Don’t let your bones be a mixture of anger and marrow.
Don’t let your mouth sing its song everyday.
Don’t let it consume you
Dont let it fuel your dreams.
Don’t treat your heart like a public space.
Dont let everyone sit and marvel at its walls.
It holds your joy.
And your joy is precious gold.
Don’t get used to sadness.
Don’t think of it as your favourite chair feeling out of place if you are not in it.
Pain is not comfortable
It’s only numbing.
He asks you to write him something
You tell him you have writers block
He doesn’t understand that writing is therapy
And sometimes, you have to be quiet and listen during therapy.
I feel the need to introduce myself.
This is my self esteem; twice removed.
Meet my emotional availabity; try making a phone call in the desert you have better luck of reaching through.
These are my walls; made of stone, made of disappointments, made of tomorrow’s that never came.
My clothes may fall faster.
And these are my dreams, this is my fire.
Sometimes it burns but everytime its my light.
They told you home is two eyes and a beating heart.
Tell me why you never felt at home within yourself?
Scrub the regret and disappointments away,
Clear out the mess from your soul,
Dust off the shame from the shelves of your mind.
You are coming home.
You are coming to yourself.
Dear reader who is very loyal and patient,
I will write more this year. Not only because my job has so much free time or because I have learned that inspiration is all about perspective. No. Not that. I will write more because stories need to be told.
Did they not tell you that your sleeves were made for buttons and cufflinks, not hearts?
Did you tell them you are tired? How you lost yourself only to find yourself weeping softly into your pillow?
Did they not tell you that the light at the end of the tunnel is just a mirror reflecting you?
What would you tell 20 year old you?
What would you say to 40 year old you?