Stack of Books

You are more than what you wanted to be,
And here I use these words for their utter negativity.
Because it isn’t what you had imagined to have become.
To become a hollow shell
That holds beauty but not from within.
There’s a raging war inside with blood and profanities that you’ve thrown at yourself.

You’re angry.
At yourself.
You’re disappointed.
In yourself because you hadn’t imagined to be this
Because you had better plans
That have now shattered
And scattered around you with pieces missing and some you ignored.
This wasn’t the plan

It all came tumbling upon you like a stack of books that lose balance
Except these stack of books fell on you.
Except these stack of books are the thoughts that you’ve caved in on
Except that the damage is all internal
For showing it on the outside has had you in fear
As if the injury you gain day after day is repulsive.

It’s not your fault

You were taught to not ask for help,
As if ‘help’ is a two-headed snake that spreads its venom
And labels you.

You were not taught on how to deal with the tumbling stack of books
And as they dropped upon you like harsh water droplets.
You let go by keeping it in
As if the issue is your own mental picture of what may not be real.
It shouldn’t have to be real or tangible for you to utter your pain
It should be there to feel yet
You’ve doubted every inch of your being
And it is only fair that you doubt your emotions

By Mehrunisa Usman
Department of Humanities

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