AmarachiAkubuiro

I am a color palette.

Pink, blue, red, yellow—

name any color you can think of.

The joy the artist feels when she paints with my colors,

refills my palette when almost empty.

I was a color palette.

My artist doesn't feel anymore.

It's either black or white.

Now I'm back to being just her mind.

I don't remember what art feels like,

Her alluring presence, her demeanor.

Her beauty is like no other.

Not so pretty, but captivating.

One would wonder why they're attracted.

She draws out your force if you look for too long.

Her youth is built on the agony of others.

You look too long,

you become trapped.

But how can one look away?

She'll have her sister, Sadness,

pin you down,

leaving you too weak to fight your way out.

Then, slowly,

she will consume your essence.

SHE IS DESPAIR.

Introducing..... MIND WEB 🤭🤭

"I'm no glue. I might even be a pair of scissors. I can't also promise not to cut you." He counts his words as his eyes pierce through mine.

"But you won't tear me even further, right...?" My mouth moved on its own even though everything in me screamed danger. My mind didn't. Danger was home.

"Right?" I repeated.

"I'd make you a pair of scissors too," he paused for a while, "that I can promise."

Trapped

She's in the room

It's dark as usual

What's unusual is the broken CD on the floor—her favorite music.

"I would have been upset it this broke few months ago" she sighed throwing the pieces into the trash can.

She picks up her phone after not holding it for the past 24 hours.

Her face widened with surprise.

Missed call. Who would call her.

Who would remember.

She felt noticably relieved when she saw it was just a spam.

What was she hiding from?

Why did she cut off her connection?

She moved to the wardrobe.

A shattered picture hung on the wall—a part of her.

Smiling, colourful, happy, full of life.

She left that little girl trapped in that photo 9 years ago.

The man beside the girl in the photo looks trapped alongside her.

As though life trapped him.

Stopped by time.

The little girl, not so much.

She looked so much like the man.

Same flesh and blood.

One is now dust, the other trapped.

Trapped by choice.

Beside is another photo.

This time the little girl is holding a woman's finger.

They both look empty.

The little girl looks like the girl in the room and also bears resemblance with the woman.

The little girl is still the little girl in the previous photo.

A room filled with nothing but broken things and darkness.

The girl should be a thing too.

I think she left something—something very important, in one of those photos.

I just realized.....the room has no door.

How and why am I even here?

Easy to say,‎ but hard to do‎

when you don’t know

‎who you are.‎

People are running,

some are screaming.

Gunshots cloud,

my sense of reasoning.

A woman crying,

her child is dead.

Even the robbers,

turn on themselves.

My mind is a robber,

my heart is another,

‎There's so much noise

‎In my heart.

‎It's trying to break free,

‎But I hold it still.

‎If I let it flee,

‎would it kill

‎the whole world?

Heyy,

If you've been visiting my inner world,

you may think it's all black and white.

But I've got a room,

a hall…

Filled with colours,

colourful flowers,

colourful paintings,

butterflies here and there.

But the room only opens

‎I once read a post

‎that said, "get out of your head.

‎But how can I leave

‎when 'she' has me caged?

‎Even if I break free,

‎she glued a leash

‎to my neck.

‎She's a busy highway,

‎so even if I try to run

‎without calming her first,

‎one of the trucks

‎would crush my spine.

‎Only my friend,

‎the one that dances

‎with the moon and stars,

‎knows how to calm her down.

‎But he doesn't last,

‎so once sun comes up,

‎I'm back in again.

‎Am I a puppet of my mind,

‎Or is she my puppet?

‎

‎Does she make me think these things,

‎Or do I feed her what to think?

‎

‎All these things she says to me...

‎All these things she shows me...

‎

‎Are you saying I have little to no power

‎to make her stay quiet?

‎‎Why can't I control her

‎if she's really mine?

@amychuks

I think I've bottled up a lot,

that my heart now burns for no reason.

I've put up with a lot,

that I now cry,

even when nothing hurts.

I don't know what this feeling is,

but could it be triggered by the things I've locked up...?

I want to scream at the night,

because she understands.

I want to yell at my mind,

because she opposes me.

But if I do these,

I'm just going to be

another one yet to roam the road.

Aren't I...?

The stars stay with the night through dark times.

Would you be my star...?

I had an amazing conversation —

not with the night,

not with my mind,

but with a stranger.

It’s never been so quiet,

so quiet up there.

My usually chatting mind

spoke not,

just so she could listen

to the stranger.

I told him things —

not things my mind wanted me to say,

but things I wanted to say.

@Amarachi Akubuiro

I slept in my room,

and when I woke up,

I was in a dark space

filled with doors and nothingness.

I opened one door —

happy memories came flooding in.

At that moment,

I knew the dark space

was my mind.

I wanted to open another.

A voice — desperate — said not to.

It begged me not to.

I still did.

In that room were memories,

memories I didn’t remember.

They were sad,

like I forced myself to forget them.

And now, I did it.

I opened the forbidden.

Since I opened this door,

I can no longer leave,

get out of this dark space.

Now I’m stuck,

aimlessly wandering around,

replaying and replaying the videos,

the movies kept behind that door.

It’s like I’m in a never-ending loop.

@AmarachiAkubuiro

My mind is alive.

My mind is her own person.

We do not coexist or correlate.

I feed her optimism, and she throws up pessimism.

She has a workspace

Where she paints white black.

@AmyChuks