my pen bleeds of sadness and heartaches; of pains and griefs, of troubles and sorrows, ’till when? i don’t know, maybe until the sadness ends, or the heartaches cease, (do they?) maybe when the pain is over or grief is long gone, (will they?) for now, i will let it bleed let it flow, don’t worry it will be over maybe not soon but it will; and when it happens know, that you will become, nothing but a recorded soliloquy of a once bleeding pen.
pain is the initial cut of the scalpel upon an open surgery, dissecting through the deepest part of my body ’till the anesthesia, takes in full control bringing me to a complete sleep – pain, is gone; i knew pain that way – but, absolute pain doesn’t feel like that at all, not even close, it feels like a million initial cuts of millions of scalpels upon an open surgery, with the anesthesia completely numbing your mind, but not your body; and you slowly agonize as each layer of your skin is being lacerated – your mind wonders; your soul afloats, your body wishes for a slow motion movement, hoping that at some point, you’d be completely free from the pain- but, lo and behold, no! as the clock ticks faster, the pain gets more excruciating, with every cut a multi layered wound is opened, feeling the pain against the pain – agonizing upon the thought, that i only have two options left before i lost control of my sanity – one, i’d signal a stop two, i’d endure the pain; i chose the latter – i’d hold on to my pain no matter what, ‘cos for now that’s the only connection i have with you.
pain is the wound i try to heal with bandages and medications; or so i thought.
my years of restless nights the pain i hide inside the smile i keep to camouflage with the scars, i nurture i relinquish to the universe to carry the burden so heavy. every single spark of hope i carry around that keeps me goin’, i relinquish to the moon and back and let the sunshine take away all my pain let the moonlight cast upon all my sorrows. i relinquish i surrender i’m done. and so maybe, just maybe if you give me a call i sure would surrender to love’s final call for i would not want anything but you. i surrender.
“The wounds we keep are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds. The next time you see someone cheerfully smiling, look into their eyes again; what does it say?”
Anything human is mentionable, and anything mentionable can be more manageable. When we talk about our pains, some say they become less overwhelming, less upsetting, and less scary. But what happens if you have no one to talk to about your pains? What happens if the one person you thought would understand you the most is the very same person who would hurt you? What happens if you can’t simply trust anyone about your story? What happens if you just want to deal with your pains alone? What happens if the pains you’re keeping are just worth keeping for the rest of your life because doing so would create havoc and destruction to people around you? What if being silent is the best option so far?
This is what happens to a woman who lost her child by miscarriage and is deemed to grieve and wallow on her own. And why? she could be living alone. She could be better off dealing with it on her own. Or worst, she feared no one would understand the gravity of her pain. And to add to the injury, she felt no one cared or understood. And that amidst it all, she is expected to go on with her life; after all, they will say, “miscarriage happens to anyone, anytime; it’s a common occurrence.”
This is what happens to a child abandoned and given up by birth. A child who was not given a chance to live in an environment she deserves, a child who lived a life of lies and compromises, a child who grew up who one day woke up and learned the life she had was a complete lie. To whom would she run and talk about her feelings of pain and betrayal? To the parents who raised her but deprived her of the truth? Or to the parents who abandoned her as a helpless little infant?
This is what happens to a woman abused by her partner, be it a boyfriend or a husband. Is keeping the pain and trauma the best option for her now? Obviously, there is so much at stake regarding her safety and her children. It’s easy to say, run away and seek help. It’s easy to say fight, fight hard enough. It’s easy to say walk away when it’s too much to bear. Easier said than done. It is easier for people to tell if they are not in that situation.
This is what happens to a young girl full of life and dream and hope; raped and sexually assaulted. Will talking about it do her good? Or would it add more to the trauma? As we know how the justice system works. The moment you run to the police station or authority for help after the assault, they would ask you questions that would make you feel the pain repeatedly, every bit of it. You will be asked to remember everything from your perpetrator’s smell down to how he smiles and smirks. And if she ran to her family and told them what happened, would she risk the fact that her father or brothers or any family members would run amok, and God knows, what they could do, perhaps hurt or harm her perpetrator? Would she risk seeing her loved ones going to jail for assaulting and, God forbid, killing the same man who assaulted her?
This is what happens to a woman wanting another chance for love. Simply love. But as they say, “damn, love is hard to find.” This happens when she gets dumped and rejected, to say the least. And for some reason, she is left grieving on her own while the other party is up to move on. What would she do? To whom would she run and talk?
Should we keep our own pains and let time heal the wound, they say? Does time really heal all wounds?
Should we talk about it? To Whom? How? Of course, people will say there are people you can run to for professional help; but let’s get real here they are damn expensive. Some will say there are trauma groups, shelters, and foundations that will help you for free; maybe for some, it will work, but for others? We don’t know. Others would probably say talk to your friends and share how you feel. Really? Because, in most cases, you become the subject of the next day’s gossip once you do so. I’m not saying this is true for all, but the point is can we blame the victim if they would prefer not to talk?
I am writing this to create awareness that we should stop the culture of blaming the woman/abused/victim for not talking, not reporting, and not walking away. Because in reality, it’s not as easy as telling an anecdotal story, it’s not as easy as running a marathon, or not even as easy as reporting a stolen wallet. There is more. And so much more. We don’t know what’s inside their minds, and we don’t know how much they are hurting.
The next time you see someone cheerfully smiling, look into their eyes again; what does it say?
Day 30 of NaPoWriMo. And so with a sad heart i say goodbye to NaPoWriMo 2022. It has been an awesome monthlong of writing poetry.
tonight i could sing the most heartbreaking song with mournful melody that could break anyone’s soul apart with a sad refrain that summarizes the agonizing suffering of a heart in pain.
how can there be so much pain in a heart where there is so much joy?
tonight i could dance in the saddest most powerful impulsive way channeling my inner intensely expressive self that may murder the spirits of spectators who feel no wish to dance themselves.
how can there be no other emotion that has the ability to make you feel both indescribable joy and deep fear and sadness, sometimes simultaneously?
tonight i could write the most lonesome poetry for there is nothing more beautiful than to a poem written by poet whose heart is not just broken but shattered in million pieces where no amount of careful skillful hoisting could assemble it back together.
is it really better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all?
tonight i could utter the saddest word ever, and it says your name.