This is Not A Poem

I don’t have anyone to talk to about these things anymore. The broken cooler in my room nobody would fix. The fan on the ceiling and the slow hum of it. I fell butt down on a
busy road the other day and laughed 5 minutes straight and came home, rubbed hot wet cloth over the bruises and then cried some. I bought the wrong vegetables, walked into the wrong place. I picked a fabric softener that smells like hospitals and antiseptic because it was cheaper, and you know how much I hate hospitals. The overripe bananas on top of the fridge. The insect bites on my thighs have left ugly marks. A man bought me flowers one day, orange lilies and I cried the whole night. I watch too many cheap Bollywood movies now, all that dancing and sorrow seeps into everything. I miss coconut oil. How did it ever come to this. I walk around with my hand curled into a fist all the time. I’m tired. The air is suffocating, people push too much here, touch too much. I’m starting to look like something out of a lost and found basket. I haven’t brushed my hair in 9 days. If you had tried to run your fingers down my hair, you probably would have to cut your fingers. The jokes. The losing mind, the sobbing phone calls. My neighbours want me to leave, my father wants me to come home. I look in the mirror and ask “what do you want love“. I want someone to talk to about these things.
– journal; This is Not A Poem by Thamanna Razak

3 thoughts on “This is Not A Poem

  1. Try to reply the messages you once ignored. Try to meet that nightcrowler that never saw the dawn. Try to say hi to the freak who never got the chance

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.