Wall to wall

An open playground for the both of us to enjoy,

And I invite you over to hang about on the front porch,

I go in and out the house, leaving the door open – sometimes.

I drag you in to the living room as you check the photos in the frames.

And maybe we tiptoe up the stairs, or maybe I race you to my room,

And thats where the walls I built stand so tall.

And I stand, at the gate of my walls, looking at you, confused why you’re here.

I don’t let you in, but I don’t close the door on you either.

I just stand there, desperate for me to feel, desperate for these walls to shake a little.

I look at you, as you cross the corridor to a room I haven’t seen before,

With a wall that looks different than mine, yet so similar.

And we realise, we’re both afraid of love, the dark, hope and our desires.

The long awaited encounter

I tried to absorb all of him with my eyes,

From the wrinkles that formed, as he smiled,

The way his body moved as he talked.

Even my ears tried to memorise the pitch of his voice as he laughed.

I found my senses thirsting for more.

And although I cannot taste his lips again,

My right hand touched his back,

But no scent was noted except for my cigarette.

Shadows of your sins do not appear in the dark.

For a while, I lived in the dark.

He came, and I only knew how to threw punches to the air.

He came and wrapped me with his love,

His smile was enough to light up my way.

He extended his own light to open up a path for me.

Just as it started to become so bright,

I look behind me to convey my gratitude,

To see him sit there, drained, bruised, with half a smile.

His smile was enough to light up my way, but I realise

Why he couldn’t use that anymore; why he had to use another source of light.

In the dark, I couldn’t see where I was punching.

In the dark, I thought it was only air.

And he was the air that I was breathing- Oh.

Always give them the benefit of the doubt…

I look into our past conversations,

And I feel like suffocating.

I wish I knew before, that the worst enemy

You can ever encounter

Is yourself. Your mind. Your eyes.

You play tricks on yourself.

And others get blamed for your blindness or your own manipulation to yourself.

And everyone suffers.

You tell yourself a story to justify your rage,

Your hurt, your feelings of betrayal,

When barely anything of that story is true.

The facts have been twisted for your own liking.

I look into our past conversations,

And I find my side of the story of how things went between us invalid and unclear.

Stop whispering

Ah Demon,

Leave my desires alone.

Let them run wild, without being touched

Without being thought of

Without calling out to them.

Don’t name them.

Don’t give then any identity

Just let them go and play around in my mind

With no red strings attached

To you.

Just keep me unaware of what they are,

Maybe I won’t long for you

For a change.

Even I ask why.

They ask why is it difficult to love you,

I tell them that I do.

They ask me why can’t I make it work,

I tell them because I can never compromise with you.

They ask why continue to be selfish, and why can’t I step down for a change,

I tell them, because that is who I am with you.

They ask why do I bother looking your way, if I won’t make it work,

I tell them, because I selfishly love you my own way, even if in an unconventional way,

Even if it costs you to hate me.

May I?

May I continue to be confused about you from afar?

May I want you thinking you don’t want me anymore?

May we continue pretending that everything we went through didn’t affect Us even though it did?

May you look at me with those kind eyes, that make me think for a second you might still long for me?

May I be that selfish person again around you, because I miss being spoilt by you?

May you ignore me and my selfish desires and be rid of confusion.

Still unending.

I realize,

The more I talk about him with an unregrettable way,

The more I heal from the inside,

The better I breathe oxygen, rather than breathing sadness.

The memories, feel like highlighted parts of my dusted books.

All that is left, is for me to reach the last page,

And it’s been five years, and I still can’t make myself read the end of this story.