Fragile thoughts …

In a corner curled up pulling my legs up to my chest … Trying to put myself together. In a breakpoint I am … Helpless and cold. My heart is squeezing my tears out and my chest is full of silent screams to not wake anyone up or because of my sore throat.

I have the urge to change my body, change my identity, change my country, the people and start all over again. I crave a white background so badly instead of this mess which I hate being in. I’m confused and fearful of things that are considered to be shameful.

Suffocated with fire burning inside I think … Will I be alone forever? Will this suffering ever end? I feel ignorant, frustrated and angry. I cover my mirrors, I avoid the truth. I am surrounded by ignorant people who pull me down instead of up. Even if I was blessed to have wings, where would I go to? To whom? Nowhere, nobody.

I fear the light because I was taught that it is wrong. I stay in the darkness because it is all that I’m used to know. What is it like to love yourself and accept it? Will I ever know? I have trophies, certificates but they make me feel bitter not better. I feel less in ever way.

I feel hate and apathy raising in me and growing like death flowers or evil children. Nothing means anything and nothing makes sense. I can’t I won’t …. Will I? I want to live but I am blind … How can I break free? Will I ever? … I can’t sleep and I don’t know how to go out.

I don’t have any value in my life because I live in a tomb. I never had Yeses in my childhood. It was always No, don’t, slaps, wrong, sit still, study, obey. I grew up in the shadows as expected and said No to all of the chances because failure was no option.

Why won’t you let me be me? Why am I wrong in every way? Why am I me? Why can’t I be let free? Why can’t I escape? Why am I here? Why can’t I choose? Why must I live? Why are these people contradicted? Why am I not worthy to be loved? Will I ever find the solution? Will I ever be lucky to take the journey? …

Maybe it is salivation in the way to numb my stings with a small tickle on my wrists or a gentle rope on my neck and a simple snap. Maybe I can walk it off with a run to the cliff and a jump that will be my first and last attempt to feel alive. I am in a grave anyway and this time food, sleep or redecorating won’t fix it.

“Where am I going? Where have I been?” Always gets to me …
I’m going to bed and I hope that I don’t wake up tomorrow because I have nothing waiting for me … I hope that I go to heaven in the end for going through hell once is enough.

I’m not sorry for everyone whom I have ever disappointed because I know that I can’t live up to your high standards. What doesn’t kill you doesn’t make you stronger and life doesn’t smile back. My lack of things is because of my leak and it is a scar that I have to live with. For all of you who want something from me, I don’t have it.

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A torn diary of a dead man

I refuse to hear the sounds of misery so I place my fingers in my ears … My eyes, however, how can I close them when they are the lucid witnesses of these crimes? They saw the unfair wrists pulling down the mistreated necks and the empty mouths are talking instead of speaking up.

Ropes are hanging down from our dead trees and dead men are sat on fire by the dancing red heads for their hands have only stolen their rights. You see, the scale is off balance and no one wants to give the law a call.

When the sinners are trying to make juice out of the wine our sky refuses to give us life. Now, is it fair when the pearls sleep in peace in their shells and our army of orphans are making sand castles? Am I misguided for holding my book of poetry in hope instead of the book of religion?

Don’t you bother … My ears are closed. You can only answer me when your mouth is empty but you can taste the salt in that orphan’s tears, your neck is being dragged in humiliation but you can look up to the sky that looks down on you, when you see humans burning but have no water to save them and when you can see through eyes like mine.