Posted: July 5, 2018 in Uncategorized

I need to let out.
I need to vent.
I need to explode with everything inside me.
There is rubble behind my heart.. that I need to evacuate.

There’s poetry here.
And I’ve been waiting on inspiration.
But inspiration never came…
And the words I left behind me, the ones dying to tell the truth of this feeling I’ve been harboring all these years.. the story of the scars that still itch to heal.. the memories I cluttered on the side of my brain and the migraine that knows how to choke my temporal vein, have I died? Have I died yet? And if I did, was it in vain?

Life goes on. Life.. goes on but I’m standing here still.
The war is over but the fight remains still..
The mourning is not over the grief.. constantly rain and the sound of thunder is how my heart beats and I need; I need peace.
I need quiet.
I need the enemy in me to stop patronizing my bones and interrupting my prayers with laughters and screams of “They shall not be answered! They are not to be answered!”
God must be bored of me and if God turns his back then.. the loneliness is official write that on my grave.
Write that, when you are sure that death.. did not forget about me.. that life.. didnt give up on me.. that my guardian angel.. didnt find a new job to make a living after my hopelessness.. and laziness kicked her away.
Here. Here my soul scattered and spilled everywhere.. I’m lacking living. I’m vitally impaired. I’m limping in my dreams after I been flying in them.. tell me.. tell me if there is a cure when one self doesn’t want to belong to itself tell me.. how when Im weary of all the men catcalling my flesh and reaching.. for my body like its a property.. doesn’t anger me no more but only makes me qsick.. so sick that I cannot move a muscle or snap a knuckle on a man’s face I promised.. I promised myself to be stronger than this but the smoke.. the smoke is too thick and my lungs are not pink and my lungs aren’t fit and my lungs are breathless and my lungs are tired and lungs.. my lungs.. my feet are heavy.. my back hardly straight.. the darkness.. is covering the sky and the moon is asleep tonight.. I am alone here in all this emptiness.. the doors… the doors are all trap and I need an exit.
I need an escape.
To escape.
This existence.
This storm of being.
This me.. I am is too damn much.

And there is poetry here.
I’m full of it.
And its painful.
And its heavy.
And I wrote it.
I am writing it.
But it’s still here. And the weight from all what I feel.. what I’ve been through and what I fear is setteled on my shoulders… I am the atlas of everything I don’t want to bear.
How am I to drop all this and escape.. I want to escape.
My arms wants to hold my lover, a lover who isn’t mine to begin with
My ribs wanna grow wings.
My breath wants to become wind.
My liver wanna stop cleaning my blood
My blood wants to be a river
My mind wants peace and quiet.
Needs peace and quiet.
And my body needs a home.
A home outside of me.

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