Poetry

In 2015, I've successfully compiled 3 sets of unpublished collection, with one being submitted for an Art Installation, which was exhibited at the end of November last year. In every of the collection, I dedicated it to my late grandparents whose strength and love made me believe in myself more than my own parents.

The first poem that I wrote was in 2006 about my grandmother. It moved my whole class, that I kept wanting to express myself in poetry more than any other medium. Below is the last piece I wrote in December 2015, and in another entry I will try to elaborate more on why it meant so much to me:

"TELL ME WHAT'S WRONG"

My skin is a gallery of unhealed wounds
constantly touched by others who insisted
that I should have it fixed

I am a problem
people bring to discussion
because there is always a solution to everything

My body is full of scars of memories
scars of bullied days
scars of that one afternoon
that would then traumatised me for life

Don’t ask me what’s wrong;
I don’t know and I don’t want to talk about it

Listen to me when I said I don’t want to talk about it
because my mind is repeatedly trying to convince
itself that this too shall pass
I just needed time to let it go

You tell me to take my time
but do you see me standing at the edge of the cliff?
Yet you are constantly pushing me and
one more I know I will fall

My darling,
            My depression is trying to kill me
            and lately I have little willpower to fight against it

It tells me to pick up the pills
and swallow them whole
It tells me to smash my head
until I can paint everything red
just the way it likes it
When I drive, it tells me
to slower down my brake response
so that I would run over the BMW in front of me

Is this what you wanted to hear?
That I see no point of living
when love is a heartache
and I feel more safer in my own blanket
than the security of your arms?

I am not pushing you away
but my depression has built a wall
to protect me from the harm
of your misunderstood thoughts

I am trying to open the door
but my hands tremble
and I see my feet shatter before me

I pick them up
but my hands bleed
and still you tell me to
“get yourself together already”

Can’t you see I’m trying?
I am trying but the darkness is coming
and I can’t find the exit door now
So please bring me light
and stop knocking on my door
I can’t see

If this a game for you
then honey, you’ve won a long time ago

If you’ve never needed me then why are you still here?

Stop telling me to fix my brokenness
when that’s all I’ve ever known
I never wanted it fixed anyway

I just needed someone to understand
that like a broken vase
I am always a little too fragile even when I’m a piece once more