Soulsmith

By Mariyam Qurayshi

I feel the poison stifling me.

Sitting in the corner of my mind,

Staring. 

Quiet.

Waiting to be free and spread through me.

Clawing at my skin to break through,

To give it a name, To let loose,

As if its purpose is to finally stop the pain.

Each time I try to reach it, I come up short.

Like the key is there but my body is too tired to find it.

Not by the action, but by existence itself.

Stretched thin from performing,

From keeping up appearances.

“Run” I whisper to myself.

Because whatever it is, it feels like a living, raw entity inside me.

Threatening my ability to put on a performance,

Might tear my carefully placed mask of a version people like.

Not sure who will be okay if it comes off.

I realise,

this gilded cage it stays inside,

is built by my own hands,

From the fears I chose not to face, insecurities I kept feeding,

validation I begged for,

and steeled it with exhaustion.

Bone deep exhaustion.

Because I’ve denied myself softness,

time and time again.

By running away, every time I got too close,

to naming it.

to opening it.

Tired of surviving without it.

But now that I know it’s in there

Waiting.

Not to hurt, just to be free, to exist.

Maybe. Just maybe.

I can find the courage to unlock it.

finally let it thrive, let it breathe, let it exist.

Even though I’m afraid,

Afraid it’ll consume me, alter my identity,

Leave me still.

Because what will I run from if the noise is gone?

What will I do with the silence if I can longer escape?

Maybe deep down.

I know it’s not poison and it’s just passion.

Passion for a peaceful life,

For a Life that’s real, not perfect.

For existing without explanation 

For letting go of the narrative of who I should be,

For having more self serving passions.

I may or may not find a key.

Maybe I don’t need to.

Because we humans,

We’re not only keepers of life.

We’re also soulsmiths.

We forge our way back.

Ironic isn’t it,

that running towards and running away from something

 have always been the same thing.

By Mariyam Qurayshi