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I can't write. I just can't.
I can't spurt poetry on the go. Nor can I create illusions of new worlds with words.

I can't create. My womb is barren and my heart empty.
I can't sculpt a greek god. Nor can I fall create pretty pieces to showcase.

I can't start. I see myself as a failure; everything I touch turns to dust.
I'm afraid of beginning something beautiful. I'm afraid of it's falling to pieces.

I'm not self sufficient. I can't care for my family, nor let my mother rest.
I don't have anything to offer. Nor am I capable of anything new.


In times like these, when it gets dark, my appetite for self destruction whets.
It gets lonely and the screams in my head overwhelm.
I hear them loud and clear and they taunt me on my worthlessness.
I hear them tell me to call it a day. They insist on the end all the time.


I can love. I can love truly and deeply.
I can love enough to get scarred. I can pick up my broken pieces and love again.

I can be. I can hold on to you tight till you learn to cry it all out.
I can absorb that energy and set you free. I can hold you in, completely.

I can empathise. I live in the darkest corners, I know these alleys.
I can help you through it, I can cry with you. I can laugh with you.

I can exist. I can stand tall and look in the mirror and say 'not today'.
The warmth of my blood oozing is proof of me living.

In times like these, when it gets dark, I count my scars - one by one,
I feel the texture of healing, the desire to exist overwhelms.
I may feel worthless in my head, but my heart beats a song of survival.
I can't hear the screams and wails over my frail yet loud beating heart.

I can't love myself enough yet, but I suppose-
I can try to survive for another day.


Notes:
Depression. Suicide calls. Feelings of worthlessness. Warning signs

Editors notes:
I battle mild (if you may call it) clinical depression. I know coz I've seen the warning signs. I haven't seeked help yet simply because I haven't approached a severe level of self destruction. I've let a few people know I may be damaged goods but the rest is undercontrol. The heaviness of life and the umpteen number of responsibilities unfairly dumped on my shoulders seems to aggravate it more, simply coz I can't seem to meet them. However, I thank GOD, my Father, for little mercies here and there.

If you know someone who suffers, never hestitate to let them know that they are loved and are important. They may be too 'emo' or egoistic but it most cases, they shut life out as to avoid severing bonds when they call it quits. 

If you suffer from depression, let's talk. I'm happy to help, the little I can. We're in the same sea, might as well show some love. :)

Till next time.

p.s. Encourage feedback on langiage, literature or the subject.

The leaf

Disclaimer: I write because I want to. I want to revisit this document a few years later and see how I much I have moved or stayed from what I believed in. I will come across as someone bossy for I will project a lot of 'in-my-opinion and i-think/believe' related phrases. I am open to views on the subject matter, for the insights of each one of us, is so vastly different. To me that is something of beauty. So I welcome you to read this somewhat convoluted, yet hopefully sane musings of mine. 

I once spoke to a leaf that had fallen down from her majestic home tree. She flew with the wind, bathe in the rain, and rolled on muddy waters till she hit upon a small, insignificant rock. She got stuck under him and he sheltered her from flying free with the wind power or dancing in the mighty downpour of the heavens. He sheltered her from the muddy waters on the ground.  

To her, this rock was a blessing. Almost God sent. To me, he seemed nothing more than a rock. It weighed her down, creased the gorgeousness of her soul and let the ants run rampant on her. It tore her in bits and pieces and she seemed to only adore it more.  

I took a liking to this little homeless, lost leaf. She was still young and the scorching sun had not yet taken a toll on her freshness. She was so perfect to me, all by herself. Yet she clung to the rock like it was very salvation itself.  

One rainy day, the thunder roared. The birds hid far away and the little squirrels scampered into their holes on the trees. The rain gave birth to a large angry river. It washed away the throngs of sadness that it saw from the heavens and cleared the pain off the young trees and leaves. It threw little puddles for the tiny life forms and watered the dry, thirsty earth. It was a party of destruction and a prayer of hope. It had the rush of uncertainty and the blessings of a soul. 

The small, insignificant rock seized the opportunity and jumped on the bandwagon to self-proclaimed freedom. It let itself drag along. Whilst doing so, he tore off a large part of the leaf. It was but expected. She was no longer as the other leaves. She had a large chunk of her gone and she looked incomplete.  

No longer tied down by the rock, she struggled to find a way to move forward. With her new shape, she could no longer float as she used to. Nor could she let the gentle winds carry her. She constantly dipped to one side. (She saw many other leaves damaged by unexplained forces riding the giant river. Their screams rang loud yet they all seemed to be going somewhere.) She (on the other hand) kept failing and falling and failing. 

Now young leaves like her lose hope very fast. She believed that her life had run its course. She felt useless. She saw the reflection of a nobody in the rivers and never washed the mud that fell on her pretty face. 

She lay on the dirt, quiet - almost ignorable. 

Almost a no one.  

Shielded from no one and going nowhere she lay on the ground, resigned to the cards the hands of fate dealt her with. She lay down, waiting to dry up and become dust.  

Piercing screams of agony scattered the stillness that lay in her soul. 

The first rays of the sun shone. It dried up the waters so fierce and dispelled all the dark grey clouds. It brought the birds out and their chirping replaced the screams.  

A bird picks her up coz she fits perfectly. She's a part of a family.

Notes:

(Rushing stream, leaves all around screaming, mud all around. 

First rays of the sun. Mud becomes dust.) 

(soul because of the vibrancy and the very reason of life)