Every night she is staring at the very same mirror, smeared with strangers staring back. She can’t find nor recognize herself anymore, and so one night, she stops looking.
Every night her soul is floating in the space between her face and this estranged reflection. She hears the walls murmuring, admiring the touch of her body, while she feels weighed down by an inexplicable mess.
Every night grey clouds gather in her eyes, and wait for that thought to pass by her mind and pierce them through, giving birth to that same salty river, suspended between the skies.
Every night she sees the same stranger, hiding somewhere in her trapped crowd, staring back, smiling to her in malice, latching onto her floating, yet leashed soul.
Blinded by the laughter of a thousand strangers, her body explodes into a million little pieces, and each piece gazes at her soul as it soars away, the higher it soars, the lighter each piece feels.
Yesterday I saw the stars dance under the moonlit canopy. Did she pass by, and set a heavenly melody to the night? I outstretched my hand to touch the sky, and I swear that it felt like touching her lips. My fingertips traced her cosmic wounds, each seamed with a different moonlight.
They told me the story of a stranger that once smothered her soul, and left her a mess, gasping for a breath. They described to me how she prowled for each and every piece of her, how she rebuilt this home, and summoned back her soul.
There’s a flicker in her eyes today, there’s a magic in the way she move, she’s grown into poem, while all that she have ever been was a blank page; one to be written upon.
I could feel her soul is raging, for her wounds are leaking of fairydust. I could feel her eyes are burning, for she’s setting this place on fire.
I am wearing her smile today, the one that tells the world that she, who were once empty and broken, have become whole again.
I would like to dedicate this post to a friend of mine, Miss Sobana as a shoutout and a token of my gratitude for inspiring me to become a better version of myself. Her thoughts dance in my mind like planets revolve around a sun and every time I try to write her down, supernovae explode inside my head. Pay attention to how I become starry-eyed when I say her name and the way her dimples glow like half moon when she smile. She’s made up entirely of brushstrokes and doesn’t even know she’s an art and when she looks at you that way, it colours your world and you understand she’s an artist too. Sometimes I wonder where she come from. She’s too beautiful to be of this world, too human to be anything else. She’s the tallest tree, she’s an erupting volcano, she’s viscous and violent, she’s a beautiful conflict of nature. She’s melancholy wrapped in beautiful metaphors and her smile is so exquisite; I guess God painted it with the same colours and brush that he painted the sunset with. I wonder how many poems remain unwritten because there is not enough ink to describe her beauty.
If you’re dealing with depression or even medically diagnosed, go check out her blog that aims to spread awareness about depression and suicide. She writes so beautifully that sometimes I wonder how old her soul is. She’s an inexplicable embodiment of beauty and I think it’s beautiful the way she carries herself. She’s an unfinished masterpiece with an elegant mind, a fragile heart, an indomitable soul. I strongly suggest you to follow her because her words will touch you gently, like hands that can heal the deepest wounds. The other day, I was at a gallery and an artist told me that art is meant to be shared and naturally I started talking about her and if you are paying attention, somewhere in the middle of it all you will realize I am speaking poetry, in its rawest form. It would mean a lot to me if you could check out her blog. Please give it a read and show her some love.
Here you go: Scarsandsilence