Blind faith and perceptions

I watched her sit on the edge, legs dangling over the side and contemplating everything. Going over her options once again, for the millionth time that night. I saw the look in her eyes and it told me that she had nothing left to lose- not even me. Her pain kept her sane through the inevitability of this situation and you know what she did? She carried on. She turned away from the ledge, tear stained cheeks and eyes blood shot red and she simply carried on.

She tells me, “prayer is the answer, that’s all they ever said to me. They never once asked why it was I felt this way. They never allowed me to explain that my faith was the only thing keeping me here.” She didn’t need to tell me much else because it was then that the penny finally dropped. Her depression was not a measure of her faith in God, faith in her religion and faith in herself. How can I tell her that these demons are all a figment of her imagination? How can I tell her that if her faith were stronger, she would not feel this way? How can I tell her that she is not a woman of God and that her struggles are enough to make this evident?

I can’t.

Coming from Asian heritage and a Muslim background, I am able to understand all too well that mental health and illnesses are completely taboo and most definitely not spoken of. Now, I find that to be very strange considering the staggering rates of depression and other mental health related issues that lie beneath the surface of our community. In fact, the statistics on the numbers of Asian people in the United Kingdom with mental health problems are inconsistent, although it has been suggested that mental health problems are often unrecognised or not diagnosed in this ethnic group. And for the most part, any sort of treatment is unsuitable to the very few individuals that have been diagnosed because, as a majority, they are seen as spiritual and holistic individuals rather than having physical attributes that are, in an uncertain number of situations, able to control and help those suffering, and this then goes on to cause more and more problems for those that already feel so alone.

“I see it though, I see it now and I think I should make that evident. I walked away and amongst some beautiful moments too, I just walked away. But me? I am a beautiful ruin, and that, to me, is okay. My mental state does not depreciate my outer beauty and it does not make me any less of who I am, and that my darling, is the beauty I can see in me. Only now, I see it in me, and I pray you see it too.”

What am I to do now? I didn’t have to say it- she saw it in my eyes. An understanding I thought I had, blown to pieces and really, I knew nothing of it at all. Her faith was the only thing that brought her home. It was the only thing that allowed her to see the beauty in what is her apocalypse. And how are you able to see goodness in the end of it all? She tells me, cling on to that which gives you a glimpse of faith and never let it go, my love. Sat blurry eyed besides her, tissues strewn across my lap and heart heavy, I see now that she is more than her depression and she is more than her faith. She is simply her and my, what a glorious sight that is.

Breath taking, I cannot look away from her reality. Did I reflect on my own through her? Gosh, she’d have taught me nothing at all had I not. The most painful lesson I ever learnt and let go of- in death do we find beauty and in demise do we find clarity, and let it be known that in the ugliest parts of humanity, we can find love and we can find faith. Ask her again and I promise she’ll tell me over and over.

Sins and false hope

It’s warm outside. Warmer then it is in here. My heart is beating out of my chest. I’m sure you can hear it, you can hear my breath become sharp and quick. Like your tongue.  The temperature drops a further 20 degreees and I can feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Whether that is because of the tension between us or my inability to feel warmth; I really do not know. But I can feel it. Hell, I can see it.

I don’t really like ice cream in the summer. I prefer it in the winter when the windows have frosted over and I cannot feel my finger tips. You always thought that was strange, you never understood. Wrapped up in blankets alongside the warmth of your skin, I did not feel the seasons change. Through window panes and sleep ridden eyes, I can see them transition from one to the next and still, we are still. We stayed in our own stage of adventure, of adolesence. Bliss. However, at some point, even serenity is corrupted, and more usually than not, it is  from within that it crumbles. Whether anyone is to blame for this, it is unclear but I cannot fathom the idea that you were the cause of all of this mayhem.

I told myself again and again that this time, I can do it all on my own, but every time the image of you reappears in my mind I realise that, in actual fact, I’m as alone as I have ever been and this was down to your naivety, not that it’s of any fault of mine, of which there are plenty, but I am aware of my own self worth more so than ever before. You looked at me once. That was it. Game over. And the cycle of ‘he loves me, he loves me not’ is one that we can’t stop repeating, even though our tears have run and emotions dried up. Our  eyes glazed over and hearts numb, I think it’s time to call it a day. 

Come the warmer days, the sun kissed your skin so perfectly but you never once touched mine. The distance between us grew but my heart stayed ignorant to your truth, I should’ve seen the obviousness in plane sight, staring me down, but your eyelashes fluttered and I’d forget once more. Sat hand in hand in sunflower fields laughing at infinity and its concept, but I was so grateful for this little ‘forever’ that you had unknowingly given to me. Despite it, it still felt over before it began and this is where you sinned. To break somebody’s heart is a deed that can take you to hell but, for what it’s worth, I’ll pray we’re neighbours when we get there.

Diamond in the rough

“I can feel myself changing. My thoughts aren’t organised in the way that they once were, and perhaps that is the most painful truth of them all. Chaotic maintenance was a way of life, and for now, I cannot understand why my mind does not agree with it. Thoughts swirl around in my head, “Good girls do not behave in this manner”, and “You will not be respected as a woman if you cannot behave as a woman does”, but I don’t understand anymore. How is a woman supposed to act? Am I supposed to be able to cook, clean, look after a family, raise my children to be able to tell right from wrong whilst maintaining youth, wisdom and beauty? Or, am I supposed to be strong, independent and self-sustaining, able to survive without a man supporting me, whether that is physically, emotionally or financially? Expectations for a woman are too high. To hell with it! A good woman is exactly that; a good woman, and how you define that isn’t down to society. A woman can tell her own worth, and should you be deserving, she will prove it too.”

-rumaysafatima

Status and Inability

The distance between us tells me all that you never did,

‘I never really wanted the world with you, I had it with her

and you were just the one I went to when she saw me for what I really was.’

You shone so bright in the dark,

but like the moon, your spark came from elsewhere

and once you had were gone, I realised that light had came from me.

 

My worth was not defined by how bright  your eyes shone upon seeing me,

but how they sunk when I was not around

and if that was the case, then really, I was never worth much to you at all.

But as a man, could you not see that right then was not the time for you to play?

I put you in a win win situation and still, you managed to lose,

and then you wonder why everything had fallen apart.

 

My heart may have desired more from you but my mind is wiser,

and I now know that you are incapable of romance and commitment,

your heart is guarded, and although I can relate, your mind is empty and for this,

I could not show you any sympathy.

Complacency does not suit you my dear, nor did it ever, the shade drowns you out.

 

In times of hardship, the thought of you was calming

but I was blind to your storms and the destruction you left in your wake.

I witnessed it all but my heart is soft and my consience wide,

and I allowed myself to believe that nature’s temper was one I could weather.

My body was battered but my heart, it could not go on.

And you? You were nowhere to be seen; the cause of it all.

 

Recollection of laughter and warmth radiates from my smile upon thoughts of you

but I cannot help but wonder if any of it was ever real.

Your eyes were glazed over and the ends of your fingers always cold;

that should’ve been my first warning sign.

The emotionl unavailabilitiy on your part should have been my second.

But I am young and withdrawn and you were care-free and brazen

and I liked the thought of your adventure.

 

The silence throughout your absence was almost deafening,

but when you were there words were sparce and actions fewer.

I almost lost my own battle trying to fight your wars for you,

and for that you conquered all but were never grateful.

I was never stood tall in your victory, but seated amongst your shortcomings.

 

So, from now, if they ask me if I know you I will simple smile and say,

I lived to tell the tale.

Guessing games and happily ever after

I don’t like uncertainty. I never have. I never will. But you, you’re the opposite. You love adventure and you love to be blissfully unaware. I just think you’re ignorant. Blissfully ignorant. Adventure and heart break go hand in hand for you; the idea that someone has the power to build you up or break you down, that’s something you get off on, the thrill of it all. But I could never do that, maybe I am fickle and maybe I am oversensitive. Maybe I have romanticised heart ache and anguish, maybe I’d like to be aware of the power I’ve handed somebody. Maybe I am overly inquisitive, but maybe I just care too much and you don’t care at all.

I’ve never been in love. Not really. I’ve loved and I’ve lost and I’ve had my heart broken and I’ve gotten past it all. Should I have the ability go back and undo it all, I would in a heart beat. All of the wasted time and tears, the words of consollation and the mugs of half drunked tea scattered across never ending interventions by well-meaning friends that think you should simply ‘get over it’. But you, you’re destructive at the best of times and you walk hand in hand with cupid. That glimmer never leaves your eyes and the smile never falters from your lips. The flames tear through your aftermath and you remain still; standing.

I am obsessed with the idea of forever. I want to love you more tomorrow than I did today. I want others to be disgusted by our levels of infatuation, and I don’t ever want that to end. But you, infautation lasts weeks and when it’s over, you’re ready to start again with another victim. Your mind flickers from the thought of one to the arms of another and it has always been that way for you. In love, you never lose, but you have never really won either.

Maybe that is why my mind is so stuck on you. Opposition in love and in war, forever wondering who comes out of this on top. I, however, would never let you fall, you’ll always have the upperhand, but to teach you that sometimes in light and happiness, stepping down wins the war, let alone the battle. With me, you’ll never lose and with you, I’ll never falter.

Thank you for allowing me to safely wear my heart on my sleeve.

Desire to trust and create art

I wanted to believe the words you said. I wanted to hang onto every lingering touch and the feeling of security with your arms wrapped around my waist. I wanted to trust the words that you spoke.

“I love you more than words could ever say”.

I wanted to fall wholeheartedly. No doubts. No regrets.

But, you cannot promise me the world, the one I gave myself, nor your own. I wanted to share with you. Our lives entangled in one another, unable to unwrap ourselves from the gentle hold of the other. Is fate meant to feel like this? Is it meant to be? If so, why does it hurt so much?

Sat in slow moving traffic, I glanced down at the screen flashing your name, the blaring ring tone that made me jump without fail every time I heard it. I felt my heart in my throat and the uneasy desire to want to throw up. This is what experts call butterflies. I waited until it was deemed socially acceptable to answer, not wanting to come across as to eager, when in reality, that was all that I was. Our conversation was far from romantic, you told me about your cold and your longing to escape, you told me you were hungry and we spoke of my horrendous parking skills. We laughed. And then you hung up. That was it; I was stuck. Hook, line and sinker. You did nothing out of the ordinary; no OTT displays of affection, no shows of romance and yet you were still the most wonderful thing I had ever experienced. A simple ‘good morning baby’ had me floating for the majority of the day, even if you were MIA for the rest of it. Those simple questions like ‘have you eaten?’ were enough to tell me that you cared, but I was never the one you wanted to take out on a date. Those ‘what are you up to tonight?’ made me feel like there was nobody else in the entire world that you wanted to see, but your reluctant manner of wanting to spend the day together contradicted it all. But I didn’t see a thing.

I was smitten, and entirely blind to the lack of love. There was no real disrespect in it, and that’s how I knew you were smarter than I’d ever be. In actual fact, I had no real reason to be annoyed, or to feel I gained nothing from you, because quite frankly, whilst you weren’t exactly going above and beyond the way every girl wants, you didn’t do anything wrong either.

But then there was you.

He told me that I was beautiful, he said I deserved so much more and that one day, should I ever let him, he swore he’d never stop trying to give that to me. He told me the days felt longer and the sun shone brighter when I smiled up at him, eyes twinkling, engrossed in conversation about Charles Bukowski and wild flowers in autumn or something he probably found completely mind-numbing. But not me, he said he loved to hear me talk (or ramble, I think he meant) about what made me happiest. He was honest, though. From the very beginning he told me that he would break my heart and I said my heart was not his to break; it belonged to another but he never seemed to believe me when I said this. “If it belonged to another, you would not allow me to feel this way. Don’t you know how wrong this is? You don’t even know what you’re doing to either of us, do you?”

And really, I didn’t.

I loved one but wanted the manner of another. Is that so bad?

Inability to trust one that you love doesn’t really feel like love anymore. It feels like a crack in a boat, and you stand and watch all of the passengers rally around with buckets trying to empty the floor of the boat of water and you know that, inevitably, it’s going to sink. You either, along with your heart, sink with it or you find a lifeboat and build the life you know you deserve. But in the end, the choice is always our own and sometimes we are unable to make the correct one. Upon making our decision, we cannot learn in that instance that we will spend the majority of our remaining time with dry eyes and heavy hearts, but heart break is great inspiration for poetry.

Maktub; it was written.

It’s strange to think that despite being within a sea of people, we are still truly, inexplicably alone. Hundreds of faces painted with a mixture of emotion, and still, we are unable to find the one that we long to see. This is how I learnt that despite all of the empty promises and the ‘I’ll never let you go’s’, somehow, I am still stood on my own two feet with my hands in my pockets, expression blank, mind made up.

It’s windy today. Not the type of wind that blows you away though, but the type that makes you uncomfortable, the type that takes away your breath and makes it hard for you to find your footing. I don’t have any plans, not really, and boredom broods nothing but. I recall fondly of memories filled with love and family and friends that once were, but to look back in hindsight, the emotion isn’t the same. Smiles aren’t as sincere and heartfelt words are quick to scorch my skin. For, what was once true now runs cold. What once warmed my heart turns to ash and I can look back with only regret and longing. I don’t quite understand how the weather dictates my mood. I don’t understand how the wind makes me want to leave, to cut off all ties with the materialistic world. I don’t understand how the rain makes me desire companionship and the ability to cast myself in someone else’s life. What I can say without a doubt is that, each season leaves me desperate for the next. During one, I desire another, and when it passes I long for the days I spent being unappreciative of the beauty only it could supply. And that is all it is, my desires, as fickle as they come, they go.

It hit me, only then.

My feelings towards the seasons are the way we treat one another. Before we have something in our possession, we idolise it. All of it’s beauty and wonders captivate us, we are unable to focus on anything else at all, and in that moment of time, there is nothing else in the world that could make us as happy as this one thing. When we get our hands on that one thing, it loses it’s luster. It isn’t as special. What was once so mesmerising about it is no longer there and, despite it’s initial ability to make us happy, we crave something more. Something bigger, brighter and more beautiful than what we already have. We go in search of an ‘upgrade’, because what we have is no longer good enough for us. We discard what we have, like yesterdays rubbish, and go in search of what we desire. We’ve got it! We strive towards it and it’s now ours, but why do we still feel so empty? Why doesn’t it make us as happy as we thought it would?

I don’ recall ever wanting to be further from civilisation as I do today. We as human beings are beyond fickle. We are petty and full of anger, hatred and resentment towards one another for reasons  that we, ourselves, do not quite understand entirely, yet we find reasoning within it all. Perhaps that is just to allow us to forgive ourselves, to convince others that we are deserving of forgiveness but then we are quick to deny others of it. We do not make sense. I, for one, am tired. I long for equality in a world full of separation and for love and understanding amongst those who do not value difference. In a sea of sinking bodies, I remain completely calm. I do not struggle, nor gasp for breath. I do not cling onto any hope of what could have or should have been. I just let it be. And that is what it felt like; acceptance.

 

Harboured secrets and unspoken emotion

I like to think that I am a fairly open book, I like to think people are able to see my intentions and my heart through a look in my eyes, or perhaps through my smile. I don’t like mystery and I, for one, am too impatient to stay and figure it out. I like simplicity and I like answers; why, I couldn’t tell you. However, sometimes there are things that words cannot explain and eyes cannot fathom, so when these times occur, what is someone like myself supposed to do? Somebody that doesn’t take well to change, or somebody whose tears flow at the thought of heart ache, someone far too soft to explain these things to somebody else.

Once, sat alone, tongue sharp and heart soft, she pondered further into why. Why did she not deserve love? Why were they unable to see her intentions through the smile that took its reflection from the autumn moon? Maybe she hid too much, maybe that made her undesirable. If, like me, others were too impatient to delve deeper into her soul, then is that a fault of our own rather than hers? Doesn’t make her feel any better, nor does it allow her the love that she deserves. Through tinted windows, I watched her stumble deeper and deeper into her depression; her inability to love or be loved. She became dependent on emotion to function, but through lack of it, she was unable to obtain it too. She pinned it, not on her, but on him. Too many questions lay unanswered at his feet and he trampled on each one of them, he seemed to want her all in, but kept one foot in the door waiting for his better option to come along. And that, my dear, shattered what was left of her heart.

I recall that emotion, not fondly, but I recall it. That stabbing pain in your chest when you are finally able to see that  you are the cause of the pain; not him, you.

“Why don’t you just answer me? What are you hiding? Is it my fault I can’t trust you? What is that supposed to mean?”

Not everything is a subliminal message.

But, apparently it is.

I have found that somethings are better left hidden, the aftermath of secrets that have been dredged up can destroy lives, whether that is your own or the life of those that you love. If that makes me untrustworthy then so be it, but that does not mean I am any less deserving of love than she is. She found me as I found her, sat alone, with words sat on my tongue and thoughts blocking my mind, but like her, she knew I would not speak. She did not question this, nor me, simple, she accepted it. He, however, did not. He did not want to read the elongated chapters that I was yet to write, nor did he want to fester into treacherous waters with no idea of whether or not we would make it across. He, unlike me, was not a risk taker. Maybe he just didn’t want more, maybe it was just me he didn’t want. Take your time, I begged, but lacking and man made, he did see the novelty in it. And again, he left me sat alone, wondering why.

Fingers brushed through my hair, soft skin to wipe away the tears, she whispered softly,

“You can’t hurry love. You, my sweet, are a force that simply cannot be contained, and he tried to and you wounded him. He could not handle your force, and that is no fault of your own.”

She tried to reassure me, but words are not soothing and my heart still bleeds.

So, tell me, when did it become wise to shatter hearts with words like daggers rather than to entrap your tongue and save grace?

I, for one, never wish to find out.

 

 

Untitled works.

Fragile and unable to breathe,

She stumbled further into his wilderness.

His eyes flickered like a forest fire and

set her heart ablaze.

 

They told him, over and over,

if you act like you’re always trying to win her

you’ll never lose her,

so what did he do?

He stopped. Quit. Finished. Done.

 

If  she lay awake next to him,

shaking from the force of his winds

his hurricanes were sure to rock her understanding,

but she did not waver,

and for that he must be eternally grateful.

 

He did not understand emotion,

And so watching her being crumble before him,

well, he was unapologetic.

His fire raged on and on and one day,

so did she.

 

The forecast was dreary and her mind damp

from the downpour, but she continued, still.

And she did not once turn around,

the wind held on tight to her wrist,

as if to say

 

Please. Do not leave.

 

But earthquakes, like heart breaks, rock the lives of many

for years to come,

but the difference is,

for him, she would play in the rain all over again,

and in spite of illness,

for she caught him like the flu.

 

Diseased by love and unwilling to let go,

she lay in wait of her demise

hand in hand with

mother nature.

 

 

Dependency and love locks

For, hearts are tainted and loves colour always runs true, but blood stains all, teeth wine and tongues appearance bruised. He said swallow your pride, its edges tore open her dainty throat. She said love me better, his heart fluttered slowly away, leaving her; an overflowing conscience and soulless being.