A Funeral In My Heart

Loneliness is having a party
in my mind again and that’s okay.

 
I am surrounded 
by souls.

 
Some treat me like
sunlight and some treat me like
moonlight.

 
I cry myself to sleep
and no one knows that the truth
about loneliness is that it protects
ones heart from everything but itself.

 
There’s a funeral in my heart, 
and the casket is too small for my
childish soul that screams ‘Let me out!’

 
I want to live without thinking
about who will miss me when I’m gone
because I’m tired of writing all these goodbye
letters that mean nothing without a recipient.

 
There’s a funeral in my heart
and there are no flowers because 
nobody wants to give flowers to a suicide.

 
I wish I can say sorry for being 
so selfish but that would mean apologizing
for the nights I’ve tried to hold it all together
like rebuilding Rome for a day—I have nothing to say.

 
There’s a funeral in my heart
and I am all alone here with the lights closed
because the window might glow and I am not light.

 
I am not light.

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Accept

Allow yourself to love. Allow yourself to suffer. Allow yourself to change. And allow yourself to move on.

safe

a flower to yourself

True Love Is Like Poetry

True love is aesthetic

and destructive just like poetry.

 

It demands deep feelings

to be understood.

 

It’s the cracks where flowers

grow between the words.

 

It’s the real thing than

it is the echo.

 

It’s listening.

It’s empathy in its most

sexy form.

 

It’s music.

It’s a random act of kindness.

 

It’s spontaneous

like breaking something

and saying sorry to someone.

 

It’s powerful.

It contains formlessness

and it always compromises.

 

It’s in knowing that

you know nothing about anything.

 

It cannot be explained

and it’s mad but in a good way.

 

It’s hard work.

It needs a lot of editing

and forgiveness and learning.

 

It’s the teacher of the broken.

It’s an autobiography of time shared.

 

It’s familiar.

It’s a place for expression.

It’s a place for what we call home.

my love

my love.

 
go inside my heart, and
you will find flowers there.

 
my love.

 
go inside my heart 
and water each one of them.

 
my love.

 
remind them that you love me and 
that i am lovely.

 
that you are the gardener of my soul.

 
my love.

 
remind them that every time they wilt—
they will always bloom again.

 
my love.
my love.
my love.

 
allow me to enter inside your heart, 
and i will do the same for your flowers there.

Recovery

I exert considerable effort now to keep my depression distant like how the sun is to the moon. I practice mindfulness now, and I am aware whenever I feel de-energized, depressed and anxious. I just observe these feelings and tell myself that it’s just my mental illness and I should never confuse my biology with my true self. And I am a smart, creative and loving person who just happens to have a chemical imbalance in the brain. I love writing poetry. I love spending time with my family. I love going to the beach. These are the things that make me who I am. Love is the reason why I get out of bed in the morning. Love is the reason why I have this strong commitment to recovering from being suicidal, isolated and self-destructive. Love is the reason why I have this strong desire to change my life for the better. I jog at least half an hour a day because releasing endorphins is just freaking great. I forgive myself now for the little things. Even my father. I have a haircut once every two weeks because I notice that when I look in the mirror and feel handsome—my whole being feels lovely. I text my best friend. I tell him that I’m still fighting my depression. I tell him that I’m doing okay. I eat healthy foods, and I have a schedule every day for my life, and I’m fucking accomplishing things. I’m going out of the house more often now. I’m not that afraid anymore. I’m really making progress. I’m free from the four corners of my dark room and realize that it doesn’t have to be my prison anymore. I can simply choose to go outside and smell the yellow flowers and tell them that I love them. Because I am growing like them. Because I am beautiful like them. And I am grateful for my struggle because it has taught me that I am more resilient than I think. I listen to a song, and I just keep on hoping that things will get better because I am working on it every single day to choose the things that are best for my healing. And let myself be enough.