And so the Journey Begins

And so the journey begins.

Every winter seems Like the first:

I don’t remember the snow storms and

The early hours

Always seem new,

Never lived.

Eighteen years is almost the same as the intensity of gathering yourself after the severe unforgivable sufferings,

But yesterday I didn’t know what to do

With you;

I mean what does it even mean when people

Say it’s nice to just remember the summer days?

Love has no limits, life

Captured in minutes but I told her I

Was still proud of her

For being brave enough

To face the reflection of her shadow (so her intermediate self)

Which is essentially just

The tip of the ice berg.

Real time just resists us,

Sometimes confusing Because when

Love was resisting her, she

Couldn’t really tell that that was the face of

fate

Trying to save her except

It doesn’t really try per se,

It’s still there

Waiting again for the right moment

Waiting as she cleanses from the attachments of sin/

is being confused a sin?

Realms and states and

Chapters and the falling of leaves

Left room for none except

Now was the time to

Renew the vows and

Dance in red and now was the time

To paint the strokes of

anger,

Destruction,

War and rage

So that when spring finally was given to her,

She made most of her last days of the physical life- in fact what does it even mean to preserve and persevere ?

The last thing she ever wanted:

And so the journey begins.

~By Maryum Khalid~

20- 20

Today I labeled it finally;

As if I wasn’t capable of that;

As if I wasn’t capable of laughing and loving

Because I “should have” been basking in shame for feeling my feelings and sharing my vulnerability with you: an empty dark hole that had me believe it glittered with life.

Far from it;

My years in exile Existed of:

Your conceited, vain, self- loathing “love”;

The use of the word coming out of your mouth, through that thick, dirty tongue

Made me sick and poisoned;

For a punishment I couldn’t point the reason to

Except that maybe when you saw me look at you:

In my cascades of white

You knew I saw your whimpering, empty shell

So you decided the animosity- the strong hostility as you tore me, would arouse you and complete you for the night.

Far from it;

My years in exile Existed of:

Indistinguishable articles of self- hate;

Your violent brush strokes

That made me purge

My innocent beauty;

My giving community

And the marvels of nature itself;

For you loved it when I was disconnecting

From all parts of the earth and beyond;

And when feeling 5 feet smaller

And not knowing the reason

As you camouflaged your way

Into my nerves and cells;

That smirk of yours when I would give up

would arouse you and complete you for the night.

Far from it;

My years in exile Existed of:

Exile from what?

Exile from the seeds of myself?

Maybe.

Except you were fooled; because

Broken children still want to play.

Today I labeled it finally:

Shame; guilt; anger; hate;

Love, beauty, peace:

What ever may befall;

You and your filth are not worthy

Of anything at all.

~By Maryum Khalid~

Art: Unknown

Finding my Way

Inside a shallow, blinding mist

Walking the way…

On the ground

Manipulated by a complex fog…

The heart’s atmosphere

Obscured by a deadly haze…

Who doesn’t want to

Find their way?

~Maryum Khalid~

Alternate Reality

Alternate reality:

18 glowing candles:

One for the life we are supposed to live;

I cried and cried

And no one came home.

The heart can be as empty

As you let it be.

I cried and put my food away

I don’t know if that is self care

Or a clinical eating disorder;

A form of self punishment,

Getting my soul ready for hellfire.

Self love means nothing

When you constantly argue with yourself,

Restless, lose the fight,

Fighting to get out of bed.

I was wondering why

We stop kissing our daughters

As they begin to learn to speak.

When did they began to

Mean less to us

And why is the worth

Of the soul even in question

When once we smiled at their mere and simple movements.

It is better to be dead

(Is it better to be dead?)

Than be crawled up, lifeless.

It is better to be buried

(Is it better to be buried?)

Than to be alive alone

In silence;

18 glowing candles:

One for the life we are supposed to live.

~By Maryum Khalid~

Art: Woodland Waterfall by Tom Thomson

Invitation

Dark skies are sometimes inviting:

Tulips were supposed to grow

Where war took over:

Only one of us worrying about

The absolute meaning and truth

About love.

Things fall apart

And gather back in place

All the time.

Barried below chaos

Are the intricacies

Of the autrosities done to us

That allow the universe

To align.

The cosmos do not forget

The minute instances

Of paramount abuses

That pushed you far down,

To the point of surrender.

I am confident

Among the black holes and

Lightning storms,

Your soul suffered enough

To still want to survive:

Dark skies are sometimes inviting.

~By Maryum Khalid~

-Photo by me-

Loving you

I’m sorry I couldn’t love you

The way someone should have.

You loved me in countless ways,

Endlessly.

Candles burn, starships navigate

The northern,

Mystical lights, I am stuck in the universe

Of us catching fireflies.

Around and around in the world we plan to go, aspiring to leave a mark or let something lasting be known.

However, 360, having returned,

I am full of shame

Of the things I said,

The actions I allowed

To occur and poison my body (physique, psych, in between)

And letting the soul

Dissociate to a place

Where we are all smiling, holding hands-

It could have been something other than this.

Is it safe to ask

If I’m going to be okay?

In the end,

I’m sorry I couldn’t love you

The way someone should have.

I want to be part of something big,

I want to forgive.

Saturday.

Just want to be with babe.

There are no fireflies here, no northern shimmering skies. Forgotten presence,

I ask myself,

Am I really that hard to love?

In the end,

I’m sorry I couldn’t love you

The way someone should have.

~By Maryum Khalid~

Art: “Forgive” by Nasrin Barekat

Tell You Something

I gotta tell you something;

I gotta tell you a secret.

Because I’m just tired,

I’m waring down.

I’ve been bruising and cutting myself since I was 12;

I’ve been crying and withering away for almost two decades,

tried ending it for good a few good times,

And I am tired.

I don’t know what this is called

But I listened to some TedTalk about

Being truly honest and vulnerable with yourself.

And I wish Today was different

But I keep doing it you know.

It is so often I wonder you know,

What does it even matter that I’m here.

There’s so much hope in this world,

So many reasons to change, you know.

There’s so many good people

Trying to save our souls,

Offering homes.

But you know, I was never taught how to receive love,

I was only taught how to give to others,

And to take what ever crumbs of “love” and its “forms” were thrown at me.

And I’m just tired.

You know I’m tired of coming home

And bathing in blood and misery.

Yet life just seems perfect from the outside;

days just passing by;

The irony of “all together in one place”.

“Adults” have children these days

But the families are empty

We are just left alone to find home,

In this vast, big world:

Unconsciousness, loneliness, hypnotic conscience, hypnotic inductions.

Sometimes I come home,

Take a shower, hours pass:

Scraping over and over

The dirt and filth

From my disgusting self.

It’s only safe in there;

Locked doors but even a pin drop

Out of the ordinary

And my soul sinks and shrivels.

They call it “c-ptsd”;

I call it my living, breathing reality.

Talking to myself “don’t worry you are safe here”:

We are just left alone to find home;

I cannot find myself

In this vast, big world.

So again, I just fall asleep

And I don’t have anything left for me

As I wrap my lovely feelings around you

Under the covers,

And you reclaim yourself.

And in all the wait and giving,

all the parts of me are drained,

and having rescued the home,

I, slowly die one more time.

~By Maryum Khalid~

Photo (taken by myself of a cold, winter window)

Paradigm

In my current universes,
At the time,
You decided one day
It was safer to be visibly absent.
But the forever of promises
Don’t quite forget;
And the algorithms calculated your
Inaction as action.
You can never really find home again:
I was looking for peace
You brought me torture
Served in exquisite arrangements-
5- star dining, gold- coated entrees,
Terribly mimicking the universe.
thumbnail_IMG_7910
Floating outside of existence-
What paradigms, alternate realities, wavelengths and frequencies
I walk in alone;
Peaceful and lonely.
I should have never opened the door
And after all,
I think you didn’t really know me;
There are so many doors:
No frequencies welcoming you:
Crawling or running,
Low frequencies or high frequencies,
Your attempts at fierce amplitudes:
Your energy is merely mortal:
No potential to any one of my paradigms.
~By Maryum Khalid~

Stoic

Stoic.

Rape.

Haunt.

Wedding night.

(Please remain stoic).

Violent.

Dying.

Holy ceremony.

(Please remain stoic).

Sexual abuse.

Murder.

Silent vigil.

(Please remain stoic).

Everyone you know

Is going to die of cancer

And by that time

In your life,

after having done what ever

You needed to do,

you

Will have reached your

Stage of nirvana.

But everyone was just

Supposed to remain

Stoic.

The after affects.

(Please remain stoic).

~By Maryum Khalid~

The Artist in Me

The artist in me:

I left your place

Feeling smaller, mostly every time;

Lesser and lesser

Of what it is meant

To be human.

It took me more than a decade

And all the atrocities

To finally figure out

That is not okay.

It was no accident;

No I didn’t make a mistake-

A poor choice,

Some disturbed and distorted

Use of love and understanding-

Some pseudo- stability-

That although somehow experienced,

You dissociate from.

It was the first time

I had the last word.

And it was a good feeling.

Fall and winter

Were spent alone surprisingly;

The train always arriving on time,

Myself looking for passengers,

Anything for souls and love.

So it goes:

“A house is made of

Bricks and beams

A home is made of

Love and dreams”.

Get out of my home

And stay out.

Now at my eclipse,

Feeling ample, mostly every time:

I want to love in silence,

Silently in the night

Like Venus twirling around

In and around the universe-

Dancing harmonies towards

The other sparkling entities,

stroking gently, Kindly,

Living to be human:

The artist in me.

~ By Maryum Khalid ~