“If they truly loved you and wanted you, they wouldn’t say you deserve better and to go find it. They would become better and give that to you.” -S.Alaa
“I feel like nothing, I meant nothing.”
“You are everything, but to someone else.”
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.
I look down at the space between my fingers only to find them lonesome without yours.
Glancing left and right only to not find you on either side, just my own solitary shadow. And that is when I realised, you are nothing but an empty breeze. An entity and nonentity, that fulfils no purpose but to gently brush aside the hair of passers-by to whisper sweet meaningless words and empty promises. A gust of tremendously strong wind to make us feel everything on the surface of our skin, but thats all it is, the surface. There is no substance, no depth to your words as they aren’t followed through by your actions.
But I am not a gust of wind nor am I a nonentity. I am a thunderstorm, adamant to overthrow Zeus from the heavens, if it would allow me to fill the space between your fingers. Giving rise to tornadoes that would leave behind a wake of destruction. A wake of destruction I’d use as pathway to get to your side, to ensure your shadow was not left companionless, like you left mine. For you see my love, my actions will evoke tsunamis within your soul and fill your veins with streams of adoration. My honest and meaningful words have created an ocean of devotion to you, with each wave of affection that crashes against your ribcage, it erodes the surface of your ribs to reveal the warmth and fondness that I have filled your bones with.
And just like the wind, your presence is momentary. Momentary, just like your infatuation and commitment.
I am a storm and you are a gust of wind.
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.
When you are good to me, it feels like heaven. I am cradled within your arms and sheltered from harm by your angelic wings. You tuck me into the soft clouds and watch over me as I nestle into a blissful sleep. Playing the strings of my heart as softly as you play the harp, my angel.
When it is bad, it is the epitome of hell. Your temper ruptures like a volcano and your destructive words spew out, burning me alive. You ruthlessly drag whatever is left of me down to the earths scorching core, ensuring no ounce of my dignity and self worth is left. After all, the devil was once an angel too.
Nostalgic murmurs among photographs,
Not within these walls that echo the cries of a mother.
This house is not a home.
Old duvets soaked with love and laughter,
Now stained with tears, reflections of inevitable disasters.
This house is not a home. – S. Alaa
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