The Poet Tries: Untold Love #Wattys2019

#5- It Was The Old Me Who Died

I died few years ago.
Not from an accident, disease nor suicide.
I can't even recall what's the cause,
All I can remember is how they let me leave but didn't count as a loss.

When died few years ago,
The funeral was held in my room.
My bed witnessed all my lashes while the cover was painted with dried scarlet stains.
And the walls –it was too dark where nobody can see the carvings I made with my bare claws.

I died few years ago.
Yet I can still feel the iron bars crashing into my bones,
How my head kissed the concrete floor and wooden wall.
But later on, I found myself lying in a cold desert under the twinkling stars in my room.

When died few years ago,
My family haven't visited my grave even once.
Nor lit a candle in front of the wooden statue they always worship.
Maybe, because they still believe I'm a disappointment.
The odd, the black sheep or the sinner as they call me always.

I died few years ago.
But the art I made from my skin is still visible.
It stays the same every time - fresh, with oozing rosy liquid all throughout.
Well you can't blame I don't feel anything at all.

I died as a queer.

I died from battling with my daily heartaches and misconceptions.
I died believing that there's hope;
Hope that will and can ease all the pain.

And now, after few years, I'm alive – again.
I was able to get through from all the pain and sufferings.
Beaten all the barricades and surpass all the hurdles,
And I believe, I won from this battle.

After dealing with all the problems,
I decided to paint my room with colorful ones.
My bed was now comfy and the cover was changed with a new one.
And the walls, it contains several plaques from different achievements of mine.

I built a new foundation made from the bars that used to hit my bones.
The floor was already polished that shines like a gemstone.
But the cold desert is still there,
Yet I now know, I'll be lying on my comfy bed peacefully everyday, every night.

When I died few years ago, my family didn't visited my grave because their giving me time.
They helped me to recover and to know Him.
They learned to accept me for who I am and love me.
But never called me a sinner again instead they said, "You're a gift. A blessing from above and we love you, always".

The art I embedded on my skin is still visible yet it healed already.
It's now a scar from my past that tells me every time that there's hope.
And every night, I'll caress it and pray.

I died not because I ended my life.
I died not because I don't have any reason to continue living.
I died not because I want to be free.
I died because it's the only way to be alive again.

//it was the old me who died//