Hiding-this-away

The day I met you was the day I began hating windows - for allowing sunlight to touch you in places I want to kiss.

You’ve met me when I was the worst version of myself. But somehow, you made me better every day until today.

You painted your lips with strong red ink to make you look less weak than you really are.   You cut your hair short to look less feminine, to balance it out, and to play pretend you’re tough.    You wore high heels  for them to look up to  you, because you have  always been belittled.  You showed some skin, because you didn’t want them to look at your tired eyes, instead. You walked with your chin up, because you couldn’t dare look at your own scars, any longer.

You kissed me in a dream once, and now all I want to do is sleep.

My tiled bathroom floor has seen more of me than you ever will. My shrinking skin is a proof of how much I want to disappear. I bite my nails until they bleed. There is at least something in my body that’s not a lie. I pinch myself so hard every morning hoping that all this was just a bad dream. So all these blood clots are not from me running into the door in the middle of the night. Pretty girls make me realise how ugly I am asked to be. I can stare at your fish tank for hours. How just like me those little souls live in a world of their own and just like me if you take them out of there, they’ll die. I hate myself more for faking those smiles than for not smiling at right places. If you ever find me curled up in a corner of a room crying my heart out, don’t, just don’t try to come near because it’s a funeral of my another sad demise that you are not invited to. Out of all the lives that I have lived, the one that gave up on me is my favorite. It realised so early that I am not worth investing time in.

Shit things exist. I’ve seen slit wrists and bleeding fists, suicide attempts and depressing events. I’ve been a shoulder to cry on  reminding broken hearts to stay strong. As long as I’m here their life isn’t gone. What is wrong with the world? Tragedy unfolds and leaves our minds frozen and cold. When we’re old what are the stories our kids will be told? The time I bruised my thighs? The horrifying rumours and lies? The time I heard one of my friends wanted to die? I’ve cried and tried to experience life and become brave; I’m like a slave in society because it’s apparently wrong to think I’m allowed to look after “me”. Sometimes you got to think about yourself because a lot of people genuinely care about your health. but also please treat the people in pain, they’re not chained, maybe their motivation has all been drained; but remind them to stay, we want them, because suicide is a permanent solution is a temporary problem. A year from now you can never predict, living is the one thing you should ever commit. You’re all beautiful, you all have hidden skills; know what a bad day feels like and your purpose in life will reveal.

There’ll be days I lose the battle Grace says that it doesn’t matter Cause the cross already won the war