If You Don't Mind

I feel the shadows cast; it has been set; your ultimatum.

It was a contract, a deal the both of us signed, but now you’ve moved on and I’m still trying to.

You never gave me a real word of advice, never cleaned up your mess; I was never ready for a goodbye.

It slipped; some words I should’ve told to you and though I should have sooner, I resorted to later, which, by then, it was too late.

Did it burn you?

The way you left, got your head spinning and left me in a heap with my dress caught in the thorny bushes that we recklessly ran by, holding some of the threads of my clothing, twisting it around and around until there was nothing left.

You left me in the middle, struggling to breathe, struggling to see your face; the way it tastes is something I wish to inhale every morning.

But now the inhalant has rotted, until yet again you find a way to break free of the obstacle you are in and come back to me again.

I can sense you won’t and that’s all right.

That’s all right because while you’re over there, your heart beating slightly less frequently than it used to when it was with mine, I will be over here, my head against the side of my depression, drinking from his hands.

I will be over here, right next to purity, with a knife in my hands, stabbing her ten times every single day.

I will be over here, next to your words that I keep with me, leaving tearstains on their shoulders.

I will be over here, lying naked next to my insecurities, always looking over my shoulders, trying to see who sees me and what they’ll say.

But I won’t be over there, next to you, holding your hands, drying your tears; I won’t be over there, kissing your lips, tenderly touching your face; I won’t be over there, talking about everything the stars told me last night, talking about the sun that always seems to never like the way I look; I won’t be over there tonight, not next to you, not next to her.

If you don’t mind, I will be over here, by myself, the self that always cries when she sees you leaving.

If you don’t mind, I will be over here, by myself, the self that always misses you, the one that always adheres to your every whim.

If you don’t mind, I will be over here, by myself, the self that always speaks your name, the self whose eyes always rolls to the heavens in thought of you, the self that always speaks so kindly to you, the self that always appreciates everything that you’ve ever done, the self that remembers what it was like in middle school, the self that was emotionally hurt, the self that always felt so little of herself, the self that never made it to actually appreciating herself, the one that never accepted who she was; the one waiting for love.

It’s alright if you never knew; no one did.

No one knew that in my loneliest days, I would sit here, next to the oil lamp and read my books.

I would sit here with Edward, Bella, Susan, Hannah, Clay, Tony; I would sit here with Sam and Peter, Marco, Jake, Racheal and Cassie; I would sit here reading and bringing the stories to life in my mind; I would sit here and talk to them, console my entire life to them and they would sit and listen, feeling my feelings, tearing up when I cried and getting heated when I was enraged.

It’s okay because now you’re not here again and I can be free, but not by my books, not by music, not by anything typical.

I can be here, in my home and forget you ever existed, but sometimes it’s hard, so if you don’t mind,

I will be over here, my head against the side of my depression, drinking from his hands.

I will be over here, right next to purity, with a knife in my hands, stabbing her ten times every single day.

I will be over here, next to your words that I keep with me, leaving tearstains on their shoulders.

I will be over here, lying naked next to my insecurities, always looking over my shoulders, trying to see who sees me and what they’ll say.

I will be over here, the teardrops dripping on the side of what we used to have.

I will be over here, the light in my eyes leaving me for yet another round of poker.

I will be over here, getting dizzy from the smoke of my regrets, the fog getting thicker and thicker with each pausing breath.

I will be over here, the non-existent tears rolling down my face, from lack of feeling, from lack of emotion, from lack of anything.

I will be over here, next to the box of lies you sent me.

I will be over here, next to the snapshots I took of you while you were sleeping, the ones from my dream.

If you don’t mind, I will be over here, where the sun doesn’t see my tears.

Reviews

[Elmarie]

Hi Khatoon Hazara
I read a few of your other poems and did not leave a review yet as I wanted to just keep on reading. You have a gigantic talent. When I read this piece I was blown away. I could hear Alanis singing your Creation as a song. I could hear the world of scorned feminine voices in a unified quire, I could hear the pain of this all. How profoundly well written. I love you style of writing. I think your word use is fantastic. I better stop I might inflate your ego. Ok one more you are Awesome!!! Thank you for sharing :)

Blessings EL

[FaeryQueen]

Thank you Elmarie, very rarely do i think greatly of my work; they are merely feelings in which i feel in my being. i feel like exploding at times and i do... it's just... poetry comes out