Outside the therapist’s room
I scooched in a corridor
unable to defend soggy eyes
socketed into an unclothed face
Trying hard
to construct vocabulary
before entering a well-lit room
hopefully filled
by another kind lady
I veil my face with palms
to draw a dark curtain
where I play my emotions
like a poetry
that I can translate
Initial thoughts
are a dilemma
as always,
sequence of questions
around my existence
Am I unicellular
or a grumpy forest
gum dripping out of a tree
or an uprooted weed?
I was not born
many years back
for I believe
that we are never dead
It is a basic folly
to cultivate love
when every word of anger
and plea for amends
is already gasping for air
finding its way
closer to a dustless horizon
I can either understand
where you come from
Or turn a blind eye
to your atrocious ways
when your presence starts hurting
more than the absence
When you hold my fingers
and press the thorns
you can hear my cries
aloud in my eyes
Yet you stiffly lock them
with a mysterious smirk
making it clear
that your presence
comes with a price
I get frightened
by that new person
who continues
to rub the barbed stem
and commands me
to fall for the scent
You compliment how
the color of petals
matches the tint
on my salty cheeks
my forehead becomes cold
when you wipe the sweat
I hold my breath
to stay still
your barbarian smile
sparks fire in my scars
I sneak a peripheral glance
at the dance floor
and wonder
when would the music stop
and when I can let go
off your knot
In my imagination
I run for life
from the grip of one
who used to be
love of my life
It could be that
the roses that wilted
represent our bond
like fallen sepals
your promises kiss the ground
I have known you
like a fallen star
that split into pieces
you were a fragment
of my broken heart
that I wore on my sleeves
One fine day
while searching for water
like a confused storm
you split the ground
under my feet
the wind was my friend
babbling with no moisture
it whispered to me
about your fallacies
Its an irony
that once I knew you
you became a stranger
I was the dust of your storm
you were the ice of your cold heart
Your touch blued my limbs
and stopped my heart
it was neither a coincidence
nor approved by the moon
that I was destined
to die before you
—
This post was previously published on medium.com.
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From The Good Men Project on Medium
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Photo credit: Brett Garwood on Unsplash
