Battle Scars

Oh, Mother.

How can I say things to you without sounding like I am crying out my words?

Oh Mother,

I cannot tell you about that night 9 years ago

When your husband found me hiding my tears in between the soft fabric of my comfort blanket which didn’t exactly feel comfortable that night.

How do I explain to you the nasty bruised mark it left in invisible ink around my ankle

Which I drag along with me

Every day I go, everywhere I go.

Oh, Mother.

How do I tell you that your voice now hurts my ears every time you yell after coming home at night because it stopped hurting my feelings a long time ago.

Oh, Mother.

How do I kiss you goodnight when I haven’t had a goodnight’s sleep in a year and a half since that night you locked me in my room, thinking I am asleep, and did not return till sunrise.

I lay there, mother, just waiting for your car to return to the parking lot.

But you took my night’s sleep that night and haven’t returned it ever since.

Oh, Mother.

How do I reminisce when my memories don’t involve a bustling house of food and family on a lazy Sunday afternoon in the summer of 2008.

My memories are sharp and I have coloured them with the black crayon I stole from my kindergarten teacher’s cabinet when she wasn’t looking.

Oh, Mother.

How do I tell you that you have been strong like ice and soft like fire because it does make me proud to see how you got through it even though you knew it would mean ending up alone.

Mother,

Can I say these things to you without making you feel guilty?

These insidious facts are less about me and more about your battle scars.

But, mother, how do I explain that to you after all?

Semblance

I wake up

To days that begin with laughter

And joy of being around people.

I fall asleep

To moments of desire

To moments of wanting to not be accepted 

To moments of being the quiet force of hidden jubilancy.

To moments I know I'll always dream of

Because I did not have the courage.

Do I always wake up from that dream

Where I'm camouflaging 

With the very next crowning

Of symbols and serenity

Hiding behind that semblance

Of majesty and malevolence?

I don't. Want to.

Addict

Hello. I’m an addict.

No Please don’t take that step back that you are about to. It’s not contagious, I’m sure you know that. Then what do you fear?

My anticipated cry for help? Or the reproachful glances of the society when they find out who you’ve been talking to?

I can see you standing with that trembling posture.

You don’t know how grateful I am that you didn’t step back, yet I can see by the back-and-forth movement of your toes that you’re unwilling to take a step ahead.

It’s okay.

I’m used to it.

I can feel that pity in your handshake but it makes me happy.

I can see that look of curiosity in your eyes.

I want to answer it and I know you want me to unravel the mystery for you, too.

But I don’t think it’s a good idea. Most of you don’t understand.

You consider it to be a disgrace, of sorts.

But you want to know anyway.

Okay, I’ll tell you.

No, I have a perfectly stable family life. I am not the rich brat who sleeps in manifestations of wealth and dreams of absentee parents.

No, it’s not peer pressure. You see, I don’t exactly have many friends left, do I?

No, it’s not the television or the uncensored media you blame. I know I am stronger than that, even if you don’t believe me as I say it.

No it’s not because I’m depressed. Although, I do fear slipping into that dungeon someday in my life. But when I do, I know I won’t need any of this because that darkness will itself be more commanding.

No, I am not heartbroken and living every moment in the self-deprecating shadows of a boy who forgot to pay attention to me.

No, I don’t hide in my bathroom and shed midnight tears as I watch the numbing red streams of fluid trickle down by thighs.

No, I was not a teen who tripped over the wrong rock and has been unable to get back ever since.

No, I do not how all of you come up with such guesses but I do know that you are wrong.

I am where I am because I want to be here. Or rather, there’s some place else I’d rather not be. Somewhere in my darkness I feel scared. And I would do anything to stay away.

I do this on order to avoid myself.

Which is ironic because in the process of this, it’s the people around me, like you, who start avoiding me; while I am just left there to face myself and a love I know I’ll never receive.