Been a while since I have talked to you. I had a lot going on for a while now, so here I am sitting with you, its been past 12 midnight quite a while ago.
I find the weather resonating with my heart, drizzles of sorrow fall from the dark midnight clouds. The strong winds of time make the drizzles confused. The dark clouds resembled my hopelessness, and the blankets covered for the warm touch of affection I never got to experience. Don't know how long I have been in this condition, but it seems just as the long rainy days make the ground messy, my founding memories have been just the same. Theirs a diary in my hand, a pen, and a cozy corner, just for me to enjoy the solitude.
You know, I thought they understood me, I thought that opening up to them would make them understand me. I thought I could change their opinion but little did I know that their mind was not water, it was stone. The hardened stone that neither can be broken by words of truth nor by actions of punishment. Open up, get misunderstood, then regret, then rethink, then nourish your guilt, grow the weight of despair, then all you can think about is, to bring out the knife, and to distract yourself from the emotional pain, or to punish yourself you make cuts on your forearm. The blood clots, you try to hide the scars with clothing. They still see your scars, they ask you about them, they say ‘you can open up with me’, and when you do, they don't get it, they don't know what is self harm, and they don't understand. So their mind creates reasonable explanations according to their past experiences, which is almost all the time the wrong explanation.
Above all, I just crave a shoulder to lay my head over, an arm to hold on to. No need for words when a person was born in the silent silences of the dark side of nature. I just want to have a little moment, without getting misunderstood. A moment little enough that it lets me take it to my heart's core. Then I can just cherish the little moment for eternity, but the problem is that it never comes.
A silent soul writes poems. She weaves emotions into words, like the finest knitter. But neither her family nor her friends can make out a moment to not just read the poems, but to understand them. To understand that these poems are not just literary pieces, but emotions I want you to read and feel them.
To understand that I am not good, I am just not good. I am broken and confused, I need help, I need it very urgently. I don't need people who don't know what it is to be confused, and broken. You don't know if you are a girl or a boy, a lesbian, or a homosexual, you sometimes face an existential crisis, and self-identity gets lost in the midst of opinions and thoughts. You cant face the deathly judgment of society.
The poems that I write, the emotions that I weave, the metaphors that I use, and the hidden meaning behind them all, remain in my mind till the time decided to stop running, cause I know. Cause I know, cause I know them, they don't have my eyes to see the world from my perspective, and even if they did, who knows what meaning could they derive from my experience. They say na, a group can have different opinions about the same experience.
I don't like giving justifications and explaining every last detail, I am a silent soul who just tries to explain everything in the least words used.
I go silent sometimes, they say that silence is the best answer, but even my silence does not goes misunderstood by all.
O dear world, please, just understand, just understand me once, the way I want you to. And I will, I will cherish this little moment for this lifetime. Just hear to my problems, just let me take the weight off my shoulders. Just as the sun first penetrates the dark misty clouds shine over the wet Hearts. It makes the tears glisten. Soon from the warm touch, the buds also bloom into the sweet spring fragrance. The misty and dark clouds start to become peach pink. The wind carries the plates of fragmented memories, floating with the soft breeze of time. And all I say to myself is that…
Forget
Don't think
Just observe
And love
Purely
Don't know how many nights I have spent writing letters to you, but what can I do, every time I start to write, something new comes to my mind. Good night dear stranger, I will sleep under the gloomy air for now, with the company of cold tears waiting for the spring bloom…
A.V
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