TWISTED

Irony takes the lead in the narrative,
The submissive confronts the free bird and triumphs.
If you find beauty in the brick walls that suffocate you…
Would it be tragically wonderful or wonderfully tragic?

I desire to fly, but the ropes of fear have tied me to the pit.
Perhaps you define fear for me,
Sucking the fortitude out of me with your kisses.
Should I love you or abhor you?
Lovingly hugging me to cut my wings.

I desire to escape, but these boundaries have started to mesmerize me.
Perhaps you define beauty for me,
Concealing the ecstatic world beyond.
Should I call you my captor or my protector?
Shielding me by caging me in.

How twisted am I to let this go on?
You thrust your hand into my chest and I snuggle closer.
How twisted are you to let this go on?
Squeezing my heart to fit into your fist.
I suppose love, ah love, is the answer to all.
The broken bones, bruises on my cheek.
My scar, perhaps, is the lovely mark of your passion.
Shall I cover it up or flaunt it for my wretched love?

It’s cruel how you find darkness within light, light within darkness.
Love comes in million forms, some of them despicable.

Can you heal my wings, please?
I’d like to fly back to sanity
I’ve been stranded for far too long.

Can you talk to God, please?
I prayed for a love that consumed me.
He took me too literally.

-Roselina Roby

FEAR OF FEAR?

I’d believed great realization comes like a sudden wave, magnificent in its solitude, terrorizing because of its abruptness. Now I’ve learned it in a rather strange way that sometimes it comes to you bit by bit, like one brick after the other, forming a massive wall in the prison of your brain as if nothing is wrong. All of them are right there and you won’t even notice because hey, they don’t make you feel anything, do they? Then one fine day this wall breaks, it doesn’t matter how or when or why, the only thing that matters is the burst of emotions it brings. You needed it to shatter, get destroyed, because now that it is hurting, you will finally see the multitudinous iotas of realization backed by instances. Really see them.

I’d been delusional in my interpretation of fear. For me it was just the apprehension you feel when you’re walking alone on the street in the dark or worrying about telling your parents that you got a C in Sociology. It is hilarious how I never even noticed how fear could actually, and had actually, started ruling my life. Just the different kind.

I became afraid to write my heart out, afraid to show the world the raw thoughts that my mind housed. Poetry became a medium to pass time in Criminal Law Class and stopped being a window to my soul.

I became afraid of love because, oh well, who wants to get hurt? And isn’t love bound to hurt you? For we are mere mortals, it is only logical that the love in our mortal hearts will have its inevitable end too.

I became afraid to read, write, watch tragedies because they made me feel too much, made me think too much. I remember feeling the innocent tears on my cheeks and childishly saying “never again”.

I became afraid of losing, of not being able to excel in the things I had passion for and now, my heart has ceased to care enough even to try to win.

I became afraid of committing to real people, chose TV shows instead. That is, after all, the thing about fiction, you can choose to believe it’s real when everything is rainbows and sunshine and remember it’s not when things go dark.

I became afraid of people not liking me (yes, I am shallow that way). Sometimes I just never know if I’m being too forward or too loquacious or too frikking stupid. And soon, I realised, that I’d inadvertently started conducting mini-debates within myself even before saying a simple “Hi” to an acquaintance.

And now I have also become afraid of letting this fear rule me, which in itself means that it already does. It has turned into an anesthesia to my heart, made it numb. I have understood that smiling brightly is easier when you don’t have anything to feel. The smile will remain constant because its connection to the heart has turned futile anyway.

Today I realized that I’d stopped feeling long time ago, that I’d stopped living long time ago. And how ironic is it that I’d always tried to run away from tragedies.