they asked me, "What's the bravest thing you've ever said" and whilst I speculate over it, it's probably the time I confessed to myself that I do feel lone in a room full of people that care about me.
the clinking cutlery at my dinner table has started to sound more like a leaky faucet at the back of my mind that ever so struggles to fill up the prolonged silence that is there in my heart. there's barely any chatter, just the echo of my mum filling up the water jar. I eat with dispirited tears streaming down my eyes because the walls somehow seem too pale as if they're screaming the tales I'm too scared to write. I laugh at the tragedy that is my life, like flowers in a greenhouse; deprived of direct sunlight. feeling homeless in the neutral tint of my home doesn't even sound right.
we reside pretty harmoniously, in ways that my dad always questions about my well-being when he returns from work and my mum tells me what I must do, to make myself a fruitful little girl. I will make them proud one day, I tell myself, stitching up my obscured hurt.
something inside me cries
I'll always be homeless-
me, my shadow, and I
these ungracious thoughts have crept their way into the folds of my cognizance and poisoned my whole being, placing a cage over my mind.
as I hear my friends blather these days, my engraved thoughts force me to recollect the feeling of always being the go-to friend. the one whom you call up twice a month since they always feel like home. (they themselves, never feel at home, ever) the one who feels more like a family to you, because no matter how far away you are; in your heart you know this is where you can always be you.
you're always too preoccupied in your own world and I can't help but aspire to be like you. I watch you from where I'm imperceptible, hands clenched over my heart. I'm all too aware of your loving embrace, but these days I just can't stop feeling desolated when I'm enslaved watching you from afar.
something inside me dies
I'll always be homeless-
me, my shadow, and I
