Emotional Delay

My emotions are in limbo as of late. So many things to do and yet I cannot find the strength to tackle the decisions I so desperately need to make. I am not stuck, nor lost in that sense most people would expect. My heart’s just frozen, my mind too numb to get out of bed. Though physically I do, but mentally I lack the vim I always used to have. It disappeared last year somehow, evaporated nearly towards the end. It will be back, of that I’m sure but until then I’m struggling with the remnants of my hope. It is still there, deeply nestled in my soul, interwoven though with doubts and fears. One no too many, fake smiles and loss – 2017 has left me scarred, mistrusting now, my courage tossed. It’s changed me for the better and the worse. The time is overripe to call that chapter closed.

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Memories of Me

I long to feel your breath brushing against my neck as I hold you in your sleep. Your scent tickling my soul to stay awake, my heart long lost to you, your rhythm, your beat. Unable to breathe I lie here in the dark, my eyes closed to the soft touch of your breasts pressed against my own, my chest heavy because I know you are not really here. You never were. And yet, your smile’s imprinted on my mind like an old photograph preserving your beauty in black and white. Your voice follows me like a long lost tune reviving memories of a life that wasn’t meant to be. The loss of it killing me bit by bit because I’m unable to let go. You, the reminder of the life I once envisioned as a dream, a reminder of everything that once let me breathe.

A Letter to my Future Daughter, Part II

The hardest lesson of them all is to understand that most people do not wish to to help you when just a phone call would be sufficient to lift your chances. Phrases of support voiced without intent are nothing but an empty promise, leaving you dangling in the air of false hope and ultimate despair. Do not walk into that trap and let it cage your dreams. Stand tall no matter what. Leave the fake cheerleaders behind with a smile, wish them well but move on to find a better life – one that suits you and no one else. And when you make it, do not forget to reach out and offer that helping hand no one was willing to give you. It’s not a handout helping other people find their success, it’s not a weakness either. It is a gesture of humility to aid those who have the talents you miss and often wish you had but don’t have the means to live them out or nourish them. Be kind where you felt in your past kindness lacked, then give your heart a chance to heal. You are never too old to start anew, don’t allow the world to tell you that. Don’t ever feel too broken either, too crushed by rejection or failure to contribute what you have learned. Someone will appreciate your journey even if you feel you can’t because trust me, someone out there feels as lonely as you often do and needs your strength. After all, a soul with scars – more than anything – is beautiful and full of depth.

Taking a Breath

Sometimes loving yourself requires all the strength you have left, but it is always worth it because no one else can ever fill that void you’ve created through harsh criticism and self-hatred. As long as you fear being yourself and hide your scars, you will never allow your heart to dance and take the chance of living rather than existing in the shadows of your dreams and the left-over glory of everyone you put above yourself.

At the Risk of Being Me

On my lowest of days when darkness surrounds my heart and fills it with rage I wonder what I ever saw in you. When my anger results in tears, my frustration born out of arrogance and pride, I also realize how much I owe you though – a new beginning, a lesson, a spark coz for the first time in my life I truly fell in love. And that’s the gift I’ll always remember you for, although I really need to let you go and outgrow those feelings that once made me whole. You don’t want them, that is more than clear, so I have to be strong and let go of my fear of being unlovable, prickly or wrong. Bottom line: I need to move on.

Missing Pieces

And just as I understood that I have never known who you really are
that loving you has made no sense
that I fell for an image of who I wanted you to be
an idea rather than a person
a simple sentence made me crumble
reminding me that my heart has had its say in this and not my mind
and that it misses you

A Letter to My Future Daughter

Don’t hide behind a hashtag. Be the change you want to see. Support your fellow women. Believe them when they tell you a man you know has molested them. Don’t belittle them in response. Don’t tell them that’s just how it is. Don’t be a silent victim, speak up if you have been harassed. Teach your children to have self-respect and voices of their own. Raise your sons to be feminists and your daughters to be respectful to them in return. Don’t expect women to be better than men. We are not. We are just as flawed. Don’t call yourself goddess or a queen. We are all humans. Just imagine if men called themselves gods and kings. Don’t call other women bitches just because they disagree with you. Don’t sell yourself short for a relationship. Don’t objectify other women or reduce them to their looks. As an artist, create the content that you miss. Write female leads without abuse. Don’t tell their stories in relation to a man but let them be strong for themselves. Don’t support violence. Don’t promote, condone or further it on stage or screen. Don’t be a part of what in real life you oppose. Take responsibility for your actions. Simply practice what you preach.

Sunday Stroll

20°, the sun unusually strong for a day in mid October. A woman leans against a tree, her feet bare on the grass still luscious green. Her bike right next to her, her head buried in a book – she makes me pause. A group of seniors playing cards on a stump. Fallen trees all around them like wooden corpses as the last remnants of a storm so heavy it knocked out an entire city for a day. Unusual for us. I look at them, the splinters, bark and branches. They make me sad. All those golden crowns depleted on the ground, the random specks of red like drops of blood. My park was wounded badly, I can see that now. And every tree that lost its grip with roots too weak to withstand a tempest on muddy ground slows my steps and makes my heart cry out. How vile that force of nature, a tantrum really, sudden, crass. Such a reflection of my year or less self-centered: the world at large. That’s why the woman sitting by the tree caught my attention. Engulfed still by her story, she oozes calm.

Monday

Missing you has lifted my spirits in a strange way today. I don’t know how, nor why but feeling my gut knotting up over longing for your voice, the sight of you, your touch, has helped me breathe through turmoil and frustration. My aching heart too preoccupied to care about things that do not matter, about developments that normally would blow my mind. But you keep me calm, my love, in the eye of any storm. Not having you a whirlwind of emotions that outdoes any other I have faced before. No pain left, just sweetened sorrow and the gratitude for knowing love, not just desire. Love, not plain but simple. Each thought of you a happy one, putting the puzzle of my self together, improving me. No fear left, no doubts there, none.