Locked.

Would it be okay if I wasn’t me?

Maybe, the odds wouldn’t be against me and I’d have things go more smoothly.

Do you think that maybe not being me would be good?

Not being headstrong and determined, despite the walls I keep hitting.

Is this situation beyond me? Does it not matter as much as I believe it should? Is this what they call toxic hero complex? Should I just tag out?

I don’t know how to just “drop” something that I care about when I believe it matters.

This is a question that I’ve waged through to make it as possible.

And here we are, having to halt and possibly drop because we don’t have the facility?

Who am I amidst all of this? I could lose for trying.

Fever Dream.

Evolving… are you involving?

I’ll give you my time, my feels and my feet.

I’ll spend my time, my demands and my needs.

Wash these torture off my fingers, my neck and my lips.

Cut out the noise, the blare and the tips.

It’s raining colours tonight.

Will you join me tonight?

Five Things My Mama Doesn’t Know.

My mama doesn’t know…


My mama doesn’t know that the only person who relieves my soul is baba.

Somewhere it’s written that the person who I should love the most on the planet is my mama. Some days, I hear my mama’s lullaby when I try hard to think about it. But I also hear my dad’s encouraging words slipping in in time’s of need.


My mama doesn’t know that I fell in love with a man.

I never knew I could, or would. I never believed a man would fall in love with me, but here he is.

I could never tell my mama that I call and text a man she’s never met more than I do her. I fear she may believe I love him more than my own blood.


My mama doesn’t know that I think about some people expiring.

I’m a hardworking medical student with a broken mind. At the hospital, I see people as cases so that I don’t overwork my already overthinking mind. But when I come home, I don’t want to be a medical student, I just want to be a regular person. She doesn’t understand that the reason why I do not like to interact with my chronically-ill cousin and her chronically-ill aunt is because I can’t fit them into my “healthy space” of living.

When they get minorly sick, my brain shuts off and I’m trapped in my mind imagining ways they’ll expire suddenly.


My mama doesn’t know that I’ll forever be broken.

I’m on lifetime antidepressents prescription… For now.


My mama doesn’t know that I’m still learning to love her.

There’s a fear of her that she unintentionally installed into me. I decided only a while ago that I wanted to let it go. But it’ll take time.

Fraud.

Truth to be told, I only typed to help my fingers escape the temptation to pick up something lethal, and in doing so I spilled stories of things that never happened in this alternative reality.

I claimed to be a writer, a storyteller, a content writer, a poet… But was I really?

Did I really qualify for these job descriptions? Did I really try to make money out of my pain? Did I really tell my therapist that I could transform a coping mechanism of stress into a leisure activity? Could I really write without the pain? Was there really any worth in my words to be work?

The black dog beside me is snickering at me. The black dog said that I’m not happy, perky or even skilled to fit the requirements for these jobs.

My fingers carried words when my voice couldn’t. When my voice shouldn’t. These words revealed the agony in the form of someone else’s perspective. Because it couldn’t possibly have happened to me, shouldn’t. But here I am, and here are these broken protagonists. They won’t wear my face, so no one can identify who they belonged to in the real world. Just these terrified, traumatized, suffocated, suicidal girls that hold on long enough to exist in a sentence. Until the next episode.

I get into the swing of tossing the pain in a direction away from me in this way.

What will make me a writer without the threat of insanity in the balance?

Buzzing.

My mind is buzzing.

Just constantly buzzing.

I don’t even remember what I did today, did I even live today?

Where did the time go, where was my mind when time was unfolding.

Supposedly hiding in the folds of time… I can’t remember…

My mind is buzzing.

Constantly stimulated by the blaring of sunlight.

Such fricking bright sunlight frying my retinas to blindness.

I don’t even remember what I look like.

What happened to me today? Where did the time go?

I was standing in the bathroom, sitting in the classroom, talked to someone or people, now I’m in the shower and next I may wake up.

And only remember what had happened five frames later.

My mind is buzzing.

When will I be able to get a word in to God?

When will I be able to hear my own thoughts?

When will the buzzing stop?

The World Is On Fire.

Where do we run away to when the world is on fire?
The world isn’t on fire, honey, your mind is.
The world is going up in flames.
Your emotions are going to hail and rain.
Every single day is a different kind of pain.
So snap out of that thought train.
And try to hold it together for another day.

Where do we run away to when the world is on fire?

And how is it that where I want to run away to is where I’m running from?

The Waltz of The First Encounter.

Say we didn’t know each other
Say we didn’t know each other
Until I met you
Because I wanted to

Say we couldn’t have known each other
Say we didn’t know each other
Until I chose to
To come and talk to you

And I see no point in being afraid to talk to another being
And I see no point in hiding behind another being
And I couldn’t be bothered to judge you for being another being
Without getting to know you first

So I approached you like I would approach another being
And I talked to you like I would talk to another being
And I decided to figure out who I was trying to being
When I’m around you

So here we are
Sitting across from each other
Trying to find out who we are
Who we could be to each other
And here we are
Getting to know each other
Finding out what it’s like to know each other

Debt.

I felt their shadow loom over me, and knew that if I did nothing I wouldn’t see daylight come. If I did nothing, they would clutch themselves unto me and rob me of my innocence. Leech off all my colours.

If I did nothing when I could have done something, then the blame isn’t on them but on me.

But if I did something and still lost my values, then I shouldn’t have to feel guilty for being overpowered. Yet I do.

I wasn’t given a choice, and that’s the price I paid. But I must recover from the debt.

Taking The W.

I don’t want to sabotage something that could possibly turn out amazing.

That’s currently the vow I can offer for you.


This all seems surreal, like it couldn’t have happened. But it did, it is happening.

Here I am singing to a boy I really like because a song I heard reminded me of him. But it didn’t actually require a song for me to be reminded of him. I think about him all day, and every night just before our usual timely conversations. I think about how his day has gone, and what I’m about to tell him and how he’ll respond, and whether he truly likes me, and what could it possibly be like to live in his shoes.

How could two people, like us, have ended up together in such a vast world?

I call that a work of God. And faith.

It may not seem physically real, but our souls have found connection despite the massive bodies of sea between us.

And when you’re given something good, after such a long time of asking for it, you be thankful. Accept the gift in any form it may come in because there is no true choice.

Sparks.

In the daytime,
At the right time,
In the that that of we.

The Earth is still
Our lives unreal.
And I don’t know what to believe.

In the night time,
In the wrong mind.
In the blurs of meaning.

Your touch is fire.
Your gun has a desire,
But my blade is demeaning.