Oh, To Be the Poems!
“I am a writer, yet sometimes I wish I could be the poems you wrote!”
20 years of living, I’ve been giving the best part of me for every single person that I know and care about, except me and myself. I always imagine how it feels like to be celebrated, to be heard, listened to, and seen. Putting everyone and everything above me. Living my life as if it wasn’t mine, as if my emotions and feelings were something I could set aside, they didn’t really matter. My happiness relies on the curve of smiles on people’s faces. The deeper it gets, the happier I am. Well, or so I thought.
“20 years passed and I realized it was a lie. It was me in denial. It was me being so reckless in loving myself”
Don’t get me wrong, it was lovely to see people around me getting the things that they deserved, all the love and attention, all of the good things. But, please, let it once be me.
Deep down, I wished to be treated exactly the way I treat people. Shamelessly speaking, the way I treasured people, it’s something that I was expecting to receive. My naive self thought that “I’ll just show them through my actions, probably they’ll see it”. A wishful thinking that they’ll learn and reciprocate it. Somehow it feels like I just want to scream in their faces and say “Oi, I wanted this. I wanted to be loved like this!”.
Well, technically, I did.
I did, not scream, but beg. I begged, down on my knees, asking for things that I desired. A love in the same amount as what I gave to them. In a very pathetic manner, I could say.
But, then, these past few weeks, magical thing, with -s, plural, happened. The warmth that I dreamed of, the love that I long. The realization that I do not need to beg over and over for things that I need and want. It’s all happened naturally, coming from the one who’s been giving it for the longest time, since the very beginning.
So-called ride or die, best of friends, a platonic love that is so pure and unconditional. The one that we never thought could have the chance to bloom. But, our mind and heart knew that our solace lies in each other’s presence. And, no, it wasn’t a sin, mistake, or forbidden love that we needed to hide from the world nor to feel ashamed of it.
We were too corrupted and messed up. Yet, that’s the thing that made us ‘us’. Unique, one of a kind. A beautiful trainwreck.
For once, as a writer, I feel like I am — finally — a poem, written beautifully by someone else’s pen and ink; from their perspective and point of view. To be adored, to be worshipped, and immortalized in every way that is possible. Pictures, videos, letters and words. A fragment of memory that we’ll pass on to our sons and daughters. A part of life we’ll carry until the end of time.
I thank you for being here; through all the messiest mess, darkest nightmares, and silent screaming. Now, we have our chance to be there for each other. Not just when our mind and life collapse: not only at the worst but also the better.
We’ve been through hell. We are two broken people living in madness. Trading each other’s prison, one and another. But, sometimes, that’s all that you need. To be broken, vulnerable, to admit that you are a fucked up mess and you’re trying your best.
That’s life.
That’s the divine art of living as a human being.
