The year that diluted me
My stomach forgot how to feel hunger and my eyes forgot how to sleep
The year that melon tasted like hospital wards
Pomegranate tasted like lips laced with homesickness
Bittersweet and finite, I was helpless to it all.
Temporary and taxing, we sacrifice so much for any form of consistency.
I grew apathetic to my own mental health
Because wealth is what we think will provide security.
My best friend said she worried that when this is all over, there won’t be much left of me,
Another said your tears are so expensive
But I saw his worth
Even though unrequited, I embodied his hurt
We are both displaced
And opportunity feels so distant when weighed down by exhaustion and when you begin already standing in last place.
I’m homesick too, can’t you see me clutching conflicting compass with a mouthful of mother tongue but nothing more.
My empathy has no limits
but you saw me as your Monday girl
And nothing more
But nothing less, I am the new-week empress
You made me feel like everything
Then stripped it away by sunrise
I’d pretend to be okay
The high is so appealing now I realise instant gratification is no substitute for self-healing
And that intimacy is not synonymous with love
And that selflessness without self-care as the foundation can shatter you, and that I am worthy of