2 days
In 2 days I've learnt to hold my nostrils closed not to cry and to spray the house with floral mist.
Nothing else.
I feel it in my bones I don't belong here.
Amongst the people that speak my own language.
They speak such dirt, in a way that angers me.
Makes me want to sell my language at an auction.
Anger.
My mom told she'll never let me walk the streets of my city alone.
That this ain't no place for me but she still brought me here telling me that there's no place I wouldn't blossom.
Wrong!
It's been two days and I'm already withering.
Waiting for the hot water that's never coming to fill up my bath I'm daydreaming about never being born here.
I'm afraid of speaking in public so I use any other language, making others speak for me, forcing my sister to not blow a word in the language she grew up with.
She doesn't understand and I'm sorry for making her to such thing.
She doesn't realise her sister's a coward who's afraid of her own words.
And mama.
Her accent always gives it away so I hide.
Rotting in between the boxes in my room and whisper strumming my guitar hoping it'll put me to sleep.
This is no home.
No place for me.
But I've learnt to hold my nose and to not cry.
I am no such killjoy to cry at the hope of others.
Such blind hope though, I'd say.
Switching from:
"we'll never have money again"
                       to
"you shouldn't be so cynical about coming back"
It's something I don't understand.
I'm so afraid ill lose this language.
That I frantically write and speak just to ensure myself I'm not losing my mind.
I can't find the right words and I can't seem to be able to speak properly.
I still seem to force a laugh or too ironically I feel like I programed myself to do such a thing.
Calling and talking to people far away but close to my heart just to make them laugh, telling them I'm in pain but laughing right after like it's just a split second of regret that'll go away.
I've gone back to lying.
I've never stopped lying.
**** me.
Stealing signs off the street and acting like a stranger.
That name was always meant for me.
A stranger to the world,
My family
My friends.
A stranger to myself.

Do we love pain?
Do we invite sadness into our lives because happiness can become so mundane.
Is the  existence of struggle embedded into our DNA just so we can feed our narcissistic urge to feel validated for our accomplishments as meaningless as they are because in the end we all die..

Three weeks ago
I didn't know you existed
now you're all I think about,
sitting here in my favorite spot
thinking about the feelings I've caught
realizing what would have happened,
if we never gave this a shot.
We'd continue our lives
moving on day by day
never even having conversations starting with "hey".
But that's how it all starts right?
with one single "hey",
maybe even a "how was your day?".
simple words
easy questions
the beginning to a whole new life lesson,
because living is about the things you experience,
the people you meet
and the words they speak.

What are you feeling?
Overwhelmed
Why is that?
I don’t know.

Of course you know!
There’s a reason for everything.
What’s that reason?
I still don’t know.

Come on think hard, you aren’t stupid,
What is that reason you’re hiding from me?
I. Don’t. Know.

Who is backwards?
Me or them?
Should I know?
Is it ok that I don’t?
I DON’T KNOW!

To reach beyond the stars in a restful headspace,
Only to pull a guise over it when we begin to think again.
We shelter ourselves in our pin point perception of reality, masking the reality as a dream to shroud out all questions that arise out of it.
We cling to this world, for it is all we have ever known. If we let go of what we know for a moment, we begin to see reality for what it is, not how we perceive it to be.

Do they see me?
Do they hear me?

Can you see me?
Can you hear me?

Am I here?
Do I exist?

Those are just some questions that run through my mind,
Everytime they look away, don't respond, don't acknowledge;
I wonder if you know that I'm here,
But you just don't care.

They never do, do they?

Can you hear me?

Sometimes you can erase your life
Easy as tearing up old pages from a diary.

At first it might resist, but it eventually tears
Suddenly you’re free.
Hidden from yourself, once again

Easy as that and thrown away
Discarded into the bin.

You didn’t want anyone to see it.
To see you.

And now they won’t.

Later, you may think about those pages
Scenes from your life now lost
Thrown into the ******* trash
Like they didn’t matter.

You wonder what was on them
Were they really that bad?
Did you need to throw yourself away?
But you’re gone now, only vaguely remembered years past.

Why did you do that?
Why were you so afraid,
Why did you hate you so much
Why were those thick bundles of desperately blacked-out words
So wrong and so easy to throw out?
Taken out on trash day
Never to be seen again.

Maybe it was easy to throw away
But never easy to remember
Or forget.

Maybe it was hard to rip up
To tear your memories from your head
Took all your strength, your force, your everything.
But was it?

Shouldn’t it be harder to throw yourself away?