Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
My mind is like
The roots of a tree,
Entangled in a tight
Embrace,
Confused,
Searching for divine water
Deep beneath the dry ground.

My soul is like,
The clouds floating in sky,
Changing its shape
Every day,
Making people gape
If the sun shines behind me
But trying to escape
From the sight of everyone beneath.

My eyes are those,
Little stars,
Which shine the least,
And still watch the same ground beneath,
As the brightest keeps on,
Glowing,
Which are more noticed,
But are soon gone.

My heart is like a tamed lion
Trying to refrain from roaring
Trying to refrain from reacting
But the pain I am boring
Is the pain as if I have used my claws
Against my tamed heart
Which wants to be torn out
Which wants to be noticed again.

I am like a howling wolf,
Crying in my own language,
Telling everything,
Equal to telling nothing,
No one understands,
No one would,
And if you try taking my hand,
Then you should
Know the picture of me.
When the boy was born

He was born with not much hair

But swaddled up quick

In much too much

Soft pink cotton

Because colours mattered

Even back then

Even if you were colour blind and couldn’t care less

If the cotton was pink or blue or

Green



And then the boy turned one

Wispy hair like outdoor breeze

And a little pink

Pinafore dress and pink tights

And far too many

Cooing aunties with blood splatter cheeks -

The uncles weren’t expected to coo

(Even back then) because

Cooing was a girl’s

Thing



So after time the boy was two

Fine blonde hair with more ribbon than pigtail

And his very first

Barbie doll (he called it Barney)

And not enough

Time allowed to play with

His older brother’s toy cars because

“Doesn’t Barbie want some attention, darling?

Cars are only for your

Brother.”



In a bit the boy was three

Tufty yellow hair like grass

And his first

Ever day at the nursery at the top of the hill

They read a book about

Pinocchio and the boy

Went home and asked his

Mother whether he would get  

to be a real boy

Too?



It wasn’t long and the boy was four

Curly hair like thin blonde string

Youngest in reception class

Even back then he

Didn’t want to

Wear a skirt

(the girls wore skirts)

When all the boys were

Wearing ironed straight grey

trousers



All too soon the boy was five

His hair was long: his father wanted him

To grow it out like Rapunzel because

That’s how he had to look if he expected to marry a prince

But the boy didn’t

Want to marry a prince because

He wanted to be a prince

Even back then and

Princes never married other

Princes



In a while the boy was six

His mother had told him not to be so silly

When he’d asked to cut his hair

Because it was absurd to think of a

Girl with short hair

Or a boy with long hair

Even back then

Especially back then

When the world was even younger and even more

Judgemental



By his next birthday the boy was seven

He’d cut off his hair

With the classroom safety scissors

His mother cried and in class

They played a game with Venn diagrams

Where all the boys went in one circle and

The girls sat in another but

The boy went in the boys’ circle

And his teacher told him to stay behind after class and she’d explain Venn diagrams

Again



Soon enough the boy was eight

And he was outcast and called weird not because of his funny haircut

But because the other children

Couldn’t see him for him

And let their sight be clouded

By the body the boy was caged in

And when the boy rattled at the bars

They laughed and jeered

Like he was the prime exhibit in the zoo they went to on

School trips.



It took time, but the boy was nine

His father was trying to convince him to grow his hair again

But he didn’t want to

He didn’t want anything but

To be allowed to be himself

But even though uniqueness and

Individuality was promoted

In his School Assemblies he knew

No one like him and that meant he was

Strange



The boy blew out ten candles

Wearing a party hat on his head

But no one came to his party because

No one wanted to be his friend

Except for Sarah and she was

Even more outcast than him because

She played kissy-tag with other girls

And even the outcast look down on the more outcast

Than them so Sarah hadn’t been invited to his

Party


The clock ticked and the boy was eleven

He’d dyed his hair a lighter shade of blonde

To disguise the black poison gas that

Shrouded his happiness like a soul-******* coffee machine

His parents were worried

Because hhadn’t grown out of it

And it wasn’t just

One of those things and the other

Children noticed and they

Jeered



The boy turned twelve but he didn’t want to

He ran his hands through his cauliflower hair

And he wanted to die rather than

Have to lie about who he really was inside when no one would accept him

And when he ran the blade across his wrists

He felt more bitter relief than anything

As the pain washed away with the

Rushing red river of blood and shame and he didn’t listen to bullies anymore

Because he wasn’t just dead inside he was

Dead
(I'm not trans myself, so I'm deeply sorry if this offends anyone. If it  does offend you, please don't hesitate to tell me and I will take it down.)
I'm a passerby
     On this road of life
    Sleeping all day
        Zombie by night
  No purpose
      No reason
           No rhyme
   In this winter season
       The only thing
     I want to find
          Is a quiet
  Lonely place
To slowly waste away
        and
             **die
For a moment in time
we heard the same song

Magic and music
dancing in the air

For one magical moment
we shared a beautiful song
2/2/2014
You wish
You were broken so
You could be fixed. But sadly
You are enough.
You are so enough and strong and beautiful and
You shouldn't feel so bad about yourself.
 Feb 2015 Parsavagely Kompenere
a
feverish, fervent
frantically observant
forever more
a lot of things at once, and the sixth letter of the alphabet
 Feb 2015 Parsavagely Kompenere
a
it's strange. Stranger than stranger,
a feeling of the coldest of ice shrouding your
body and the most intense warmth enveloping
it and you don't really know how
to react
because

*this is it
/
I wanted you to know,
how much you love me
you told me that
division by zero,
and that I have never done
/
@Musfiq us shaleheen
A Love Haiku
Next page