The walls. Gosh they’re getting closer.
Close enough to the storm inside.
The mind can only process so much
Until the sun sets for the tide.
In the shackles of expectations,
I’m the most obedient circus animal,
Longing for emancipation.
What more could I ask when they haven’t seen my struggle?
I am my worst enemy
For I let pressure carve my stature.
I let rumours define me,
And all they say is that I’m merely gullible in nature.
Foolish. Let it be known then,
That I was foolish and what I now know is irrelevant.
Fine. But remember when you left me to fall
I convinced myself that I was the burden.
Intermission. When I could finally breathe for respite
Clinging on to you for what I thought was support.
No. Now it’s pronounced backbite.
It hurts. A pillar of trust demolished from this fort.
It’s okay. It’s a phase.
A little part of me told me to keep going.
The good left in me started to erase.
I was deflated and it was showing.
My interests in anything were mediocre,
My frame was shrinking,
Easily named ‘the joker’,
She’s starving herself, that’s what they were thinking.
Reputation. A seed that grows into a venomous yet beautiful tree,
That has compliments as its water and sins as its weeds.
Everyone wants a taste of its fruit,
But when it’s rotten, it’s discarded for no one to see.
But the rotten reemerges from the soil,
To help its brethren thrive.
It makes use of what it has broken
To keep the luscious green alive.
But I was broken. Unable to find my brethren
What I couldn’t be was my view,
In a world of filters, they made it a heaven
And I was nothing but a residue.
What happened? She was so vibrant
Hasn’t she heard of resilience?
I have. But I now choose to be silent
Please take heart in my melancholic ambience.
Will she recover? Is this “depression” contagious?
It began when you left me, hypocrite.
You blissfully never knew you made me dangerous
And you can never take back what you deposit.
I’ll make it. I promised myself
To never be so cruel to someone who’s still learning,
To never worsen my crippling health,
To never seek vengeance, however tempting and burning.
For the road ahead, abundant with bliss and despair,
Is trodden by those who seek themselves.
I choose it to fix me and prepare
To be more vigilant and ask for help.
This piece of debris awaits restoration
This discarded fruit seeks purpose
To find myself, it takes a little self-adoration
You blissfully never knew how long I waited for this.
Teresa Kuruvila is a budding writer and proud feminist. Her interests include literature, history, social issues and their intersections.
Featured image credit: Claudette Rodriguez/Flickr (CC BY-SA 2.0)