You gave me a copy of your final art exam piece,
I recall.
It's still stuck right there, you know,
On the wall beside my bed.
Beautiful;
A scene of nature.
Green woodland,
A gentle stream.
There's a mountain in the background, with a castle on top.
And me, in the foreground,
Oh, how lovely of you.
I remember, you took my photo in front of that big green tree.
In the woods by my house.
I wore only shorts and a vest, despite the cold weather.
(I remember the goosebumps.)
I couldn't wear much, you didn't want my clothing to be too visible;
You wanted to transform my body, into the trunk of a tree.
As if, I wore
only bark and moss.
Oh, but why, oh why?
When people saw my bare arms and shoulders, you told me that
they asked you, whether I was naked when you took it.
''WELL, OBVIOUSLY...''
I remember, when you told me what they'd said,
I laughed.
I've never liked my face in that picture.
What is my eyebrow even doing?
And I've never quite been sure about the shape of my cheeks.
In fact, if anything,
I've only ever really liked my hand.
My wrist, quite thin,
and somehow my hand has a delicate look about it;
The fingers curved at the ends,
The cold had made them pink and soft.
Oh but, why, oh why, Darling?
Why of all things,
Did you have to make me a tree trunk?
Strong and sturdy.
With the moss,
And that other tree, the one that clung to me,
Twisting, growing around me.
There's nothing I can do now,
but stand here and watch you evolve.
Oh, you told me to get help baby, but what if I didn't want it?
To me, there's only ever been one solution.
But, you made me the tree trunk,
It's what you did.
And now you need me,
Now you grow from me.
Now you cling to me.
No, I cannot stir now.
For, I am a tree trunk, (I need to be strong and sturdy)
And now I know, only too well, that if ever I were to fall,
I would be bringing you down with me.
Somehow I always seem to forget that I am not your everything,
I am not your life's story
But a mere chapter.
Perhaps a only page or two.
And it's this that worries me, because what about all this time I'm invested in you?
The seeds I planted in your chest have bloomed,
But my fingers will not be the last to pick from them
And my hands will not be the last to graze across the meadows of your skin
Nor will my lips be the last to kiss away your imperfections.
I forget that eventually ,
you will find another girl.
One who's lovely and prettier than I,
One who can tell you how she feels
And who can make decisions.
Who doesn't hinder but help.
One who can give you everything you've ever wanted in the world,
Not just her heart.
And I can't help but feel that I'd be happy for her
Because if it wasn't me at least it would mean you were happy
And then maybe you'll feel at home in her embrace, more so than mine
Perhaps the words she'll speak to you will be beautiful flowers,
instead of the weeds that seem to fall from my mouth.
And I suppose that eventually you will invest your time in her, your future
And that's when I'll become your past,
The ink blots and coffee rings,
Along the old yellow papers,
Or maybe an old flower pressed between the pages,
I think I'd like that
Because maybe you'd remember me as something beautiful
And if not that at least you'd be happy
My love was not blindness
But the only truth
That you could take to be true
Never comprehending
Always
Doubting
Debasing
Damning
My love
Not as noble
As your love—
Your love was not blindness.
By no means, did
I succeed in moderation;
With you my feelings, like my words,
Came in bursts of awkward energy;
I couldn’t control the volume
And never realized
Until you told me I was yelling in your ear,
(You particularly hated yelling),
And I quieted down for a time.
Maybe I was too loud,
But of the words themselves
I should not have been ashamed.
My love was not blindness.
Blinded, could I have
Seen what you buried within yourself?
Believe me, all I wanted was to help you
Banish all for good, but in aid,
I found myself under the depraved dirt
Spiritless, struggling, suffocated.
My love was not blindness.
I deny Dostoyevsky’s distinction,
An error of translation, perhaps;
Even in the most compatible of languages,
One language will lack the means
of expressing a word essential in the other.
We’re the "same person," we always said
But I couldn’t invoke that here—
Here where it mattered more
Than it ever had.
My love was not blindness.
I've never seen someone so complex, so curious;
I've never met someone who hadn't been furious
With me at some point, I expect it
Maybe this morning, or even last night
You continued to point out every sigh,
Assume something was wrong
So I'd be mad.
Truthfully, and this is it honestly,
I don't remember the last time
I wanted someone so vast in my life.
Your mind is so broad, I want to explore it
But for now I'll deal without throwing a fit.
Your body is nice enough for me,
I like the way it pushes, pulls and pleads.
I like the way you bite my lip until it bleeds.
And we're pushing, pulling, pleading
Screaming in moments of such extremity
Its hard to calm it down
It's hard to stop, technically we're done
But removing one from the other isn't fun.
I smell your winterfresh gum, taste it in my mouth
I feel your hand, your tongue, the exasperation of your breath against my breast.
I feel my heart pounding out of my chest
And I feel the explosion which makes us rest
I want this more often, no I need this
This quick relief, this feeling is the best
I just enjoy, you and me
I very much like your company
and if you'll stay, through the night
I promise I won't give up the fight.
I felt as cold as ice when i saw you with her.
I did not scream, i did not shout, i did not cry,
all i wanted was to die.
Without shyness you looked at me,
your eyes full of betrayal,
like a predator trying to catch its prey.
When i was running away from you,
you lied to me that you are regretting for losing me.
SHOULD I BELIEVE YOU AND GO BACK TO YOU?
that is a question without an answer to.
MOZA MAHMOUD
i got a milkshake
and i drank it
but after i vomited
all of it up
i cried after that
because i really wanted that milkshake
there once was a man
and he was different
and all he wanted was to be normal
and he spent his whole life
and trying to be simple
and wishing to fit in
and not knowing that others
spent their whole lives
only wanting to no longer be normal
and trying to be different
and wishing to stand out.
n.d.
I've wanted to tell you
for months now
how I feel
but I cannot fit my mouth
around the words
like a fist
stuck
behind my teeth.
It is very frustrating,
I assure you,
that I cannot say
how sick
with desire
you make me.
God Dammit.
I am cold. I am alone. I am empty. It wasn’t always like this. You see-
That one day you brought me a bouquet of flowers but I didn’t even noticed them sitting next to me.
That one day you decided to wrap my hand with the warmth of yours but I wouldn’t return the favor.
That one day you tried to hug me tight and I left you too much slack to hold on to.
That one day you wanted someone to cry with but I didn't spare you a single drop.
That one day you finally told me how you really felt but I wouldn’t listen to your words anymore.
That one day you decided to give me our first real kiss but my heart just wasn't in it.
That one day, was one day too late for me because-
That one day is actually today, and today I am cold. I am alone. I am empty.
But you see it wasn’t always like this . . .
Yesterday I would have shared my entire world if you'd have let me but today, today I am dead.
There is this space that exists inside.
In between my ribs and just under my heart.
It's not in a place to constantly remind me of its presence there.
But it does get nudged from time to time.
It holds onto things I've tried to rise above, to let go of...
But never fully doing so.
Things like negativity and doubt and stubbornness...
Like self esteem bruising childhood judgements.
Like bitter regret of missing out on "I love you" before someone dies.
Like ignorant teenage decisions there was no reason to be making.
Like that secret you told and the one you promised to keep.
Like dutifully cleaning up after destruction since it was easier than starting over new.
Like the coltish grace of learning to be a woman without one.
Like leading a child with having no direction of your own.
Like taking that last piece.
Like hoping karma takes over.
Like waiting for a sign before walking away from toxic people.
Like throwing your heart out there with only faith and hope to be its wings.
Like innate fear of being alright with who you truly are.
Like disappointment for taking all these years to figure yourself out.
Those are some things that rattle around on a quiet and calm night.
On a night that finally arrives after strenuous days bleeding together...
They ghost in and remind you they're still there.
It used to terrorize the still moments when that happened.
No control over the flood of images and empathy associated with each and every reminder.
I thought it was in times like that, when drowning with the sorrows of yesterday was just as easy as an exhale.
But I was wrong...
I was mislead in my own thoughts.
Because when I was tapped on the shoulder by history.
It wasn't trying to hold me back.
It wasn't intending to maim my conscious.
I believe in fact, it just simply wanted to show progress.
To show the "then", compared to the "now"
How every piece of who I am today was shaped and structured in part, to everything I haven't let go of yet.
How do you know when your soul is weaker than strong but mighty enough to fight?
In being made to contemplate all the wonderful and fulfilling things and parts of who we are,
We also have to give credit to the dark pieces
The events and people that have burdened and burnt but never destroyed.
Like any balance in life we acknowledge both light and shadow.
Appreciation of the good in our lives is more fluid when we have proof of the struggles we've overcome.
Be it years ago or hours,
Seeing how far you've come from that which had held you under or has trampled your spirit.
It helps enlighten bit by bit.
And a step at a time is how we all move forward into who we're meant to be.
So i think, that space that exists very close to my heart but just far enough away...
I think I'm okay with it being there.
It may hold scars in the eyes of others
But I know scars are just golden reminders;
Of that which make us stronger.
For if one has no scars, what has one conquered?
©NDHK
