By Sumayya Sideek
It starts out with guilt, almost everything does.
Then it tremendously concludes itself becoming worry instead.
We are embodied by a deflection of others, a reflection of their point of being,
their aura, their energy…
We the action and they the reaction.
But wait, is this the typical format of things?
Are we all just sets of rules we built ourselves?
Forever caught trying to explain what’s beneath this shell?
A shell that’s eating me alive?
Because humanity comes with judgment,
and my assumptions?
They keep racing against my will, painting a transparent vision that barricades me from the rest of the world.
I would love you, but I’m not going to give in to you.
I’d respect you, yet seek all possible ways to leave you.
I would enjoy your company, but run away from it with every chance I get.
I am flawed as the word flawed can be taken with every word you see, with every meaning leading it on to be.
I’ve been stubborn as you could tell because to me, my battles are mine.
To me, you can’t help, yet I’m going to keep trying.
Because to me, that’s just how it’s supposed to be.
So I’m sorry mom, I’m sorry dad, if I’ve ever let you down
but I’m even sorrier for shunning out advices in the past and the future to come.
I’m going to regret it, but nagging never works
I’m a broken record; I can’t be replaced.
My tongue, it’s honest,
but if life is a balance between holding on and letting go, I call life a liar
because to me, holding on is letting go.
Letting go of myself, letting go as a trip, a step after step with all that guilt ought to be.
Yet, I still hold on.
Just as I’ll still hold on to you.
This is me inking out my guilty, blood stained woes.
After all the words I’ve uttered so soon for far too long, can you blame these chapped lips?
I’m a broken glass that carefully tries to mosaic its place into beauty
because as I sit here gasping for air, feeling up my goose bumps, all I keep reminding myself is that this cannot be it.
As with all of these new faces I’ve made, I’m trying to reseek that hero I once was, that mask immersed beneath my wounds, wondering if it’s still alive and really worth bringing back.