What do I do
with the anger
in me,
which I have been told
is because of
‘too much’ empathy?
I am angry beyond measure
at the falling and failing
of a decent world
around us.

A woman takes up space
in her own world,
and we ask her to
‘know her limits’ ,
to ‘resign’.
We humiliate her
for a crime done
unto her.

We must teach her a lesson,
we don’t expect
our men
to learn.

-

Forgive Yourself

Forgive yourself,
for your crimes
towards yourself.
Hold yourself.
Catch yourself.
“I got your back”
yourself.

-

Slow

It is in my self interest
to go slow slow slow
in this fast fast world.
So I can catch catch my breath,
so I can wipe wipe my face,
so I can walk walk some more.

I teach teach my self,
it’s okay to cry cry my heart,
to hold hold myself,
in kind kind embrace
in the tough tough of life,
it’s okay to not really
want want the fast.

-

In life,
losing important people-
like you,
shows up
like a heavy dip,
like a powerful fall
at the hands
of a bad gravity.

Yet this gravity ends.
It ultimately releases,
like I release myself
of the grief,
of the pain
of the falling,
of not moving.

I release myself.
I release you.
I allow myself strength,
in the face of
a bad gravity,
which was once
too mighty,
yet not mightier than
my existence- me.

-

Curtain

Curtain me all you will.
Curtail me you can not.
I remain free,
to be found, discovered and cherished
by anybody, anytime.
I am not undiscoverable.
Do not be scared to think.
I promise, you’ll find me.
Possibly behind a few curtains,
of privilege, power and silence.
I am the breeze that makes
these iron-clad curtains ruffle.
I am free.
As are you.

-

To him.

To him,
whose hands hold mine,
at times when times are hard
in places I lose myself,
in spaces I find fear,
to him who holds me dear.

To him,
who is beautiful,
to him who always reminds
my strength is in my kindness,
of one and many kinds.

To him,
who saves my life,
every day a little more.
To him, these words are for,
today, after and before.

-

A seat at the table

If you promise
a seat for someone at the table,
it is your job to not start
before they can arrive.

-

I think once I had written about how I do not come to YourQuote to read. How this has been a safe space for me to simply write through some of my pain. I do not say I have made headway there. I still have an exceptionally hard time reading. But my mind wanders to the question: why do I write?

I realise I like the feeling of expression, of taking some amount of pain out from me and look at it like a ball of some concentrated emotion. I have intellectualised a fair deal of pain in my life, but some of it I have not. Of those parts, some parts have come out here. I don’t know if I have an ungrateful relationship with writing. I used to write something and not look back at it.

I’ve been through a lot recently and I’ve really really been this far from throwing everything away. I find it hard to practice gratitude towards myself and my own people and things. I am writing to express my inability so far, to say ‘thank you’ to myself and whatever I have done for myself and others in this life. One part of it is saying thank you to this space on YQ.

Hopefully one day I will write enough out of me so I can read in peace. Until then I will write. I guess. Who knows how life changes?

-

You and I
both draw lines.
I colour inside them,
you- outside.
We yield to each other.
We surrender-
our good sense and bad.
We let each other come in.
We let each other stay.
I respect yours.
You respect my way.
We sit beside each other
sometimes still lonely
but together in that lament,
that shared sorrow of mankind.
We both share tea,
share thoughts,
share space.

We truly live with each other.

-

The pain of being someone who is always expected to ‘understand’ is rather strange and acute. Putting your foot down comes with a thud in your life. It shakes you up, and your relationships, and your life. Telling someone they are hurting you, especially when there’s too much noise around everyone- is difficult, straining and unfortunately more often than not- futile.

There’s so much anger and disappointment in having to say- “you didn’t treat me right”. The pain is immense yet it hardly amounts to anything in the world outside your own.

Making things about yourself doesn’t make you a villain- at least not in your own story. If anyone makes you feel that way, I hope they afford you an ear, if not a shoulder.

I’ve been left feeling like my worth is only as long as I have something to offer- to provide support, to provide a safe space, or even a conversation. I’m valuable as fuck even when I am at rock bottom- unable to provide, probably even for myself.

I do not take up that role any more- of being someone who ‘understands’. I’ve done this and it is more painful than I have managed to make it sound.

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