Poems And Words - Tumblr Posts
It's currently 4:33am and today is my 23rd birthday.
I have no plans for today, and that's okay. It's expected. I wont lie and say I'm filled with joy and excitement for this day, because I'm feeling fairly indifferent (or at least I'm trying to).
I'm not where I thought I would be at 23 years old. When I was still living at home, a few years ago, I imagined this would be a time of happiness, freedom and personal fulfillment. But sadly its not. There's been sprinkles of happiness, but the dark clouds have been so overwhelming, it's been hard to see even a glimer of joy sometimes. I've been walking blind through a storm. A storm that I had a hand in creating.
A few days after my 19th birthday I walked into a citizens advice bureau and applied for homelessness. My mother had received a notice of eviction from our family home. She was no where to be found most days leading up to this, and when she was home she was sleeping off her days of gallivanting like a child with her friends. Nothing would snap her out of this cycle, pleading and begging only drove her out the door faster. So with little options left, I applied for help. I gained a house to live in for my younger brother and I. But I lost my mother. I haven't spoken to her since I left. Sometimes I think I see her in the street, I'll catch a glimpse of curly brown hair in a bun and stop. But I'm never sure if it is her, or just a shadow. It's impossible to think about her for long without my heart cracking open, I miss her, I love her, I worry for her. but I know my brother must come first. But the truth is, I have know idea what I'm doing. I didn't know what would happen that day when I left, I just knew I was desperate.
So today I'm not celebrating, I didn't celebrate my 19th or any other birthdays after. Poverty and guilt will do that. My hope is that today I wont feel too lonely. Or guilty. I hope my brother doesn't feel bad that he cant get me anything (all I need is to know he will one day have what he needs and wants). Today I hope my mother where ever she may be, isn't hurting and is healthy. I hope she isnt being eaten by any feelings. I know she wont want to think about my brother or I today, I imagine it's too painful. So I hope she doesn't. She may have left for at little while, but I left completely. And I will always be sorry for it.
Its now 5:05 am and I've spent too long on this already, too long on memories and feelings I'm not ready to feel. I hope this birthday marks the start of freedom, happiness and personal fulfillment. But most of all, I hope my brother this time next year, is in a place in his life that he can be proud of, a place of abundance. I hope I can give him that.
God this life can be so cruel.
There are children crying for a family and there are parents grieving for their children lost too young. I can't imagine this life alone, there would be no point to any wealth I gained, if couldn't share it with anyone. There are people who have nothing to their name but the love the carry with them. That is all I want . Love. Love for all that crave it, for those that have been denied it by god only knows who. For those that never found it, I wish to gift it onto those who feel alone and lost with no hope.
I'm sorry.
I felt alone
I was confused
Nothing was right
no one was there
we were all playing a game
why did it seem like everyone was against me?
Not You.
You weren't.
Sometimes it felt like you weren't playing at all
I always assumed
It was my fault
that I lost
even if they were cheating
it's always I'm sorry
cause obviously
that means I wasn't good enough
Players would throw their dice,
sometimes at eachother,
I was always willing to lose,
just for some silence.
A love hitch.
A move bitch.
An uncle of sleep-dime.
A sleep-story.
A story-house.
A moon-love in her bakery.
A love to serve and set herself in.
A thought of her check room.
Her haste.
Her lie.
Her shape.
Her moon.
Her move.
Her eat
Her move.
Her lie.
Her dinth.
A haste-slow poem.
Sunidhi
A watch, alvar lover.
A lie, tell me homer.
She. She was all.
She. She was night.
She was lone.
She knew stubborn-ink petals.
He knew wars. He knew lies.
He knows not me or heaven.
He lulls me a faith.
He nerves me a sister sleeve.
She was a nile-expertise.
A becoming in telling.
A soothing.
A lover. A leave.
A high kind.
A lie kind.
A die kind.
A sin kind.
She was.
Sunidhi
Sasto Manto
A love in her Nepalese girls figure is her.
He was the nicest girl in the heavens and a girl Bhutan.
A nicest study fall.
A study nymph.
A study-till.
A study-stench.
A session of his girl study.
She was student of the girl-hood mice.
She was a lie in her tell'table.
She was a system in a thing of faith.
She was to toil her and her the thing.
She was a studyling.
She was a world of her bindi.
She was a baby.
She was the buckets of gold and a goose.
She LA is the heart-town soul.
She was a girl of faith.
She was born out of seas.
She was shine and a leaf. She sees.
She was a studying morn. A ray.
A sun and a ray. Her, her. He was her attract-trouble.
He was the night where he was.
She wants to be risen by faith of her poetry.
She was a pure faith. A lonely-like in my faith.
She was her.
Sunidhi
wall post (31 Aug 2019)
This week has been a mixture of mental weariness and obsessive researching about a topic of interest. It's also been time stumbling further forward than I can reach and micro-worrying under a suspicious amount of comfort. I probably need to reaffirm some goals and stop making the same toast for breakfast.
popularity
sewn to the strangler fig:
a twisted shadow
enslaved by solar perspective.