i am wounded inside out the moment you turned your back to bite the hand that feeds you. maybe this is what mother feels like everytime i turn out to be the synonym of disappointment, the antonym of gratitude, defining her worry lines, her downturned lips, her furrowed brows.
i’m sorry i haven’t changed my ways as a useless child.
longing turns into waiting and waiting turns into suffocating, these hands of mine do not know how to reach out to others, afraid to entangle someone else in your mess; the weeds only breed further in a fertile land of negativity. open my heart to closed doors, allowing it to melt in this frustratingly searing weather; it throws itself against the windows, smearing glass panels and starts painting red flags, slowly surrendering to its fate.
it is open to dissection, if you pry so hard enough, in all the right ways.
what is going on in this one hell of a disaster? your synapses are scattered all over the place, thoughts shrouded in the shadows of dark clouds; everyday a rainy parade wrecks havoc and blow things out of proportion.
i want to make sense of it, too.
when did your mind palace crumble and fall apart – how long exactly has it been? do you remember?
i’ve lost count of the days i thought were numbered.
who did this to you? someone so ruthlessly cruel, chaotic.
(tell me, i will make sure that they are gone)
im afraid that someone whom you’re referring to is not who you think it is.
where has it occurred?
everywhere. along school corridors, under the shower head, beneath the covers, in a suffocating room filled with chatter and laughter – each time feels like leaning precariously over the edge.
how are you going to build this back up?
i don’t know; i guess we’ll wait for the storm to pass and venture to pick the remnants up, muttering a silent prayer for it to to never turn.
PROMPT: write a poem which asks all the questions to which you urgently need answers.
a/n: i realized i didn’t write the prompt properly but oh well
porcelain doll, your ugliness is manifesting on the surface, seeping through the cracks that spread across your skin like wrangling vines, in a battle for dominance. you wish for raining glass shards only to remind yourself of the fragility, the pain, your broken pieces. your smile is plastered across your face, designed to fend off concerns that threaten to expose your inner wounds; but you cannot hide the split ends, the fault lines that divide you into conflicting beings, one constantly drowning the other. you can’t breathe when you’ve been manipulated by your feelings.
so who will love you now
this is what i have warned you about; i know my apologies cascade like a waterfall of regrets off my tongue, until they simmer into a vastness that means nothing to anyone, just noise echoing in an empty world. i never mean to make this about myself but you mean so much to me and my emotions are choking my heart; i literally find it difficult to breathe. the fragments of your shattered heart are in my bloody hands and it feels like a crime, the guilt and pain festers until it is an infected wound. please give me time to heal, to fix, for i am still broken.
celebrating small accomplishments starts to feel like a sin again and i am desperately drowning myself in holy water; praying that the light at the end of the tunnel isn’t just my train of thoughts desperate to throw me back onto the tracks when i cannot keep track. my lungs are devoid of an athlete’s strength, there’s only so far i can run before the onset of a panic attack, when will it ever be enough, how do you know what’s enough, who do you think you are to know im not trying hard enough, why cant you be like others, an endless string of questions that strangle you with their hook-like curves. the attic you stored your trophy-worthy past is collecting dust and it is choking you; starting to turn into a haunting where the shadows stalk you and the ghost of a better future fades eventually into nothing. because your soul is a wasteland and there is nothing but the remnants of things people used to love.