I am not who you think I am.
I am broken.
To you, 'boundary' was just another word,
three syllables and eight letters.

I am more than how I appear.
I have a heart. I have a voice.
A voice suppressed
behind sullen hope
and trickery.

Perhaps that's why I can't look some in the eyes...
For how else does one stitch up tears?
How else does one sift through their existence?
How else does one belong in a wasted morning?

I tried looking for 'real love' – everywhere –
I looked under broken glasses, under pillows and seats, where
'real love' should have been,
but it was not there –

To you, 'love' was merely another word
like 'boundary',
in some foreign language which you
never bothered to learn.

You were too interested in the sights of the country
instead of its language and culture and history.

If only there was
a way to distinguish,

–  a clear way to understand  –

The difference between
'yes' and 'no'
and when to stop.

Between
'want' and 'need'
and when to walk away.

As fleeting morning arises
and I look out at tentative cloud,
I realise that
I may not be who I once was

But I am still here
Living, breathing.

And I will continue to live.
I will continue to breathe.
I am stronger now.
I am. I am.