I Am

I sit down to write.
For you.
I really want to. I want my words to flow like they used to.
Every second day I wake up with thoughts. With stories. With words I wish would
build into fantasies.

And then I stare at a blank screen.
It is tough to express nowadays.
As it’s tough to understand who I was and who I am.
I believe I haven’t reached my mid life and yet I seem to have lived multiple lives.
Multiple personalities.
A present now of unrecognizable identity.
And so I begin my schizo-analytic essay.

I am beyond an expression.
I have fears that distorts my mind when climbing down stairs.
I have a mind to calm down from the wilderness lived previously.
It’s a process I tell myself and then I smile a wicked thought.
I stare down my balcony and have a vision of falling off.
An anxious moment where im unable to decipher the difference in reality and
imagination.
I don’t want to be this. And I want to tell you all about me.

Im shy. I used to be.
My world was an empty bath tub. A book. A mind.
A mind filled with my own words. Looking to find meanings.
Looking to find someone to express to.
Looking to let go.
Waiting on walls to talk back.
And then I wrote. I wrote down all that was screaming inside.
I wrote so I wouldn’t die inside.

And that’s when it all started.
Duality.
One seeking answers.
The Other answering questions.
The Other forming an identity.
For me.

Staring outside. Stuck indoors.
That was the feeling of constant rain in my head.
The words pouring out on pages and pages of muck.

It wasn’t evil.
It was just self-exploration.
But going all wrong.
Still feeling trapped.

I would walk around and smile to people.
Unsure of the “why”.
Wasn’t it them? My mind would ask.
Them strapping me down.
Controlling me.
Expecting their reality from me.
Without answering my raging mind.

I reread my thoughts.
They seemed redundant.
Directionless.

I had to get out.
It wasn’t an escape.
I just needed my answers.

I filled my tub with mud.
I drizzled it with some water.
I left my world with petrichor.
And the rain continued.
Followed me into my new venture.

This time I ran.
The Other had more company.
Questions multiplied.
But so did responsibility.

I was seeking a new world.
This time it was slightly evil.
Toxin.

I walked around with just a dark angry cloud.
I wouldn’t let it pour.
I was letting the ship sink.
Sink in deep.

I was wild.
Letting the world of spirits take over The Other.
But I was still looking outside. Trapped inside.

For a while I stopped seeking.
The clouds got heavier.
But I wouldn’t let it pour.

I was losing control.
I was risking myself.
And then it started.
Sleepless nights.
Overcome with toxin.
The walls talking back.
They really did
Constant conversations.

And then the ocean.
The sounds of the waves would block all the noise in my head.
They had their tune.
A tune I could groove to.
I would be the Pied Piper.
I controlled the waves.
I had a connect.

Each time the wave broke out at my feet. I felt calm.

And then it all got distorted again.
My mind couldn’t understand the irony of the stillness in the air and the rush of the
waves. All in one moment.
The sound remained.
Like white noise.

Soon it was unbearable.
The cloud was the darkest ever.
The Other finding no answers.

I had to let it pour.

This time I ran faster.
And further away.
The Other seeking a way to let it out.

I started to reflect.
From all that I had been running from.
I didn’t understand it at all.
I didn’t know what I was supposed to look for.
What to express.
I just knew I couldn’t feel trapped anymore.

And then I found you.
I still don’t understand reality.
My Other is still seeking answers.
I am not tame. And can never be.

But this is me.
I am true.
I am not who everyone sees.
I have so many scars.
Scars that make me smile.
Scars that make me sad.
But I have learnt to express.

And so I write to you.
Of who I have been.
Wanting to thank you for accepting me.

This new world is ours.
It has it’s cracks.
Unanswered questions.
Fears and fights.
But Our world.
Is beautiful.
And it is in sync.

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I Am

Two to Three Times Dead

Black coffee and nicotine, I surrender.

Hopeless situations,

I thought i missed it all.

Blessed by delusion, I faked my life through.

 

I woke to the white skies.

Bitter sweet were his lips.

I kissed his forehead.

I was ready.

I could deal with all of this.

 

I started to count again.

It had to be the final one.

Backed by delusion,

I faked it all over again.

 

I missed the last cry.

I missed the last call for lust.

Desperate run,

But the night was yet to come.

 

I’ve lost count.

Forever desired moments pulled along.

I forgive in memory,

Recall of blame in reality.

 

How can i keep going.

There has to be an end.

I cant actually be me,

And two to three times dead.

Two to Three Times Dead

Petrichor

My scars are reminiscent of the childhood I’ve had.

Bright outdoors.

Running around the blocks.

Cycling with friends.

Hide n Seek and Hopscotch.

 

I fell. I cried. I bruised.

 

With the onset of rain I also experienced the indoors.

Feeling trapped. Feeling small. Dark clouds gathering the gloom.

 

Restlessness.

 

One of those days of unease, the smell in the air slowly engulfed me.

I picked up a notebook.

And began to write.

 

It was synchronous.

And it almost made me cheerful.

 

Effortlessly it became a routine.

I would wait in anticipation of the rain.

But more than watching the drops and listening to the pitter-patter,

It was the petrichor.

 

It brought a smile.

It brought words.

It brought stories.

Transforming my dark world of confinement into a glorious world of actuality.

 

It was never about pixies and princes.

Or an Enid Blyton inspired tale.

 

It was about the present that I wished to see.

It was a story about the moment I was living.

It was now.

 

And I lived it.

I believed in my words.

I lived those narratives.

 

So much so, that sometimes it is hard for me to reflect back on what was real.

 

It is not another world for me.

This is me in my truest self.

Never holding back.

Unbound.

 

So I choose to write.

Not to escape.

But to live in a reality, which is veracious to me.

 

And I wait anxiously for the rains.

For the love of petrichor.

Petrichor