~

I'm standing here

       In this doorway

   Halfway between where I have been
And where I will go

     *And I can't help but cry tears of joy.

paranoia of the 3rd degree
in 8th grade
when the boy i liked IM'd my friend
and said the shirt i wore to church made me look fat.

shaking nervousness in a 12 year old body
overweight
moving a fork from my plate to my mouth --
a true horror
listening to girls read calories
off a box of vanilla wafers

pinching my stomach fat
wanting to tear it off
an 8 year old who asked her older sister
to help her get thinner

decades i've wasted looking so close at every piece of me
i know how i look from every angle without a mirror
i've memorized every defect.
critical sections studied under a microscope:
i am not anything but scientific in my process.

i blow myself up to disproportionate sizes
and then wonder why sometimes i lay in bed and feel

huge.

and other times

so small.

after a while you'll begin to realize that the constant scrutiny and study of your temple is fruitless
that the hungry monster behind your ribcage
that eats dark lipstick and winged eyeliner and name brand clothes and highlighting powder and contouring brushes
that you sacrifice increments of time to every morning,
night
every prolonged glance in a mirror...
fuels itself off the notion that the images we see on a screen are the standard for cultural truth.

i turned 21 and decided to throw away the microscope.
to change what images i saw on my screens
to eliminate the photoshopped waists and fill them with pictures of normal, happy bodies
and i began to see the body that i exercised,
fed vegetables,
watered,
washed,
nurtured,
as not fat or ugly or unwanted
but as a perfect home for myself
and maybe someone else
if i wanted.

because the cultural truth lies in what you see in other humans
not dancing shadows on a screen in a cave
it lies in the gentle rolls of your stomach
and the crinkles around your lips and eyes
and the pimples on your forehead.
there is nothing garish
about reality.

I laugh at the sound
    of the wind
As it echoes through my mind
Telling me stories of memories
     I had previously left behind
  with caricatures of faces
I can no longer remember in reality
      And songs from past places
That bring me down
         with the emotional gravity
And I was my thoughts spin around
                 and around
    I get dizzy from the intensity
                and my sanity
        Can no longer be found
                 Yet
I can still hear the wind
      And I laugh at the sound

I really don’t want
People to know
That I always long for you: mum

Long gone in 2003
A day before my fourth birthday
I long for you ma
You are the best person whom I’ve ever known
I love you
But never had showed you

I thank you for your love
That you showed me
For only a few years
I don’t blame you ma
God never gave you the chance
It’s His own wish
He wanted me to be termed” an orphan”
I’m sorry to say this

I only have three individual photos of you
And only one where you have your bro.s and sisters
But where are my siblings?
I don’t have!!
God never gave you the chance
Why you ma.? Why??

Stabbed in the heart I was
You turned a knife inside my heart
And you still do
But though dead
I love you.

I stand on the pathway with blank eyes,
With a big frown staring at the sky;
I see the darkness behind the sun light,
alas, they could read the fear in me with an insight.

But they don't, as there is no darkness remains here after,
It is only my fear, fear of failure which is masking  the joy with a plaster.

I know that fear will lose the battle one day,
and inner strength will join the hands with joy.
allowing me to see only brightness behind the sunshine and no other darkness hereafter.

Obsession is a gun.
It points right to your head, willing to shoot.
It either glues your heart together or shatters it through.
You feel ecstatic, yet you feel blue.
It's an addiction, you were brought to.
Nobody gets it, you feel alone.

Your mind is scratched with a name that repeats itself endlessly,
It hurts to your core, it's also your ecstasy
No you can't grasp it, they're fake, they're souvenirs.
And by souvenirs, I mean they're *******,
You like it for a while, then put it on a shelf and in the end, dispose it.
It drains your time, you think it's real,
then in a month, you're done, it's sealed.
It starts confusion, you swear it's love,
you think it's happiness,
well, you are wrong.