My Wars

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Everything around smothers
every last bit of the so-called “me”
My internal peace isn’t found in the surrounding objects
Somehow, people make it hard for me to simply be;
like the old women in public buses,
sitting next to me;
trying to take up their spots and mine;
proving their being;
showing their accumulated fat
and their tired bodies from pregnancy and long consumed nights
Like the hard men
Standing at the roadsides
Hoping to find love in the passing women’s figures
Thinking that they are “the right match”
Expecting too much

My wars are colorless
Entailing people, skeletons, my body organs and some nameless fantasies
I give these wars colors
I fire them up
And I grow helpless
As I watch my rationality sink behind my sanity
I give them colors
Like the monthly red war between my legs
Sapping my energy
Contributing to my beauty and maturity
Like my shadowy depressed nights,
stilled by fears and unopened bills
And as I wait for love and passion and quiet nights
Wars happen
Silently, severely
Settling in me
Finding a lasting home

I seek an escape
but they are stronger
fed by my fears and insecurities

My depression now embodies a long-darkened figure
I’ve always feared
I used to fight it
but fear conquers all
Thereby, the heavy gates of my heart
swing ajar
allowing wars to break out
as I plod my way across the dusky bed
Failing to remember that I am a fighter
trying to unleash all of my frustrations and unspoken misery in an open, dateless and continuous war

Written By: Haleema Alaide

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