Where The Past Still Finds Me

By Vusurumarthi. Akshaya Srija

How would I escape when my sheets are covered

by blood of tears,

by the flow of undeserved hate,

by the sense of melting away from the past I ran away?

Why it’s coming behind me

with a flash of memory

I buried deeply in my bones?

Why my skin senses unusual memories,

opening each pore forcefully?

…Why it’s haunting me

in my nights,

making me wake at every 4am?

Why it’s breaking down

even when I thought I got out of it?

Why my eyes are growling in sleep

without my sense?

Why my nights are filled

with the difficulty to breathe?

Why I’m fighting just to breathe

where I have a beautiful life?

Why each muscle tells me

to rip my heart out?

Why every nerve makes this pain

like a slow poison?

Why can’t I make myself home?

Why I feel like I’m melting

like a candle in the fear of past?

Just to wear a mask to be known by all, but to none.

When the world simplifies traumas,

you think you’ll be normalised by people

who can’t even dare to experience

the things that happened.

I know I can pass this time.

It’s never easy, but not impossible.

Still I hope one day

the bleeding stops,

blood becomes warm,

and my eyes shed tears

for how far I’ve come.

The home I know,

one day I’ll break it into pieces,

build again with the real me—

a home that no longer opens its gates

to the demons of my mind.

The home where I paint with hopes,

not with blood.

The home where there is a room

for every emotion I suppressed.

The home where I can hug my younger self

and tell her I’m proud.

The home she ever dreamt of,

the home she deserves. the title for his poem

Why my dreams still finding their way out

just to feel the cruelty of The roots that betrayed me ?

Why every time I forgive their mistakes

they drag me back into stories

that made me vulnerable?

How  The silent witness feels everything

when  The shadows i came from  doesn’t even know what that means?

Why I’m shredding my tears

for the things that I can’t change?

Why to expect others when

your own abandoned me long away?

The home which longing for love since its birth,

the home which craving for the care

she never got,

the home which searching affection

in everything she sees

By Vusurumarthi. Akshaya Srija