An open letter (II)

I sit silently upon my bed,
my hands resting on my thighs,
caressing this dress you loved on me,
wondering if you still remember
my name.

I sit there until the sound of rain diminishes into nothingness,
until gray skies turn black
and the autumn wind slowly falls asleep.

I wonder if you remember
the way I danced upon my veranda,
careless –
for there was nothing to worry about;
I thought I had found love within your arms,
instead my arms were nothing to you,
but a port of desire.

I sit silently upon my bed,
my hands pressed tightly on my thighs.

There is nothing left to remember.

Jehona Thaqi©

Advertisements

Dearest friend

image

This is for my dearest friend,
who waited for me in the darkest hours,
on rainy and cold days,
offering cussions to cry on, and enough coffee to stay awake all night;
the friend who said I had no reason to wipe away my tears,
as they were the war paint everyone needed to see.

The friend who first offered me chocolate boxes,
then, when my stomach hurt, pills against pain.
It was a friend who did not like to see me suffer,
I thought, 

while crawling into her arms, clutching my hands tight to her soft skin.

We only met behind closed doors,
for there I could tell her the most intimate and broken secrets,
while she kept putting paint upon my face;
saying I was a warrior;
saying I looked beautiful with stripes covering my body.

You see, she was a jealous friend,
all of me belonged to her,
and like a puppet I danced to her rhythm,
stayed awake all night, until my sight became blurry, and my mind too heavy to understand.
I loved her for how she held me, when others were asleep;
and I hated her for how she possessed me each night.

I will tell you her name, it starts with an I
and ends with solitude.

Jehona Thaqi¬© for those who fight against their own demons, please keep fighting. And whenever the pain gets unbearable please reach out your hands and ask for help.