In Defiance of Those Who Come to Box You

Why do you do this to yourself?

Why do you stand and ask the girl in the mirror who you are?

Why do you ask the numbers if you are worthy?

Do you not know,

They do not know

How to label you appropriately.

If you ask strangers to define you,

They will cut you up until they can fit you in the norm.

You are never just the norm.

Your mother did not stand straight

For nine months she carried your weight,

So that one day you can walk without your spine folding.

So why do you let others,

Shame you into silence?

Neither priceless nor worthless have any real value.

So who gets to decide if you are one over the other?

Why do you ask your poetry to bleed for you?

Why do you ask your art to cry over you.

Why do you lie to yourself every night?

This world doesn’t need anymore lies.

You have turned your voice hoarse

Defending people you know nothing about,

Defending emotions.

Why have you let the world turn your heart into a battlefield.

Since when have you become so defenseless?

You were not born to justify your existence.

You don’t have to prove your beliefs.

And ever time you explain yourself to others,

You let them know they have a right to those questions.

Your life is not a comprehension test to the world.

You don’t have to make sense to others

At the cost of your sanity.

So every time they come bearing tags,

Tell them you mother did not name you unique

So that they can turn you into something ordinary.

Tell them you are ballad, a song

Written in a language long forgotten.

Tell them your story is carved in stone,

In a city now lost underground.

Tell them you have built monuments

For every tear you let fall.

Tell them you can’t be loved so easily.

And that’s okay by you.

Tell them the next time they come to box you up,

You will tear apart the seams

Every time.

Broken Kaleidoscope

Hey do you know remember that day? That day, we spent hours looking through the Kaleidoscope making up stories of the future?

The other day while thinking I have nothing of you, I found that Kaleidoscope lying at a forgotten place. I picked it up and looked through the patterns until I had to look away from the memories that started to stare back at me. As I turned it around to lock it away once more, I saw the broken glass on the other side of the Kaleidoscope. How could it have a broken glass and yet keep making these mesmerizing patterns? Shouldn’t the brokeness distort the beauty?

Do you know, lately I have been thinking, I have become a broken Kaleidoscope myself. On one side I am broken along the fault lines – not shattered, but broken irreparably – while on the other I form patterns. All those who look at me see the beads arranged so meticulously, not knowing the cracks only mimics the glass. They don’t see that I am just a soul filled with broken mirrors, dazzling people by reflecting a sheer array of lights.

I have learned since your death that people see what they want to see. Nobody likes to focus on the fault lines of their soul. May be you didn’t either. I liked to think that when you looked through the Kaleidoscope that day, you skipped all the landmines of sorrow and focused on the distant future, a place where you would be happy. As for me, I never learned to look far in search of friendship. May be that’s why when I picked up the Kaleidoscope again, I focused on the cracks closest to the surface. I don’t see the intricate patterns of beads anymore; instead, I keep trying to find a piece of you to anchor myself again.

The Gift Of Wings

I never wanted to become your burden, your responsibility.

You have always been my hero and I looked up to you to rescue me. And rescue me you did. But somewhere between that, you became caged. You took me out of my misery and weaved your own.

Now that I think about it, maybe I should have I realized that to get something you have to give something. I didn’t know then, that to give myself the opportunity to be free you gave up your freedom to dream for yourself. In living up to my definition of hero, you forgot to save yourself.

Even now it’s hard to accept that I shackled all the things you represented. And so I promise you, if it would make any difference, someday I would save somebody like you saved me. Perhaps it’s not possible to repay sacrifices such as yours, but I still believe it is possible to honor them. And honor them I will.

So thank you for giving these wings.