An open letter

I sit silently upon our bed
the clock ticking  in the corner of our room,
birds twittering to the melody of a late summer evening
and while the last sunrays enter our small house
I think of your soft hands and mellow lips;
I think of how you used to hold my jaw
as if it was the greatest you have ever held.

Time passes; the clock still ticking,
until its sound diminishes within the blurred pictures of my mind,
skies turn grey and birds fall silent
and I sit there, dry eyes and empty heart,
I sit in order to remember
how you said love would never be forgotten
and how quickly you forgot to call it love.

Sometimes I do not know why I write letters to you
again and again,
unread stories and untold secrets,
floating within the space of your fingers and my desk.

Maybe one day you will have the time to read
what has taken me too long to witness.

Jehona Thaqi©

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Endless

I never knew
that love could
shrink
and expand
like the very skin of mine
– stretching into the forms
closest to a Goddess;
growing –
until it fits two lives within one body.

I never knew
that love could
expand
and shrink
like withering flowers
– drying out upon this harsh earth;
until their petals become one with the ground they sleep on.

I never knew
that loving was an endless story
of ups and downs,
of growing and shrinking,
of falling and standing up
– constantly giving
and taking.

I never knew
that you could get tired of love
or the absence of it;
but as soon as I felt love
with its utmost purity
– with its sometimes ugly smile
but its taste of heavenly sweetness –
I knew that love
would stay;
even if it is long gone.

Jehona Thaqi©

Too much

I talked too much,
for whenever I was quiet
you said something was wrong,
as if my existence was bound to my words
and to the little spaces
between breathing and speaking.

I laughed too much,
for whenever I was quiet
you said something was wrong,
as if I was a puppet of happiness
and I danced to the rythm
of everyone’s well-being.

I cried too much,
for whenever I was quiet
you said something was wrong,
as if my tears were the only proof of a crying heart,
and the way I grasped for air
was my way to say sorry.

But sometimes,
silence became the only language
I knew how to speak.
Sometimes, when you were far,
I forgot that there were words to say,
and stories to laugh at,
and songs to cry to.

Sometimes my heart ached
for you to call
and say that something was wrong.

Jehona Thaqi ©

Waves

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She watched her life fall apart,
as quietly as the sound of the sea.
Her eyes were fixed upon the horizon,
waiting for this day to come to an end,
so that the waves will wash away
the footprints upon her very skin.

I knew she was strong,
who else could stare blankly
at an event as horrendous as this.
Who else could believe that this destruction
will make the sea go wild
and bring peace to what’s underneath the quivering of her heart.

I saw the dew fall from her green eyes,
and it made me shiver.
The waves must have caught her,
I thought, while the sun was setting,
the water was rising within her body,
cleaning her spirit from pain and sadness.

She watched her life fall apart,
as quietly as the sound of the sea.
But she was a raging wave,
merely waiting to grow strong and powerful.

Jehona Thaqi© the picture was taken from Loredana B., a good friend of mine.

This is no poem

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“I am more than how you choose to see me. And I am not reducing this whole body of mine to a scale from one to ten. You can give me a mark on how I spell my words, but you can not correct my tongue. For I am standing up for the soul that is being born each day, in billion shades of wonderful. I am still trying to find myself and you will not define the time I stop.”

The words that burst out of my mouth.
Things school never taught me.
Thoughts that haunt me.

This is no poem.
Yet for me it is more than that.

Jehona Thaqi©

Questions to you

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How do I learn to love myself
when I have been taught to shut my mouth
whenever I needed to scream.

How do I learn to appreciate a beating heart within those fragile ribs,
when I have been taught to sacrifice it for anyone,
except for myself.

How do I learn to value my body
while magazines have called it names,
too this and too that,
but never quite enough.

Tell me, how do I learn to love all that I am,
when I have been taught to despise
everything
I ever was.

Jehona Thaqi©