Everybody has a special place in their home,
that is really close to their heart.
Something that comforts
That makes home, feel like home.
Something that makes their heart pound against their ribs
Me? I have a place like that.
An empty corner.
I kept no furniture there.
It had far too many memories to be covered by a furniture.
No, it was not a corner where my father marked the walls with my height as I grew up.
It wasn’t where I saw my grandma knitting sweaters for winter.
No, it wasn’t where I decorated my dollhouse.
That corner was a place where I fit in like a piece of a puzzle
That corner was an altar that heard my honest prayers.
A tabernacle where I kept my weakest me.
Sometimes curled up, sometimes holding my head between my bent knees.
A place that I was one with in body, one with in emptiness, one with in silence.
The corner was one I trusted.
It took many missed hits,
of the bat, of the belt, of the fist.
It was where crawled up like a fetus
and prayed to travel back to my mothers womb.
And now, I still keep it empty,
just in case, there’s another hand, another bat, another belt.
Just in case.
I took to the wall,
Sat there, staring at the cracks,
Pretending there was a 3 by 3 window on it.
I had stopped looking out.
A quarter of me filled with pain, another with regret, other with a beautiful picture of me that I hung on my face for people and the remainder, your memories in my arms.
All these days gone by and the only thing that remained was me rocking in this chair.
I held a few hands, left a few.
Kissed few lips and spat out few.
You had poisoned me in ways I could see on my skin. Almost like the green of my veins looked black.
I was fragile in ways I never was,
The sun hurt, the snow froze me and almost everything was metaphor of the pain you left in me. Trying hard to Personify itself in being me.
I didn’t have doors anymore you see,
I knocked them down and the wall I built there looks like your back from the day you left.
I heard a knock, a heartbeat, both familiar ones.
I peered through the cracks only to find you drenched in my pain.
Shivering at the aftermath of you.
You call out, you ask me if I ever thought of you.
Ever thought of you?
I thought of you in ways I forgot I was thinking, so unconsciously while everything else was what I really had to put my thought into.
Like the blinking of my eyes, or beating of my heart; I thought of you.
If I ever unsew my lips, it will not be to let you know this, all of this that you’ve made me.
I dig my nails in the wall, with a screeching sound I make my wounds bleed again.
Just so you see, it was only pain you left behind
And I made peace of it.
After all this I sit there rocking in my chair, syncing with every tick of the clock making peace with my remnants one second at a time.
All my life I felt like the ocean,
Until I realized that my tides were just jolts of a bottle,
Placed neatly on the mantle of a curious child,
Rocking it playfully, he created ripples of my existence.
Maybe that’s how it is,
the world to one, a toy to another.
His kisses were like falling pearls
That never the hit ground,
They never made a sound,
They just trickled down to all the places I wouldn’t tell the world about.
Stacked on my spine.
In a neat row,
One tug of his fingers,
Like on the string of a guitar,
Like the breaking of pearls tightly strung together,
I’d make music,
And I knew I’d scatter into his arms,
His favorite jewel, his favorite scent, his favorite woman,
And a broken metaphor of all his desires.
I stand on an edge,
The edge where the valleys call out,
Heard of falling in love?
Yes, just that.
They call out assuring that they’ll hold me,
Assuring that it wasn’t really falling, it was a rising.
The plateau I stand on
Clutching its grip at my feet,
With every thought of jumping,
It gets tighter.
Trying to tell that maybe,
That’s how I got there in the first place
Jumping at every valley that opened up its arms.
And now I’m too afraid at a new promise this deep stretched pit makes.
Maybe, just maybe I’m done with falling.
Maybe, it was more about the fly, than hitting the rock bottom that lured me to jump.
I stretch my arms for the last fall, last fly.
Only to realise that maybe it is always about the journey and not the destination that makes you move from the place you are to the place you could be.
Shaky fingers with a cigarette in them,
ring finger adored with a gem,
black nail polish that traps the night.
blurry eyes with no will to fight.
There’s only glitter out,
shoes, dress and on lips that pout.
I saw him there,
blurred outline, a human nightmare
He scoops what is left of me,
with bent fingers,
he manages to get the little of me,
scraping around the corners,
with stunned eyes he stared at me,
“What is in here for me to be?”
I saw him walk away,
as he found an empty stay,
“who would want to live there,
with nothing everywhere?”
I saw his fingers shine,
for he scraped out what was left of mine,
like dust his fingernails carried my stars,
just like that is how my universe was left ajar.