Read between the lines—
the words often left unsaid.
Worries that weaken the warrior,
exclamations of love that go
unheard because they begin
as quickly as they end.
It is a shouted sermon of silence—
like bated breath in a flute,
it hardly makes a sound.
These memories were melodies,
but now they're the ghosts
that haunt the carousel
of our unfamiliar fairground.
Set ablaze by an array of greys,
that grazed my grace like the gaze
of glazed, but gloomy, Sundays.
Every memory had a melody,
albeit one that made me muddy,
then melted away my better moods.
Trauma so toxic, it got sick,
then terrorized me ten times a week,
just to teach me about adversity.
Until one vibrant dawn when I screamed,
"ENOUGH!" And shed the soiled skin
society sentenced me to keep.
My spirit rose anew, reborn, again,
rapt in raging red, unyielding yellows,
and emancipating orange flames.
I suppose I should've shared that I am
still the same cyclical phoenix who strives to stay alive, to survive, to thrive, who's surely
soared in every timeline yet.
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.
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.
