My sweet sweet girl,
you should know that in this land of tormenting coldness
and mind numbing loneliness
you are my ray of hope.
We all need a source of positivity to draw on
and you are mine.
To laugh out loud for no apparent reason
to get drunk with on a Thursday afternoon
to talk about world politics, boys and the future
you are my partner in crime
the best wing woman
cheerleader
all in one.
Ironic isn't it?
Because I am that to many
and I used to think I was that too.
I guess sometimes even saviours need saving.
I was like you once, many many years ago.
Expecting the best of everything and everyone,
looking at the world through large, bright and sparkly lens of positivity.
I still do.
I still think there's something magical about snow,
stop in my tracks to watch jet paths in the sky,
give the benefit of the doubt to everyone,
and keep searching for Prince Charming.
Only difference is I now identify myself as delusional,
as opposed to optimistic.
The thing is love,
once you find yourself doubled up on the floor,
with every single blood cell infused with *****,
crying out to a God you perhaps no longer believe in,
to just bring you sleep, just this once,
so you can sleep through all this pain and darkness,
there is no turning back.
You can no longer unsee, unhear, undo, unbreak,
change becomes inevitable.
It used to be that if you don't bleed you are not ill,
so no one took us folk seriously when we said it hurts.
So the ******* shrinks drew a list of symptoms,
which did not include big smiles and out going personalities disguising the excruciating burning inside,
so once again no one really believes us when we say it hurts.
Unless we **** ourselves and finally everyone gathers around
with their shocked expressions of disbelief to claim,
'but she looked so happy',
when the first thing we all learnt was how looks could be deceiving.
Everyone looks for love in different places and have different ways of loving.
Specially parents.
You see I thought I broke and hit rock bottom many years ago.
To be honest it wasn't until my mother turned her back on me
that I realized what the definition of broken was.
Parents love their children and God knows mine loves me,
but on nights like this I just want to hear from my mother
that she loves me and believes in me,
but all I remember is the look in her eyes.
It was hatred. It was pure hatred.
Months later after supposedly patching up everything,
that look haunts me,
and breaks me a little bit more every single time.
But I am delusional so I see something profoundly poetic
in my brokenness.
I now truly know what the world holds.
So next time I see someone throwing her head back with a smile little too wide stealing the show,
I'm going to appreciate her effort so much more,
because its not easy to remain delusional.
I hope this world will only bring the very best to you.
I hope you will only know love, acceptance, admiration and success.
As for me,
I hope one day I will be able to stop getting broken,
or in the least get used to the pain.