If my heart could speak in colours

If my heart could speak in colours, it would not begin with red.

It would begin with grey; soft, hazy, and in-between. The kind of grey that lingers after rain. The kind that drapes itself over the soul when you’re neither here nor there, just suspended in waiting. That’s where my heart has lived for a long time… in the quiet moments that aren’t sad or happy, just numb. Just grey.

Then there would be blue. Not the kind that reminds you of oceans or wide-open skies, but the deep indigo of night. The blue that weeps quietly behind closed doors. The kind of blue that has learned to keep secrets. That holds sorrow in the creases of old journal pages and tear-soaked pillows. Blue is the ache I’ve carried, and the tenderness I’ve tried not to show.

If you looked closer, though, you’d find gold. Not bright or showy, but the kind of gold you’d miss unless you were really paying attention. The kind that glows beneath the cracks. The kind that says, “I’m still here.” That quiet resilience that returns after every storm, no matter how many times it gets washed away. My heart still shines, even when no one is looking. That is gold.

There would be green; not because everything is okay, but because I’m still growing. Still learning. Still choosing to believe in softness after hardness. In healing after hurt. Green is the colour of choosing to stay. Of beginning again, even after everything has broken.

And sometimes, there’s pink. A fragile, blushing pink that appears when I let someone in even just a little. The kind of pink that isn’t sure if it’s allowed to bloom, but does anyway. The colour of trying again. Of forgiving myself for all the times I fell short of my own expectations. The colour of love that isn’t loud, but true.

There is still black...in corners I don’t always visit, but that I no longer fear. It’s the depth of everything I’ve survived. The shadows remind me how much light I’ve found. Black isn’t the enemy. It’s the backdrop against which every other colour became visible.

And when I look at it all together: the grey, the blue, the gold, the green, the pink, and yes, even the black, I see the masterpiece of a heart that’s still beating. Still feeling. Still choosing to show up.

If my heart could speak in colours…
This is what it would say.

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INBETWEEN

The long weekends have done me good because I am ahead of my deadline, and I am happy to present to you my first public collection of poems. 

This collection speaks mostly of my time dealing with love, moving on and letting go. It's not strong, but it's raw, personal and intimate. It's me giving parts of myself to the world and for the longest time, I've been keeping them to myself.

Please accept "INBETWEEN (between staying strong and falling apart)": a 30-page of words from the unheard thoughts inside of my head (link below).

INBETWEEN BY FAYEN ADI (2017)

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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

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