Love Letter to Little Me.

Dear little Kashif,

I want you to know that you are loved, that you are worthy, and that you are worthy of love. Regardless of how invisible you've let the vindictive voice within you convince you that you are; the opposite is true.  You light up the darkest rooms, and illuminate every unlit space you enter.  

On the days you feel you are unimportant, when your every effort is met with rejection, just remember that you matter!  

Your brilliance is unmatched, and brings a breath of fresh Rocky Mountain oxygen into every organism or atom it enlightens with its existence.  

So what if you feel each emotion with such extreme conviction, whilst the other guys are brainwashed to believe that boys don't cry? And so what if you prefer playing house, with Barbie dolls instead of hitting sticks with balls?  Your way with words is a sport that other sorts will never even attempt.  

Although society may question your flamboyance, and balk as you bake your own identity into your own characteristic confection, you have every right to take your time as you try on different masks until you find the perfect selection.  

I believe in you, and will always celebrate the parts of you that you would rather conceal; I encourage you to let your rainbow paint their blank canvases with vibrancy and colour.  

Accept the uneasiness inside you, it will ease as you grow wiser; confidence will one day claim its stake and conquer all of the awkward chaos.  

So be gentle with the sleeping giant within you, and trust that he will rise up singing, you are a star, and baby, you are beautiful and brilliant. 

From the future, and with the utmost love, encouragement, and adoration, that you always wished you had, your best friend from the start, Big Kashif.

Chronic Couture.

 I used to bend. 

Melted into velvet 

backdrops, like 

couture.

A formless figure;

easily posed, 

with fickle bone, 

that floated across 

the stage.

The marionette me

even made the frigid 

melt. 

But now, I fray.

My timeless youth

no longer ticks, 

as sickness seared me

with its brand. 

Torture, in tremors,

& aches so great

I quaked, 

like the open mouth 

of a bellowing 

grave.

Blunder.

In this space, I have nothing.

No home, no stone; 

everything is hollow.

Emptier than I've ever been, 

I waver between wanting life

And wanting to just end it.

How much longer can I stand this,

longing to burst out of this planet.

They say no man is an island,

then why have I been abandoned?

Life and its luxuries have left me 

stranded, and I struggle to understand it.

Wasted away on simpler days, 

I knew I should've saved 

happiness for days it rained,

instead I feel depraved.

Now I am but a spectator here,

a mere spectre; a speck of disaster.

A carcinogen soaked stain 

that is impossible to erase,

And as I pray for my fate to change,

I trace my footsteps back to a place 

devoid of pain. 

I am worthy of love,

i deserve to smell success,

i pnd regain the composure that helped me through storms that raged, but still I rise.

I am brave, I am resilient.  

I will make it through the thunder,

and rejoice for one more day,

without a single blunder.

Life, It Goes On, Anyway.

Allow yourself to exist, freely,

for you are tiny particles of stars.
Let your love light the way,
when the world is cold and dark.

Because life, it goes on, anyway,
so go ahead and make your mark.

Wander through your wonder,
whether they are near or far.
You could even see the planets,
if that is the dream inside your heart.

Because life, it goes on, anyway,
so go ahead and make your mark..

Paint vibrantly upon your canvas,
you're already a work of art.
Dance like nobody's watching,
sing every song out real loud,
Maybe you'll master the piano,
or learn how to play guitar.

Because life, it goes on, anyway,
so go ahead and make your mark.