Published by: Jan Yeasha Mendez
Date Published: June 6, 2022
Time Published: 8:58 PM
Category: Prose
Synopsis: Sometimes, the things we love can make us feel tired too. How is that possible?
There was once a girl who fell in love with poetry. She fell so hard that she wanted to write— thereby, she started writing constantly. Her life started to change. She saw brightness in different things and it shone too bright in her life full of darkness.
She whipped up words into art— splattered colors and inks unto endless pages. She was an artist who turned every piece of paper into a piece of art. She kept writing even nobody cared on what she does.
It was the most beautiful thing she could ever feel. Her stories, her poetries— it felt so loud. It was the only thing she can be anybody she wanted and express herself aloud.
Writing. It was her escape. An escape to her cruel and ruthless reality that she wanted to run away from. Everything that surrounds her didn't make sense, aside, surely, from her poetries. Her mind's eye crawled up into air— covering her little head from this cruelty.
Writing was so beautiful, it become her first love. It was her source of love.
Yet, again, to love is to destroy and that to be loved is to be destroyed.
She destroyed something in her. Not her words, not her love for words. She will never destory her connection with it. Instead, she destroyed herself.
Every moment she tried to fit in and disguise herself like a chameleon that can shift in different hues and brightness, she was destroying herself. She felt like a fraud hiding under a mask that swallows her words.
Who really was she?
She tried writing again thinking she could heal her wounds. She tried forming her words into pieces of her lost parts. She tried everything she can do until the tip of her pen felt like a blade that scratched her more. That's when reality hit her and whispered, "You are a fraud, you are not a writer. "
It made her shattered, disheartened, and wearied. It kept repeating inside her head like an encho that turns to a steel— became the bars that confined her in a little prison cell. She wanted to escape, but the only thing that can help her is her poetry and it's all gone now.
She was imprisoned and lost. She waited for that special thing to come and save her. The thing that she love and can make her find the way back to herself again. She stood up and held her pen and book. She sighed and whispered...
"...save me, poetry."
Artwork: Girl Writing a Letter, 1923 by James MacBey
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