In the hours that I let pass, scrolling on my phone,
In the phone calls I haven't returned all month,
In the e-mails and newspapers piling up,
In the song meanings I still haven't looked up,
In the days I skipped bath,
In the instagram story views I overread,
In the poems I did not write,
In the grades I could not achieve,
In the scars on my skin,
In the friends I could not keep,
sits the fear your words gave me.
On the day I got that panic attack during my board exam, the school doctor said a lot of people get exam anxiety and exam hall panic attacks and that I wasn't alone and that it was all okay. An hour ago I was filling my credentials on a website for a mock exam. I just really wanted to call the doctor and ask her if the lot of people were also afraid of getting their own name wrong.
Today I was dropping my brother off to our dad's office so he could take an unbothered piece of class. On the way, one moment I was singing sweet night as light rain hit my cheeks and petrichor walked with the air and then the next, I was afraid I was going to get my brother hurt with the way I rode the two wheeler. "You really need to get a second training" he said as we reached the place with my feet still shaking from where I kept it on the vehicle.
Back home now,
I am really considering the isolation you suggested that would heal my ways of living this life. My ways of living this life. Dreamy aren't they? Look at this poem for instance, look how I dramatize shit that happens to me in dreamy imagery, like the butterflies in my garden are actually fairies because I said it be.
I am really considering all that you say I am. I believe in you each day, in each word you say. All of it. But, I have people who tell me they love me. I don't believe any of them on some days but they still keep telling me. So here I am trying so so so so hard to be a fairy that can adorn this garden because I know the moment I break through a cocoon, I am flying away the next. All these people who tell me they love me will run with me through the garden chasing my colours and I will say let me kiss that pink flower and disappear in the blue sky. Maybe hurting them or may be freeing them, I don't know, but I really thought a lot when Andrea Gibson said the bough is breaking. I don't want those kids in Palestine to think I flew butterfly for freedom as they flew kites to say they are freeSo maybe my poetry is this hyperbolic fairy of dramatic scenes that in words seem like they never happened but in my memory are so real.
Let it be like this my friend, because the moment I say butterfly, I will be gone like it.
Keep my blood fairy and my soul magic my dear friend. This is my call for help, before I fly goodbye for not being miracle enough.
