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Words

By @MeaningfulMee

Words

I close the curtains, lock the door.

But that’s just locking in the war.

 

Living live without meaning, without feeling.

Every day, every moment is just demeaning.

 

I wake up between the closed doors of house and home.

I’ve been living here all my life but as I walk these green streets I still get asked where are my whereabouts.

It’s tiring.

 

Funny, isn’t it?

How my authenticity is split in two, 

But the authenticity that I have been raised within,

Isn’t my authenticity,

Anymore.  

 

Maybe being told “to go back to my country”, so bluntly had the desired effect.

 

It’s like I am nothing without a pure green ballad between my lips,

To the society that raised me,

I’m slowly losing grip.

 

Many long nights I have spent, glaring at my silhouette, with no feelings except upset.

 

Restless lying in my bed, the words floating around my head   

“FAT”

“UGLY”

“FAT”

“UGLY”

REPEAT

“FAT”

“UGLY”

“FAT”

REPEAT

I know the feeling, like the skin, knows bruises.

Self-esteem, it seems I refuse it.

To my cousin who always replies with “stunner” after seeing my SnapChat story,

It’s not working anymore, I’m sorry.

 

Spent hours at speech doctors, 

Yet I still see my voice as a vile monster. 

And talking, I used to fear, so no one got near.

 

First day of school, saying here.

Cost me a happy year.

Remember that science class,

The first mocking hitting me like an out of tune brass.

And a bit of me died.

 

Well, not really, I’m still living but that day I stopped feeling alive, 

My insecurities thrived.

To the boys in the science room, second row, 

It worked, I felt so low. 

 

But oh I’ve been here before, 

So once more. 

I got up again,

Had no one to talk to so, I typed down the pain.

 

I didn’t type always though, 

Oh no.

Ya see, 

For years I couldn’t look at a page without filling with rage.

Cos all my life I had a story I wanted to write,

Wanted to use words like procrastination but I needed extra education.

  Eight year old me left CSPE, history, my things.

 

To go to resource and try to spread the wings that I never had.

 

I guess school is designed to teach birds but we aren’t all bird.

To the teachers who trained me,

Your system, it failed me. 

 

Hours upon hours of weekend reading, 

Crying tears and mentally bleeding.

Hours upon hours of speech therapy

Punching walls and whispering warily.

Hours upon hours of body shaming,

Looking in mirrors and fake smile maintaining.

Hours upon hours of explaining my mixed tongue,

Talking with my fists and feeling strung,

But you haven’t won. 

 

I started to write it down but the only word I could read was fat,

Why aren’t I surprised at that?

Why is it that I can’t remember how to spell,

Yet I remember every hurtful word and spiteful yell?

 

Then I got a laptop and for the first time I could finally express,

My internalized distress.

 

Funny isn’t it?

Words, I try to use them to express my soul,

But, words are the only reason for that goal.

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