Nails Bitten Black II

PART II: appreciation of all that belongs.

i weep. 
i weep like a newborn, my senses screaming in exaggeration as i feel so many unsaid words and so much suppressed emotions seeping through my pores like osmosis. I feel.

i feel like the pollen of lavender being lifted by the wind, like the breath of a last chord sinking through the audience. i am overwhelmed and in absolute ecstasy because i have a life of everything i have never dreamt of but always knew i wanted.

my life is passing, and the colours are returning in paler shades of what was once a vibrant burst turned stale, but at least i do not hurt my eyes. i am soft violet. i think of the past and i sigh, in relief and tiredness. 

those days are gone.

those days spent under the dark of my table, 
they are gone.

those days.
those days locked in the bathroom listening to my divorced parents shout their realisations that no one but the person on the phone telling me i am unworthy and no, he is not bothered to make me feel better about myself is to blame for my waning mental health.
they are gone.

those days walking into oncoming traffic because that danger was better than the danger i faced when all their heads were turned except his, those days finding new wounds upon old inflicting from a failed attempt to reassure i love a boy who did not love me back,
they are gone.

those days contemplating hard on how this life held nothing but hurt for me, those days of my mother hiding sharp objects from me and my frustration because i couldn't even spread butter on bread, because she wouldn't let me hold a knife,
they are gone.

those days running under the rain, running away from myself, those days are gone and i find myself running towards. running towards a life i am learning to embrace, towards a soul who would come to save my life, eventually.

now he is here, whole and caressing to my wounded mind. he offers a soul who comprehends these intricacies, he offers the gentle touch of a man who, too, has learnt from pain, healed his own scars and recognises a scarred beauty not many can stare into the eyes of. he is broken like me, and we fit together at the jagged edges, effortlessly.

he is not one of those hollow, dented souls who cannot connect with the art of interweaving into a complex flowering, moving, living force of becoming one, who cannot level with the genuine beauty of nature sculpting our bodies to fit in unison. he is not one of those who want for themselves, his generosity and his compassion is more than i ever sought for. i would be deceitful to say i love him with all my heart, for not all of my heart is left. there are pieces i will no longer find, consumed and taken for granted by the undeserving, yet i love him so much more than i can contain. i give him the rest, and more, ready to gamble the ache of being heartless if i lose my entire being to the final person i will love forever.

i feel sorrow from the ugliness of words i reveal to you when i am beyond my happiness and resort to anger. i want to tell you this, even though i am aware that you already know. it hurts when you do the same, but i will remind you as you will remind me that it is alright to sometimes shed unwanted emotions and hang them out to dry, to take off the mask we wore like habit. we are our only people to show an entire form of sadness and complete euphoric state.

i can still trace the scar under the soft of innocent skin grown over, singing of a pain that did not only taint my physical self. but i do not flinch, i merely touch upon the words i have inked over like a bulletproof vest, and find beauty in what could be destructive to the purr of my mind. i feel, now, and it is sanity that calls to me like an old friend.

how i've missed you.

i am the tip of a needle infiltrating the skin and vein of the world, and i pray i am an upper.

i was once told the emotion you wake up with can pave your way for the rest of the day, and it is true, like looking in your eyes when i wake up next to you. i feed off the truths i read behind the emerald and earthy glint of your soul-searching pupils and begin to believe in a future. 

the future is like a black pin on a black rug, like dust on a clear day, it can be lost if we overlook it, so i promise myself to watch it from the corner of my eye. there is space in my soul for the future, as long as i close the door of the past and learn to look the other way. i can be an artist now, holding a dried up paint brush over a half completed canvas. i can be a writer now, and fill the notebook at the bottom of my bag. i can be whoever i want to be now, because i have finally let myself go from the ties of what once asphyxiated me. i have a hand to hold, and it is a firm grip.

this is a big world, and i am only small yet i feel i am starting to grow into the character i am meant to wear. excess it is not a bad thing because one can never be too full of life.