Prayer

So much power in the act of writing, or so I choose to place my faith in. I have written letters for people with no faces and no names, crafting pieces for an unknown recipient. I do not think that I am foolish for trying something unreturned, for who knows if in these secret doings will someone find reason to hope again?

Leave a scattering on the car window, pages of old, table worn and other possible places. Run like the wind, don’t get caught or the magic spell may find itself undone.

In my timid heart I do fear that I may be playing with fire, but I will continue building and see if there is more than this fragile house of cards.

Darkness of the mind, just an inkblot of poison fills the jar.

Undo the blinds, can you still see the faint sunshine that filters through.

Light and dark, unmatched playmates in shadowy playgrounds.

Run your hand along this length of rope or the metallic cool of a gun.

Will it be tonight, that the fingers will curl into the familiar hollow and pick up.

Will it be tonight, that the phone will be switched off and eyes shut tight.

Will it be tonight, that there will be a note left behind.

Please don’t let it be tonight, or any other night.

I’m here praying that you’ll live through these terrifying times.

Please hold on.

Don’t let your starlight eyes lose their glimmer in the dark.

Don’t forget how angry injustice makes you feel. It’s terrible how crimes need to be judged by severity, when wrongs against humanity are the scum of the earth.

A woman’s sense of pride is scorned, when one speaks of indecent glances. Women are pages in the catalogue, perused and felt up to the corners. Eyes are made to travel, don’t go feeling special or personally targeted.

We are bodies made of stardust, and some take more in the name of entitlement. A skirt too short, a figure too svelte, it must be her fault that hands desire to lean in for an impolite touch.

Girls are indecisive, they say, girls know not what they want. Others take their voices and speak in false mellifluous promises. It’s easy to know what they need, turn their loud no-s into secret yes-s. Catch one alone, in a crowd if there is a sense of daring.

In this world, the voice of a female falls on deaf ears. The wrongness committed has become a norm and there is no need to raise a fuss, unless the case strikes as strange or unexpected. Late nights and teenager years are too ordinary to be given a second thought.

Yet it remains unjust, that in an era of spaceships and underwater kingdoms half the population have to be afraid simply for being a woman. Things shift in time, be it gold dust or night constellations, and so I will continue to hope for better tomorrows for the sake of the future generation.

Paradoxical creature that I am, set on caring for the entire world yet hiding like a timid mouse in the corners of my complicated mind. What is one supposed to do when the heart can no longer handle such a massive amount of loving.

Teach me to stop running when the shadows loom frighteningly large, to accept the apparent favour of another. Please stop my ears from hearing what others cannot.

My eyes, they perceive meaning in things unmeant. Tile floors have shapes and house bricks display signs. As anxiety builds, sometimes the ground rushes up to meet me. And so I fall.

How is it that my ability to function varies so immensely?

I know the rugged edge, what it means to stand and feel the last rocks on the worn sole. It’s with this in mind that I can see that not everyone is right in the head.

While imperfect, let me run my hands over your cracked skull and hold you until the monsters go away for a little while. Don’t be afraid of my tears, they weep to find a way to water the hope that still lives on in the darkest of places.

Don’t melt away like snow in the afternoon, dissolve in the rain like ephemeral sugar. In my weakness I remain because I care, and still do.

When the light in your eyes start to fade don’t forget the words I’ve prayed into your broken spirit. I will sing you the song of the loved and I will love you until you are nothing less than whole.

Love will find a way.

Boy, you already know that you are a work of art.

Even with eyes blanketed in darkness, I can draw the contours of your face.

You are given to indecision, the way you would redo the smallest details over and over again. Some days it’s the hue, some days it’s the bold streaks you can’t seem to perfect.

There’s no start over, and so you make do. Every day a little fidget, a spot and blob. Until both the beginning and the end gets lost in the arms of each other.

I could see it then, your hesitancy, even with the arm outstretched as you said hello on our first day.

Boy, I hope that one day you’ll decide for yourself that it’s finally okay to let this canvas be, no need for any more vertical knife cuts into your papery skin.

It’s about time that you let this painting dry for a little while.

What does it mean to be here?

6500 miles from the place I call home, I watch the people I care for carry on in my absence.

How long will it take for my love to travel across the seas?

In an age where online shopping is a norm, when everything is answered in a blink of an eye, this question may very well strike as redundant. It’s no longer a question of how long it will take, but how long will it exist.

Here, these are my whispered hopes in the moonlight:

When you find yourself unable to sleep because of pain, remember me. I’m wide awake because of what geography does to the sun and time. I’m catching rainbows while you’re catching stars, we’re watching lights no matter where we are. And we both know that deep down, light has a way of triumphing the dark. It pierces the illusion of fear and melts the shadow of doubt away.

To be here, it might be all that I have. This moment will never come by again. Yet it might be all I need.

This I know: I will hold you, even as we hold on to the God that never lets go.