Watermelon

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

More.

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