. You never turn down a party Zemër, because you know, my honey, that your silence needs noise and sweat and a mean black lipstick to survive and oh the fake giggles you have mastered so well.
Zemër you know how to have fun.
You like your pretty people and your literature and your dance moves. You like getting off with someone in a fancy club, you like being broken you say but we both know Zemër, your silent armour has for a long time not allowed you to break for real.
What you don't like my friend, my love, are eyes that look into your eyes and talk to you about boring things, because you have learned the lesson Zemër. Boring things can make you fall in love. Boring things, oh honey, they lead you to care about the boring things, they lead you to worry that someone didn't take that pill they're supposed to take, that they're not being fed well, that they're not getting enough sleep. Boring things should not, must not penetrate your armour Zemër.
You do not want other people to know how you feel, when you fall asleep next to him, you hand in his hand, your arm around his neck, your head in his chest. You listen to his heartbeats and you thank God everyday that they exist. You don't want other people to know you thank God. That's a weakness Zemër. You pray, my dear. That's also a weakness. You don't want other people to know your weaknesses Zemër.
Stay silent, Zemër.

Sunday, 2 April 2017

Strength itself is not strong enough when faced with a dirty toilet.

I am hiding from the mess somewhere it won't find me.
The toilet is broken and the bath is yellow. The bills are wrong and you're not helping.
Our plates are piled up, dirt in the sink. A couple may be in my room, but I'm not cleaning.
I have too many clothes, you have too many moods yet, I always wear the same two tops and you always choose to sulk and suck the sunshine away. And you make more food, and you drink from a dirty mug. It hurts.
I am leaving tonight. You won't find me dancing in my room to strange music. You won't be able to laugh and talk to me. Feel free to eat the pizza on the fridge, I am leaving.
Fixing the toilet now may save you some money.
I hate mess so I'm hiding. There's nothing I can do.

Tuesday, 28 March 2017

I'll give it back

It's a sunny day in London. We wear matching shirts and denim. White shoelaces on black converse and golden bracelets with our names on them. It's a sunny day in London, cross legged on a bridge, I am not afraid with you by my side.
We're uncatchable, untouchable, unreachable. 
You try to take a picture of me, all smiling and looking happy like ice cream with sprinkles on top and a flake but I lose my blue scarf that I loved so much. Eaten, soaked, taken by the river and we run in the wind and I will get a cold and won't be able to sleep at night. 
But you're there. You'll make me a cup of tea and let me sleep in your bed, you will make a pillow out of your jacket in the small sofa in the kitchen and you will look funny sleeping there because you are so tall! 
But first you'll sit with me and talk to me about your troubles and dreams until I fall asleep. Words half spoken, we still understand each other. We will engage in deep debates and forget about the casual brush of our hands until, we're each pretending to be sleeping and not thinking of each other in different beds. 
And you might, say I love you, in your mother tongue, which you've never done before because what's the point anyway, other girls could never understand but I know the words for I love you in your mother tongue and I also know how to say thank you and thank you is probably all I will say to you anyway, I'm sorry. 
You'll wake up early in the morning, you'll bake me a cake for breakfast and put a glass of milk in front of me. You will tell me off for having too much sugar and I will laugh and my childishness will annoy you slightly but then you'll look at us matching even though we're so unmatched and you will remember how cold it was in your kitchen last night and how much you wanted to come and cuddle in bed but, I would disappear as soon as I'd start feeling my heart beat all the way out of my chest, so you freezing in the kitchen was probably for the best. 
It's a sunny day in London, we like the same foods and the same music and I know you love me, maybe I love you too. I don't like certainty so a maybe will do. You take a picture of me stealing strawberries from your waffles and you caption it: "She stole a lot more than that! <3"

Monday, 27 March 2017

I read a poem

Poetry came to me when words made ugly sounds and gossip weighed me down and distorted my curly hair. Words melted me and shaped me into suffering too soon and I thought I would never look back on my childhood with a smile.
But poetry came to me and held me in its hands. Poetry sang lullabies and told me my hair was soft and brilliant like crushed velvet and my dark eyes were like two black olives of the ones that grow in the south next to the figs that coloured my hands sticky red.
Poetry came to me when I cried for the first time and it felt as if something had broken inside my eye and it would never be dry again, but poetry told me tears were precious diamonds in liquid form and one day they would light up a whole life.
Poetry fell on me like leafs from a cherry tree on a windy day in Autumn and it told me love was there, in that very moment. It told me love was beautiful and magical and pure.
Poetry, came to me too perfect, too good, too pretty. Poetry challenged me to love and be loved.

Thursday, 23 March 2017

Things we refuse to say

A frown focused on a screen and a thin line or two appear on his forehead like little ticks of approval. His face drawn towards the unnatural coloured brightness of a word document. I want to be looked at like he looks at that screen. I want him to look at me like he looks at that screen. So into it he might just jump into the world in his thoughts.
An unusual seriousness replaces his foolish smile. Thoughts journey through his face. Oh how jealous I am. Does he know my eyes are also, journeying through his face? 
A frown focused on a screen and vertigo. My heart falls over, like it's suddenly gained the same magnetic power as earth itself and earth is it's polar opposite. I can not lift myself up, I can not get detached from this new earth and I die, bit by bit. 
Thoughts roll over his face. I want to know them. 

Sunday, 19 March 2017

Unspeakable

I tried to kill myself.
Once upon a time...
It felt like my bones were too fragile for this world and too strong for this being. The in-between that, that hurt.
It felt like, for every praise I received I was unworthy, and my fingers had never composed a good letter. It felt like I had never made another being happy and it must have all just been lies because, because other people were good and they didn't want to upset me.
It felt like I was weaker than most people my age that, I was strange and everything to do with me was wrong.
I still feel like that.
My brain aches, my heart, is shattered by the most simple events. I am emotional, I am messed up.
There's something wrong.
My vision goes dark from time to time and no pills ever seen in the surface of this world would ever make me feel better. Or at least stop me from feeling. Nothing, will ever work.
My stomach hurts like some invisible hand is knitting through it. My mind feels dizzy and my thoughts, they lack clarity as much as my life, as much as this piece.
I am not OK.
But at the same time, I am OK.
The last time I tried to kill myself was four years ago. The feelings never changed but I learned that I can call my best friend and tell him how I feel and he will call me at four am and tell me I'm beautiful.
No, I don't need to hear that I'm beautiful. I just need to hear a voice on the other side of the phone. And it keeps me alive.
No, the feelings still don't go away.
I've learned that I can eat. I've learned to taste, taste until my taste buds hurt, and appreciate the wonderful flavours of certain foods. Because, when you feel so awful that you want to die of natural and non - painful causes ASAP, you also learn that every little thing matters. You also learn that every little thing has to be appreciated. The bittersweet surrounding of appreciation.
I've learned that I can dance. I've learned that this town hides beautiful places. I've learned that I can sometimes, write something other people may like to read. I've learned that I can speak.
Most importantly, I've learned that I can love. Oh I knew I could love, I just never realised, that included myself.
I am confident now in my actions, but the feeling itself, it never left, it never will and I will always suffer from unspeakable guilt.

Wednesday, 15 March 2017

Lies and pills

My smile is a lie. 
Because I go to the toilet often and I cry when I'm alone. My smile is a lie. 
Because I have a knife in my stomach that cuts deeper some days and I feel pain in my womb that started a year ago and never stopped. 
My smile is a lie. Because I am anxious and slightly tortured and I am scared that someone will realise. 
And I am scared that nobody will. 
My smile is a lie, because this crippling pain comes and goes and it comes in the worst moments and I crumble under endless bottles of pills I do not know. 
But my smile is also the truth. 
Because pain is easier when a pretty face distracts your nerdy brain and pain is made easier by the butterflies in your stomach. 
My smile is true because laughing feels good and I forget for a moment about the knife and the needles and the pills and the awful hospital smell. 
My smile is the truth because I'm proud of the effort I make everyday to get up at nine am when I embrace the pain with the new day and you might find, I have a very strong will.
It's all true. It's all real.