We all sit around the dinner table.
Some placid, some temperamental, some simply lost in thought.
Pessimism smirks at me, ”I told you so”, he spits arrogantly from across the table, peering over at the vulnerable.
Anxiety fidgets at the edge of her seat as she agrees, ”I knew it, he’s always right”. Slowly she slips away into a trance of destructive overthinking and self blame.
Anger’s eyes pierce through me, his silence dangerous.
I sink into my seat as sadness continues to gnaw away at me.
Hope gently places her warm, wrinkled hand on mine as she leans in beside me, ”You did your best beloved”.
Anger and Pessimism erupt into laughter, Anxiety frantically shakes her head ”No you didn’t!”.
Love stares blankly at the plate in front of her, reminiscing on the endless endearments she whispered and fond kisses she gifted generously. She turns to give me a faint smile to reassure me.
Depression quietly picks at her plate, slouched in her chair at the end of the table. Terrified at the sight of her I turn away.
That’s enough for tonight.
I blow out the candle and call it a night.
I miss the smell of your cigarette stained finger tips, the way the scent would linger under my nose as you stroked my lip.
I crave your nicotine drenched kiss, I need my fix.
I place a cigarette inbetween my lips, but it doesn’t have the same kick, nicotine tastes better when it’s off your lips.
I never love, to be loved.
I love because I love to love.
However, the tragedy strikes when I am told I am loved, because then I expect to always be loved. – S.Alaa
Your current is dangerous and when it is still, it is waiting to be provoked. I do not know whether to stay on the shore and wait till your currents have calmed to sail again or locate a new ocean to sail. I am in the in between.
I am unsure whether in time you will welcome me back to join you or churn up a storm to keep me out. Perplexed, I sit at the edge of the shore. Yet, I feel like I am anchored to the bottom of the sea bed, chained around my ankles, floating aimlessly just below the surface of the sea. I cannot sink to the bottom nor am I able to float to the top. Now do you understand? I am in the in between.
It feels like I am staring at the face of a clock, gnawing as the minute hand goes back and forth between two dials, waiting for it to make one revolution. And I think to myself, can it be fixed or is it time to get a new clock? I am in the in between.
It feels as though I am climbing a mountain, oxygen concentrations are depleting, I am exhausted and weak. But I have almost made it to the top, shall I take this as a victory in itself or climb cautiously and tactically to the top? I am in the in between.
Do I hold on and wait or let go? There is nothing more torturous than false hope.
I am in the in between. – S.Alaa
I love you, today.
I loved you yesterday,
And I will love you tomorrow.
– S. Alaa
I am an artist.
I am the artist that will write poetry across your skin with kisses. I will trace your scars with my lips and replenish them with colour. I am the artist that will use colours of you to create a masterpiece. A masterpiece that I will lock away in the corners of my memory; a masterpiece I will bring out to trace over when you have gone.
Watering you with love from head to toe, washing off every ounce of your woe. I have cleaned the cob webs that nestled between your ribs and hung honey suckle vines instead. We have not sewn parts of our hearts into one another to replace the pieces we carelessly gave away to old lovers. Instead we built a beautiful white fenced bridge from my heart to yours, with a glistening stream of love that flows under this bridge, from the chambers and valves of my heart to yours.
Everyday I have tread carefully over the bridge to grow roses of luscious shades of red and pink within your lungs. Now I see your lungs are filled with life and I listen to the echoes of melodious laughter that depict every flourished colour. No more weeds of doubt entwined and entangled amongst the wiring of your brain, instead I have grown daffodils to fill you up with encouragement and hope. Within your scars I have grown clusters of lavender to represent purity and devotion. The purity of my intentions and love for you, my devotion to you.
I have grown a garden within my you, as you have done for me. My lungs are bursting with magnolia. You gently place beautiful water lilies in all the streams that spring from my eyes, to remind me of the love you have for me and the beauty you see within me. You have caressed me with endless encouragement and hope, I feel it trickle from the tips of your fingers onto each strand of hair, you’re growing blue bells from my head. Every kiss and every touch, an orchid grows, you have gently pulled out every dead rose within me, every shattered piece of this glass heart and has grown within me a real heart. Nurtured me back to health. Drenched me in kindness, never put me through a drought of affection.
Patience, consistency and commitment.
The three needed to achieve anything successfully.
Your patience has run dry, but I will remember all the days you had been patient with me.
We have reached the dreaded day where you no longer want to hold me nor kiss me, but I will remember each and every loving kiss you have planted on my skin.
These ankles are still bruised from the shackles that had held me prisoner to this bed, after you left. My depression and I had lay side by side as hours turned into days, days into nights, sunsets to sunrise.
This hollow chest of mine still echoes out your name, like a wolf howling for the night’s light. My sadness and I had lay side by side caressing each other till these sad, swollen eyes were soothed into another sleepless night.
The chambers of this heart have thickened and scarred, since the day we’ve been apart. I should of been more careful with this glass-heart. – S. Alaa
Tantrums were thrown when fed his mistakes.
A restless game of Tag, his ego loved to be chased.
Hid his emotions in fear of looking weak, a daunting play of hide and seek.
Finally, when it was my turn to be chased, he wailed “No, I don’t want to play”.
– S. Alaa