Maybe you’ll all see me when I’m gone.

Words of kindness hold no meaning. Not from a stranger, friend nor foe; it’s all weightless. No amount of appreciation empowers me, nor do I find any self-worth in that fleeting moment of thoughtfulness.

The best part of my energy spent cleaning off those dirty smudges festering on my glassy surface. Unclean fingerprints signify the ones who left me polluted, small cracks reflect the battles once won along with their trail of pain. So I clean both inside and out, morning and night, solely for their benefit; I need them to see into the home which I call my heart. As always though, my attempts seem to go unnoticed, just like the chains of control when I’m stationary.

My newly achieved transparency remains unobserved, almost as if reality has decided to substitute itself with distortion; blurred perceptions of the truth are all that the onlooker can see, even through this clear window. Maybe the fog of disdain and shame alter their vision. But knowing fault is inherent within their eyes still provides no comfort. Why is every action so misunderstood, every good intention overlooked and every word twisted? Why can’t they see me clearly for who I am?

There is only so much external force this window can take, only so much resistance I have within me to keep its pane intact. It’s amazing how fragile these glass fibres are individually and how much they can withstand when they unite. Maybe that’s the secret they try so hard to whisper to us, but even they can only go unheard for so long before they each give way. So they shatter silently inwards, a direction of my choice. At least this way damage is minimal to those nearby. I receive the broken pieces with a bittersweet welcome; I knew it was only a matter of time before these unwelcomed guests arrived.  The shards of jagged glass cut me in places unknown, concealed with precision; invisible, especially to the blind eye. Pain is always a good distraction; the physical sting trumps the verbal twinge and so harsh words don’t bite like the winter cold anymore. In the end when all is said and done, bitter words of disappointment remain within the cavities of the heart, just as its scars do on my skin.

I didn’t want to cause all this destruction. All I wanted was for you to see me.

I hate that it matters so much to me. Why can’t I just ignore it? I always was a sucker for words; I guess that’s why their emotional blackmail has never seen the frightening face of failure. Words begin dictating my actions, all the while fuelling my anger against my own weakness. Repression of my dreams and desires sets the bar. I’ve been a slave to this guilt trip for far too long. I yearn for emancipation but it does not come.

She said I am my own worst enemy. Maybe she’s right. When control slips through my fingers, it is the component of restraint which is the hardest to grasp on to. Like all things this too takes practice, but I have managed to master some sort of technique over the years; even if it is as pathetic as this one. Inevitably though, all pathetic things fail.  And this kind of failure is definitely visible. Unlike the cracks upon the window, each of these lines mark a battle lost, whilst commemorating another one of their victories. They know what’s at stake, which makes it even sadder that we have to play this game. I guess the satisfaction of power will be bought at any price.

Occupied or not, my mind always resorts back to that place in which it tries to find the reasons why. Over the years that list has remained just about constant; so if I know the face of my enemies why can’t I just begin to exterminate them one by one?

These enemies were born from a combination of things, things which are so separate that they each speak in different languages. Single yet so interlinked that their bonds are unbreakable, especially when subjected to my inadequate strength. I do not have the patience or the power to deal with them. There is no energy left here to sift them out from one another so I can confront them head on like I please. I have tried and failed many times. This time I’m done trying. They say standing up each time you fall makes you stronger. They’re right, it does. But as always I forget to read the small print; that strength is only designed to remain for a short while. It’s fleeting, just like affection these days.

The shackles of guilt and self-hatred bind me so tight I struggle to breathe. Its iron chains suffocate any part of me that has managed to survive this long. Maybe this is a good place. If I’m gasping for breath then maybe my other survival instincts will kick into place and kick me out of this one. If I’m gasping for breath then at least I haven’t managed to drown. Yet.

The silence is the worst. It signifies punishment for things that happened long ago. Things which I thought I made peace with. But how can I lay my demons to rest if every encounter is a reminder of a love tainted by repulsion. A repulsion so strong it awakens even the heaviest-sleeping demons.

I know I make you sick. At least that’s something we both share.

Maybe it wasn’t right, but it wasn’t so bad. It could have been a hell of a lot worse. But you don’t see that, just like you don’t see me for who I am and everything I could be. It makes me want to stop trying; nothing seems to matter as much without your seal of approval. I can’t stand being invisible any longer. I think I might just fade along with my shadow under this winter sky. Some things hurt a little too much, a little more than I can handle.

The hatred in your silence speaks volumes. If things continue this way I know there’ll come a day when I’m no longer around; be it by choice or by force. I just hope that the door I exit through leads onto some sort of a path and not onto that cliff edge which I seem to be peering over all too often lately. Your stubbornness and self-proclaimed righteousness might one day be the reason you watch the most precious thing you brought into this world walk out of your life.

Even those who promised to be here are out of sight. I’m not surprised.

Maybe you’ll all see me when I’m gone.

 

Advertisements
This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

10 Responses to Maybe you’ll all see me when I’m gone.

  1. jjvioletpoet says:

    Wow! Extremely honest, thought provoking and real. Very deep and profound.

  2. terri says:

    Giving voice to such profound inner grief is difficult … thank you for being a transparent pane of glass with your poetic gift.

  3. I happened to stumble upon this rummaging through twitter.

    I’m happy I did.

    Great writing …

  4. Ummah says:

    Very well written, your use of imagery, metaphors and analogies to express you inner struggle are clearly evident. I would say this though sometimes we can be our own harshest and judgmental critiques, your a very talented and genuine person.

    Best way I can put it is, regardless of all the hardship and turmoil you have been through your STILL HERE…And it is a testimony to you that the flower that blooms in adversity is the rarest and most beautiful of all.

    Ummah

  5. Eqlektik says:

    Deep introspection and evaluation…..Written with much passion and conviction. You are on the path to much growth.

  6. Bongo says:

    WOW your writing is amazing ..your words came right from my dark place…this song “How To Save A Life” means more then I can say..it’s the song played when anyone calls on my phone…thank you for sharing you …As always …as always xoxoxo

  7. Future4Fina says:

    You. Are. Ridiculously. Talented. And we speak the same language. Seeking acceptance, fearing silence…wanting the love we provide to be reciprocated (no matter the source).

    It’s our hearts that make us who we are: our biggest asset and our biggest weakness.

    I love you.

    • Your comment really touched me Fina. I think you truly understand the feelings with which I wrote this post.

      Thank you for your words. It means a lot to know someone gets this conflicted 20 year old girl.

      Love you too ❤

  8. Beautiful and heart-rending at the same time. Your gift of self expression is mind-boggling. Poetry in prose…it’s a difficult thing to master and you’ve done an excellent job. Please know that people care. I know you said it doesn’t matter, but YOU matter. I can feel this so deeply, I wish I could express myself as beautifully as you do.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s