My Vulnerable Heart Is Screaming

 “I believe in poems as I do in haunted houses. We say, someone must have died here.”

~Rosa Alcalá

Hellooooo, people.

I was determined to write a write-up which would be the conclusions of how to deal when things you don't deserve happen to you. I even had those things in my head so ready. I hadn't figured the words I'll speak in but I remember being glad about having something positive to write instead of expressing the grief I was in. I thought I was doing okay now. But guess what? Not only I have realized that I never really got the positive words in my head –it was a fleeting moment of clarity– but I also realised that the grief I thought would fade, is actually much deeper than I myself realize.

If you feel alright when you're alone but get uneasy around the people who hurt you, then you're not really alright. And, when people who hurt you are the people who you've not chosen yourself, being alright gets even harder because you cannot really “take your time”. Might happen for some time but you can't really do that for long. 

I thought writing something which would have a positive vibe would be good for others to read. But, just after writing that Hello in the beginning, I realised I was making the same mistake again which was the very reason of my grief. I'm still not prioritizing myself. I remember writing blogs saying that when I write what I want to write, it touches more people's hearts. When you do something keeping in mind how others will like it, you're more focused on their feelings than the actual work. Meaning, you're not giving your best in it. People might still like it but deep down, you know that the compliments you received on that piece had something less than the ones you receive on the piece you did keeping yourself in mind.

So here. This is me. Unwinding my heart. Prioritizing myself. Not thinking about who all will read this, how they're related to me, what they'll perceive and how they will assume how and why I'm feeling whatever this conveys. Seriously, fuck it.

My heart feels like a shattered stone. Still intact –almost all of it– but there are so many marks on it, just by one day's work that all the marks over the time has surfaced. Even the ones which were almost covered by the dirt around. It feels like a raw stone. Beating in me while losing its breath in trying to keep me alive. The dirt covering the marks has settled on the ground, leaving every single mark to get witnessed. Even strangers don't have to look so hard anymore. They're visible for them to touch and scratch to see if it's the real stone or more dirt. 

Every stranger who touches my bare heart makes it shiver, ‘cause there's no place left anymore where I'll be touched without feeling the sting. The long lost marks are now vulnerable. The blankets were put away by myself thinking the dirt is doing a good job in protecting the scars beneath but you know how cruel people can be, right? 

Even if people ain't cruel and they're just playing their roles, sometimes the situations don't go in your favored direction. The storm did cover my heart with even more dirt, protecting it further but the rain? It washed it away. Every single particle got washed away leaving every old scar as fresh as new.

for people who don't understand poetic analogies in one go, here it is: the storm refers to the incidents that happen to you and even if they make you stronger but, the rain refers to the tears which makes you realize how hurt you are and how deep everything actually affected you

read the above paragraph again, you'll get it better

I absolutely don't like the fact how even after being in such a raw state of being wounded, our hearts need someone to hold it. Even if every single touch hurts, it desperately needs someone to squeeze it tight. Tight enough that even every single sting echoes it's going to be alright. 

Words don't do justice to all the feelings in the world. I said grief, you read grief. But, how do I convey that it feels like my heart is falling apart while I'm still staring at it wondering when did the cracks go that deep? How do I say that I'm trying to gather the lil’ pieces of it on top of it with my full attention but somehow it's shattering faster than I'm able to put it back together?

How do I scream for it to slow down when all I get out is from my eyes and not my mouth?

How do I tell this damn heart that I'm getting tired of putting its pieces back together and it should really stop shattering, giving me a lil’ break while it's looking at me with hope that I'll get it together?

How do I tell it that it's not in my hands anymore for it to get together while it's whispering to me that I am all it has?

How do I make it understand that I can't feel anything anymore when it has been shrieking at me for not exposing it to more feelings?

How do I tell it to cover itself because neither my hands are capable of it nor I have more blankets while it sobs in the pool of the tears drenching the only blankets it had?

I’m begging my heart to please stop hurting so much while it's looking at me in hope that I'll stop drilling into the cracks with more tears.

I'm not sure how everything works with this damned heart but I've been looking out for it and it for me. We're both hoping from each other while failing at providing what each other wants. 

At some point, I wished for it to stop. But, it needed me to do something for that.

At another point, I wanted it to beat in the usual rhythm but it says, it has forgotten because it has been so long playing this hurtful rhythm.

How do I remind it the usual rhythm when I myself have been trying to listen to the faded sound? All I'm listening to now is more disturbance. And, it, being my heart, is picking up on everything in the hope of the normal rhythm.

At some point, I got so tired of trying to save my heart that I was willing to let it hurt. But, I think, it has got more courage than I have, ‘cause it's screaming at me so loud that it's not possible to relax.

I gotta save my heart ‘cause I think, it's ready to suffer but not ready to let me suffer.

~Miss V