The Other Half

 

And there they stood – a spitting image of each other – same posture, same gestures, same facial expressions.

However, one of them was elegant – a custom-tailored dark olive pantsuit, a dark cashmere shirt peeking out underneath the jacket, high heels, expensive bag, a boring bob she called a hairstyle – simple yet sophisticated. Looking at her face – the marks of unhappiness painted all over her features – dark circles hidden by the light make-up, fine wrinkles crossing her forehead – traces of frowning too many times for too long. Poised, successful, stylish, yet visibly unhappy. The life had been sucked out of her; the eyes were dull and sparkles, her smile long forgotten.

Opposite her stood the other half – joyful and playful, dressed alternatively – boots, chains and harnesses. Leather skirt, transparent shirt, crop top – all black. Yet her hair was more colourful than the rainbow – her long lush hair hugged her shoulders. Her eyes twinkle like big stars on a dark sky, her smile – was spring in full bloom, her features fresh and carefree, alive. Her career had gone nowhere but her personal life was a bouquet of memories and emotions woven into every cell of her being.

Both stood still, looking at each other, curious and surprised. They had no idea the other one existed. And although there were tons of questions roaming in their minds eager to be asked, they remained silent – locked in a staring contest. A few moments later, they parted ways without a word – each of them continuing with their routines.

Curiosity was all they had. They were lone wolves – raised apart, survived alone with no place for each other in their lives. Two halves, yet somehow complete. Incompatible. Outsiders to each other.

They know now they are two, yet their lives cannot mesh – too different, too proud to bend, too busy to explore, no need to connect.

The Woman

 

The change bears the name of a woman tired of the dullness of her life

Gray hairs, rigid face lines.

The change lives inside the mind of a woman tired of the constant pushes that she is not enough –

A daughter, a sister, a wife, a mother.

The change fuels the unhappy woman ready to change the course of her life –

To conquer the mountains that she has been taught were never meant to her.

The change is the flame that brightens the soul of a woman who has finally realized

That only she can help herself when justice is not served right.

…

She is the slow river patiently carving the rock, finding the impossible paths

When her mind is set, when she is finally stable, when she is calm.

She no longer cares if it would take several centuries or just a day,

She is determined to forge her own life.

She is the violent sea storm when her new-found voice is deliberately silenced,

Her quiet rage unleashed to reveal the complexity of her wit,

Unable to stay invisible when her winds need to spread through the vast land.

She is the rain that cools down a hot summer night

When her emotions are running wild, unable to stay hidden.

She is the fire that warms up the cold room

Where her whole existence is all the world needs.

She is the life that creates another – simply because she can;

She is the death that comes quietly when no one is around,

She is the darkness when her presence is treated like danger.

She is the beginning and she is the end – she is the ultimate creator and the impending doom.

She wears the name Change with a head held high – unpredictable and brave, gentle and vicious.

She chooses to be one or another, sometimes both at once,

She is the Yin-Yang master – balance hidden in a fragile body, constantly undermined.

…

The change is the flame burning fiercely in the soul of the woman who has understood.

The change fuels the woman who has ultimately chosen her path in life,

To conquer the mountains forbidden to her, never accepting the old teachings that she does not belong.

The change resides inside the mind of a woman who no longer bows down to the constant pushes that she is never enough –

A daughter, a sister, a wife, a mother – forever herself.

The change bears the name of a woman forever altered by the dullness of the life forced upon her –

Gray hairs, rigid face lines.

Beneath the Dark Sky

 

Dawn chasing the darkness away, I half - awake

And I begin to feel all that hidden pain.

Countless questions: How am I supposed to start this day?

How am I supposed to shut the silence down

When the voices grow violent, quietness takes their place.

How am I supposed to get my tasks done

When all I know is the loneliness I live in.

…

I have no idea where to start and where I am going… CLUELESS…

I am circling in a well-known pattern; comfortably numb from all the races I have run.

And honestly, I don’t give a single fuck if I can make it or not.

All I know is that I hate today, just as I hated yesterday

And every day stretching back for decades…

I don’t have the patience, I am tired…

What I was doing before reaching this point… still a fog in the brain.

I remember some fragments of cruelty and then love,

Who broke me is still a mystery: a family, a friend or perhaps it was just me.

…

I am still stranded – the debate in me continues – I still loathe this day

My life during the night is what I crave – free, unchained, untainted, untamed.

How am I supposed to care when my pride bleeds beneath the borrowed smiles.

Oh, how I wish to be able to run wild, breath racing with the wind until they become one,

I desire to scream – uncontrolled, hungry to conquer my fears.

I dream of the day when I can reach that crossroad – to be able to fully be myself.

I yearn to stand on that nexus, finally able to see from a different perspective…

…

Unfortunately, I cannot be someone different – I am crushed under the weight of time

I am already damaged, countless hurricanes howling in my mind.

I cannot break the vows I made years ago to save myself – my knight in shining armor has always worn my face.

I am the princess and the villain at the same time – depending on what I need to tackle.

…

Don’t try to save me - I am the untraceable drug in the bloodstream,

The silent quake within my world,

I am the silent shadow, the slight darkness in the corner of the lit room.

Don’t try to find me – I am not meant to be found.

I love being an echo of the long-forgotten song,

I chose to be the night that outlived the dawn.

The Forger

 

In the midst of my refusal to pretend, I see myself as a shadow -

A poor reflection of another life.

Now tell me how I am supposed to move forward?

Weak, broken, abused, depressed, lost…

…

Every pain has its purpose – it forges us into something strong enough to face yet another storm.

Every time we got out broken from another battle - we train to win the raging war inside our minds.

Every torture we faced reshapes us into someone new – we are like rushing water, ready to flood what was left, ready to sink beneath it.

Every thought that brings us down should be destroyed like the memories that hold us back.

Every day we feel lost is a new opportunity to choose a different path, to uncover something new.

…

Yet every path divides before me, even though I thought that I had figured it out.

Yet every question still remains unanswered.

I am tired of asking.

Yet every step I take feels heavy, a deep echo following behind me no matter how quietly I try to walk.

Yet every dawn arrives so quickly.

I barely survived yet another night.

…

Yet here I stand – asking. Tell me honestly.

When does my shadow forget the shape it once followed?

When does my scar become proof that this deep wound was never meant to heal?

When does the silence around me stop feeling empty and start being my only company?

Maybe tomorrow holds the key to my survival.

Or maybe tomorrow is just another name for my darkness.

Maybe my desire to heal is the only story I still tell myself.

Maybe I am tired of seeking that door to liberation, just another fairy tale I hopelessly believe in.

Maybe the muffled echoes in my mind have always been my own voice - so uncertain.

Maybe I will keep walking until even my shadow gives up on me.

Betrayal doesn’t hurt me anymore.

Or maybe…

This is where the words abandon me.

Comfortable with Loneliness

 

When did you last look at the bright moon hugged by the dim light?

When was the last time you closed the door without feeling any regret?

When was the last time you lent a hand to help someone in trouble?

When was the last time you admired the moon without feeling sad?

When was the last time you sat and reflected on every mistake you had made?

When was the last time you looked into the eyes of your loved one

And asked if everything is okay?

When was the last time you actually felt anything?

…

I see you thinking hard before you answer, wondering when the last time was that you felt like a living being.

I see you barely holding your pose, trying to remember when you last cried over all the important fuck – ups.

Are you still trying to play the game of being blameless, truly guilt-free?

Or maybe your heart has grown used to being cold… Just tell me.

…

When did you last look at the bright moon hugged by the dim light?

When was the last time you sat drawn in the depth of your comfortable loneliness?

When was the last time you enjoyed your life just as it was?

When was the last time you were filled with glee without feeling shame?

Have you forgotten what a pure emotion is?

Have you forgotten what delight tastes like?

…

Maybe there is nothing worth remembering,

Maybe every question is another locked door,

Maybe every piece you buried should stay where it is.

Maybe you refuse to remember because you have given up.

…

And now that the bright moon rests within the dim light again,

You no longer ask where you have been or what you have forgotten.

Maybe this calm night is for me to finally understand that you are no longer my friend,

Maybe I need to realize that you are now a stranger wearing the face of someone I once cherished,

Someone I no longer know…