Tag Archives: pain

Heartbreak

I’ve had many failed loves
Whether relationships that ended
Or one-sided infatuations coming to an end.

With each of their demise came the tears.

You know the kind I’m talking about:

Snot-filled
Puffy eyes
Cracked voice
maybe a little bit of drooling

But even after my first boyfriend told me he never really loved me
Or after my best friend of 8 years broke off our newly-founded romantic relations
Not one of them broke my heart as much as my mom could, and still can.

Just one single argument
(that escalates into a screaming match
paired with passive aggressive screeches of my ungratefulness
unfilial-ness
rudeness
and how undeserving I am of their love and brought up)

leaves me crying so hard I’m left
voiceless
eyes burning with tears long evaporated into salt
lungs splitting apart after heavy heavings
(perhaps even a panic attack as I hyperventilate)
muscles cramping from curling into a ball
as I try to keep my shattered heart together and make it whole again

before I come crawling into her arms
begging for her forgiveness and her love again
praying she’ll take me into her embrace
tell me she still loves me
wants me
pet my head and make all the bad feels go away

I make do with the anger in her voice
and the look of disgust on her face
as she holds me
and tells me Okay lah stop crying already!
Stupid girl, cry so hard until like that.
Who asked you to be so rude, huh?

And I cry like a baby
who just got her first bruise
relieved by a mother’s touch and presence
and cries louder simply from the ease of knowing mother’s here
that I am now safe.

Advertisements
Tagged , , , , , , , , , , ,

Tactile Surreality.

Passing gradients and swirl dream dyes.

bumps, crackle, white-red sparks
chest expanding lifts,
tippity-top of the brain
rolling eyes.

oxygen widening the tubes
seeping into nubs
tinkling jerks and winces
clench

Smooth rippling tides by gentle lilies.

Self obsession a cure
for redirection
and healthy minds
healthy hearts
healthy lives.

Ease, a belief of connected souls.

snap, crunch, crackle, brittle
seeping, crystals, thick
soft, compact, tough
tender, hurried, curious.

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Raped.

Rape victim, Rape survivor.

How passive, how past tensed. But it remains constant in your life.

It remains when you’re walking home late at night, keys between your fingers, poised to pierce.

It remains with every sip of alcohol, never to leave your hand, maximum two glasses, never again the hard stuff only the sweet easy ones. Only female friends around you making sure you’re safe.

It remains when you masterbate and feel guilty for feeling pleasure, cause you have glimpses of memory where you were drunk and enjoying what he was doing to your body.

It remains when you start to fall in love and want to be intimate, wondering if they might in turn rape you too. 

It remains as your past, present and future because once it has happened, you can never gain back that ease and trust, the lightness that some may treat the word like a punchline.

It remains as nightmares and self-loathing for your love and trust and belief in the fundamental goodness of humans.

It remains, now 7 months in. And it will remain in my wariness and my fear and hesitation and doubts and anxiety and tears and emptiness and blood tests and std tests and money and uncertainty about travelling and being alone and looking under the bed in the daytime and watching the curtains fearing who might be behind and turning my back to the door but also trying to stay still and tucked in on all sides with the blanket to prevent any access.

It remains in my fear and disgust and contempt and hatred and sadness in my libido. Betrayed when it ought to dry up and clamp shut, right? The other woman I was made without permission. Othered for what was done to me.

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , ,
%d bloggers like this: