Eulogy;

Processed with VSCOcam with hb2 preset
Processed with VSCOcam with hb2 preset

They were asking me about you.

I hide my arms behind me,

hiding the scars, hiding the ink.

You were far too anchored for scars,

you were far too meticulous for ink.

I manage to fake a smile in retaliation;

I don’t have the heart to tell them you are no more.

They move on to recollecting stories about you

–  poetic, i think; Like an eulogy of sorts,

“dearly beloved, we are gathered here today..”

I laugh, they mistake it for a reminiscent response,

I don’t correct them, their oblivion was in my favour.

They are speaking of you;

how you were not afraid,

how you were carefree,

how you were unbreakable,

how you were the life of the party,

how you were eternal sunshine,

how you were alive,

how you were.

I nod, fighting back the tears.

I don’t have the heart to tell them you are no more.

One of them reach for my face,

places both hands on my cheeks and says,

“You haven’t changed a bit”.

I break a little inside;

I don’t have the heart to tell them you are no more.

I didn’t have the heart to tell them the girl they knew was no more;


I should have told  them that you were no more,

and someone else had made a home out of you,

a girl much darker, a girl hidden in between the lines.

I wanted to tell them you were no more,

because in I’m standing in your place,

and

I was afraid

I was afraid of the dark, as much as I found it comforting,

I was afraid of fire, unless it was setting fire to the inside of my lungs,

I was afraid of touch, my body cringing at every unexpected contact,

I was afraid of crowds, terrified he would be there.

I was afraid of surprises, of uninvited guests and unknown places.

I was afraid of my mind, I was afraid of myself.


But I locked my fears in a golden cage and carried them around so everyone could see but no one could reach, harnessing musing from my vulnerabilities and moulding my scars in to art that not everyone could learn how to appreciate. So that next time, I’d know better than to blame myself for a world so blind, for a world so deaf. 


I was not carefree. 

my morning routine entailed ensuring my clutch would fit in,

a paper bag – for the panic attacks,

a pen knife – in case he comes around,

cigarettes – for when my nerves overwhelm me.

my bedtime routine entailed;

checking the windows,

checking the windows again.

Locking the doors,

locking the doors again.

Tucking a pen knife under the pillow,

leaving a paper bag in the corner of the bedpost.

smoking a cigarette,

and chasing down a sleeping tablet with a glass of gin.


But I replaced the lock, key and the door with the calming mantras of The Compassionate One to keep my mind guarded, and breathed love in and out of my lungs instead of emptying my heart’s contains in to a paper bag.  I chased down the pain with a song that reached deeper than he did, and let my soul sleep to the lullabies of hope. 


I was beyond breakable, I was broken.

I had become the master of making weapons

out of anything mundane

that could hurt myself enough

– enough to feel something.

from tips of pens, to blades of steal.

I was a self medicating corpse;

alternating between Xanax and caffeine,

sleep a little, stay awake a little.

I was a mind hallucinating in pain,

imagining wounds and scars,

in places he touched,

wounds that are no more

– scars that would never leave.


I carved salvation on top of the scars, drowning the screams of the wounds, muting the agony of my mind. I let love in from the broken edges of my soul and watched in awe as it coloured over the bleak corners where agony and pain were awakening havoc. I let my mind wander through the broken windows of my soul and let it seek love in poetry and prose, in flora and fauna, in the echo of mountains and the whispers of the ocean. 


I was far from the life of the party;

the voices in my head were far too loud,

and far too damning

to ever be seen outside,

to ever be seen in a crowd,

where he might be.


But I spent the times navigating the unchartered corners of my mind, listening more to the voices within than the noise outside. I spent time listening to the beat of my heart and realigning my steps in to compose the most intricate harmony. And all that time I ran away from him – all that time I ran away from them, I learned to run closer to myself, to be my own destination, be my own salvation. 


I was more storm than sunshine;

I was drowning

in a whirlpool of giggles and tears,

contagiously happy one moment,

and manically sad the next.

not knowing which of these were real,

feeling none of it was.

I was now bestowed with god-parents,

anxiety adorned the title of godmother,

and depression, my godfather.

And in the absence of the parents of love and reassurance,

my godparents had full custody of my mind.


I made an alter to worship them; anxiety and depression. I wore them like a garland – my superpower, my gifts. On one hand I felt too much; and from it I harnessed unconditional love and channelled it to everything i came in contact with. And on the other hand, I felt nothing at all – i looked closer in to the lyrics of songs, iambic pentameter of a sonnet, whispers of trees, and purrs of kittens looking for all the shades of love to fill the void, to fill again. I took my curse and moulded it in to a gift. I was now the child of divinity; the divine power of love.


I didn’t have the heart to tell them you are no more;

that you aren’t alive,

that you no longer are.

For I’ve spent years dismantling you

just to reassemble

with more precision,

with more resilience

and turned you in to someone

 that no poem or prose could

deconstruct the complexities,

turned you in to the kind of art,

simple minds wouldn’t understand.

and this, is your eulogy.

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