24 years ago
a 24 year old woman
held in her eyes
a story forged by
a future 24 years
ahead in time
authored by her
lifetime of 24
24 years ago
I just hope she
doesn’t feel obligated
to feel about her
story lived wrong
Talking about family always makes me feel conflicted, perhaps that’s the case with most people. Despite the relentless, shameless and most of the time exaggerated blames I lay at them (especially my mother) – at the end of anything at all – from the last page of a book to a sip of tea – I know that if I don’t have my parents I have nobody to look towards.
Their expectations and my inability to touch them will always end up making me feeling guilty which I (to save myself) will pour in the cup labeled ‘I am special hence…’ and drink it only to have a comfortable sleep.
I am trying to get better at confrontations. Or I could be lying to myself. I can’t tell the difference anymore. Twenty fours into life and being glued at the starting line isn’t what’s bringing out this demented talk – races aren’t about timings if you’re a fast runner anyway – it’s about my
willingness – but only to give up
determination – to never change
courage – to lie, lie and lie again
confidence – that worthless people like me shouldn’t be allowed to live
Life doesn’t have to be a race. But for most parts – it is.
And, that’s why even if I’d never be able to say this to my mother because that would only invoke more questions – I really hope she doesn’t feel any obligation towards me – to feel happy about my birthday or my life (in general) and ask me to go out and do something ‘for myself’ because in all honesty i don’t fucking deserve it…or anything. I don’t even deserve pain – I simply hope to be erased from everyone’s mind – once and for all.
My mother has grown in ways so much more wonderful than anyone I have known and I am sure she will keep on doing that. She is a beautiful, talented and strong woman and I love her for that. She has made me whatever little good I am today. My words, patience, tolerance, calm, quirk…everything and so much more which I have burnt. I wish her well.
I write this in order to remember…remind myself that I am thankful. That I am not a lost cause till this exists.
…This is why I have stopped writing prose-y stuff.