Fly me to the Moon
This poem is supposed to be a Spoken Word Poetry. The video will come out shortly.
Do you know that feeling?
That feeling you get when you know that something bad is going to happen?
Now imagine living with that feeling day in and day out until all you can do is pray that you don’t ever have to breathe again.
I need to breathe,
I need to feel the air fill my lungs, my body, my blood.
I need to touch the wind with the bare tips of my fingers as it pushes past me to far off places.
I need to do many a things.
I need to forgive,
I need to change,
I need to live without fear,
I need to learn how to live.
I need
I need
I need
I do not know what I need.
I want my finger tips to stop shaking as I write,
I want my heart to start beating again.
I want this darkness in my head to touch the light.
I want to feel.
My chest is as heavy as marble top
Dragging me down to floor.
My mind is heavy with thoughts
Thoughts and thoughts and even more thoughts
I want silence,
I need silence.
Close your eyes,
Count to three.
Open them.
What do you see?
I see myself in the mirror,
And flinch.
I see shame, embarrassment and hate flitter across my face
But my eyes remain impassive,
Like the calm before the storm,
Like the frozen lake in the dead night of winter.
I make myself feel, but I don’t.
My eyes know that, and it mocks me so because of it.
It knows that I am lying.
That I am lying about the fact that I don’t care about my first kiss.
That I don’t care about how I don’t remember most of it.
That what I do remember is the boy telling me that he’s kissing me to make me feel better.
What does that even mean?
What the fuck does that even mean?
I don’t want pity,
I don’t want you doing anything “for” me.
I do not want your charity.
Do you know that feeling?
That feeling you get when you know that something bad is going to happen?
Now imagine living with that feeling day in and day out until all you can do is pray that you don’t ever have to breathe again.
I need to breathe,
I need to feel the air fill my lungs, my body, my blood.
I need to touch the wind with the bare tips of my fingers as it pushes past me to far off places.
I need to do many a things.
I need to forgive,
I need to change,
I need to live without fear,
I need to learn how to live.
I need
I need
I need
I do not know what I need.
I want my finger tips to stop shaking as I write,
I want my heart to start beating again.
I want this darkness in my head to touch the light.
I want to feel.
My chest is as heavy as marble top
Dragging me down to floor.
My mind is heavy with thoughts
Thoughts and thoughts and even more thoughts
I want silence,
I need silence.
Close your eyes,
Count to three.
Open them.
What do you see?
I see myself in the mirror,
And flinch.
I see shame, embarrassment and hate flitter across my face
But my eyes remain impassive,
Like the calm before the storm,
Like the frozen lake in the dead night of winter.
I make myself feel, but I don’t.
My eyes know that, and it mocks me so because of it.
It knows that I am lying.
That I am lying about the fact that I don’t care about my first kiss.
That I don’t care about how I don’t remember most of it.
That what I do remember is the boy telling me that he’s kissing me to make me feel better.
What does that even mean?
What the fuck does that even mean?
I don’t want pity,
I don’t want you doing anything “for” me.
I do not want your charity.
I am the girl with a 36 inch waist,
And the bra size of 38 D.
I wear clothes that are never smaller than extra-large.
I am not pretty,
I have balloons for arms.
My baggage is the size of Mount Everest.
But remember this, and remember it well.
I.
Do.
Not.
Need.
Your.
Pity.
No one does.
Women are not play toys for you to discard when you are done with them.
You are not doing us a favour by saying that you love us.
We are beautiful human beings with beautiful souls.
You are beautiful too,
We are all beautiful.
Get that into your head.
Sometimes I want to scream and shout,
I want to say “fuck you world, fuck you and your hypocrisies, fuck you and your fucking norms!”
I want to say “I will be my fucking self, I will be my fucking self and you have no right to tell me that I cannot be.”
I want to dance in the rain
And sing into a mike.
I want someone to love me for me,
But before that I want to love myself.
Am I beautiful?
I do not know.
Am I smart?
I do not know.
Am I?
I do not know.
I want to know.
I need to know.
Am I lying right now?
My eyes are closed,
I cannot see.
Stripping myself naked,
I watch myself in the mirror.
You know what they say about mirrors don’t know?
About how they are portals to another dimension.
I strip myself bare,
And watch myself in the mirror.
My breasts are large, they fall onto my stomach.
My stomach is round, it protrudes.
My vagina is hairy, should I shave it?
And the bra size of 38 D.
I wear clothes that are never smaller than extra-large.
I am not pretty,
I have balloons for arms.
My baggage is the size of Mount Everest.
But remember this, and remember it well.
I.
Do.
Not.
Need.
Your.
Pity.
No one does.
Women are not play toys for you to discard when you are done with them.
You are not doing us a favour by saying that you love us.
We are beautiful human beings with beautiful souls.
You are beautiful too,
We are all beautiful.
Get that into your head.
Sometimes I want to scream and shout,
I want to say “fuck you world, fuck you and your hypocrisies, fuck you and your fucking norms!”
I want to say “I will be my fucking self, I will be my fucking self and you have no right to tell me that I cannot be.”
I want to dance in the rain
And sing into a mike.
I want someone to love me for me,
But before that I want to love myself.
Am I beautiful?
I do not know.
Am I smart?
I do not know.
Am I?
I do not know.
I want to know.
I need to know.
Am I lying right now?
My eyes are closed,
I cannot see.
Stripping myself naked,
I watch myself in the mirror.
You know what they say about mirrors don’t know?
About how they are portals to another dimension.
I strip myself bare,
And watch myself in the mirror.
My breasts are large, they fall onto my stomach.
My stomach is round, it protrudes.
My vagina is hairy, should I shave it?
My armpit hairs move when I move my arms to watch them.
My thighs are big,
My hands are large,
My fingers are small.
My biceps no longer lean. My eyes are sad.
My mouth smiles.
I put on my clothes.
First come my underwear and then my bra. The jeans slip on like a second cloth,
The shirt is loose.
Fixing my glasses that were askew,
I look again.
“What do you want to be in the future?” they ask me.
“I want to be a journalist in the field of war and political violence,” comes the rehearsed answer.
My minds screams as my mouth says these words,
My mind screams at me to tell the truth,
To say that I have no fucking idea who I want to be, let alone what I want to be.
I want to sleep under the stars
And watch comets fly by,
Kissing the earth like a long lost lover.
I want to see the northern lights
And feel fresh snow on my tongue.
I want to touch the wet ground of the Himalaya’s
And feel the dry wind of the Mongolian desert.
I want to be who I am meant to be,
But who am I meant to be?
Eight hundred and ninety nine words is the number of words that I have written till now. Nine Hundred.
Nine Hundred and four.
Nine Hundred and Five.
Never ending,
Never stopping,
Always straying.
I am shaking.
Help me.
Help be breathe.
I am nothing but a rock in the wide expanse of the universe.
I am nothing but a star.
A nebula.
A constellation.
A galaxy.
I am many things.
I am not many things.
I would like to end by saying that I am me
But I do not know who “me” is.
I would have loved to end saying that all will be good in the world again,
But I refuse to give false promises.
My hands are large,
My fingers are small.
My biceps no longer lean. My eyes are sad.
My mouth smiles.
I put on my clothes.
First come my underwear and then my bra. The jeans slip on like a second cloth,
The shirt is loose.
Fixing my glasses that were askew,
I look again.
“What do you want to be in the future?” they ask me.
“I want to be a journalist in the field of war and political violence,” comes the rehearsed answer.
My minds screams as my mouth says these words,
My mind screams at me to tell the truth,
To say that I have no fucking idea who I want to be, let alone what I want to be.
I want to sleep under the stars
And watch comets fly by,
Kissing the earth like a long lost lover.
I want to see the northern lights
And feel fresh snow on my tongue.
I want to touch the wet ground of the Himalaya’s
And feel the dry wind of the Mongolian desert.
I want to be who I am meant to be,
But who am I meant to be?
Eight hundred and ninety nine words is the number of words that I have written till now. Nine Hundred.
Nine Hundred and four.
Nine Hundred and Five.
Never ending,
Never stopping,
Always straying.
I am shaking.
Help me.
Help be breathe.
I am nothing but a rock in the wide expanse of the universe.
I am nothing but a star.
A nebula.
A constellation.
A galaxy.
I am many things.
I am not many things.
I would like to end by saying that I am me
But I do not know who “me” is.
I would have loved to end saying that all will be good in the world again,
But I refuse to give false promises.
I see.
I watch.
I hear.
I touch.
I taste.
I am learning to breathe.
I am learning to feel.
Every story has a beginning, a middle and an end.
Not necessarily in that order.
Am I at the end of my story?
Maybe I am.
Am I at the very beginning?
Maybe I am.
Am I at the middle of my story?
Most probably.
We all have our own stories.
Each memory is one story.
These memories are placed into little jars by the helpers of our brains. Our very own bell jars.
I wonder what Sylvia thought of when she put her head in the oven, Oh Sylvia, what ever made you finally do it,
When you knew that your children were in the other room.
Snip, snap, snip, snap, snip, snap
Goes the little ticking clock on the mantlepiece.
Do you remember the time when the clock struck twelve
And the little elves came out to play?
I remember.
Or at least, I think I remember.
Time is such a funny institution,
The clockmakers must have a lot of fun.
Each second, each tick, each tock
Is nothing but a love poem to us.
I always wonder where the idea of a love poem came from.
More so, where the idea of love came from.
Love.
Such a funny four letter word.
Love.
It seems like nothing but a dream.
Love, love is nothing but a dream.
You cannot touch it,
You cannot see it,
You cannot be it,
One can only,
One can only,
Supposedly,
Feel it.
I am still learning to feel.
My fingers still shake,
I cannot see the stars.
I watch.
I hear.
I touch.
I taste.
I am learning to breathe.
I am learning to feel.
Every story has a beginning, a middle and an end.
Not necessarily in that order.
Am I at the end of my story?
Maybe I am.
Am I at the very beginning?
Maybe I am.
Am I at the middle of my story?
Most probably.
We all have our own stories.
Each memory is one story.
These memories are placed into little jars by the helpers of our brains. Our very own bell jars.
I wonder what Sylvia thought of when she put her head in the oven, Oh Sylvia, what ever made you finally do it,
When you knew that your children were in the other room.
Snip, snap, snip, snap, snip, snap
Goes the little ticking clock on the mantlepiece.
Do you remember the time when the clock struck twelve
And the little elves came out to play?
I remember.
Or at least, I think I remember.
Time is such a funny institution,
The clockmakers must have a lot of fun.
Each second, each tick, each tock
Is nothing but a love poem to us.
I always wonder where the idea of a love poem came from.
More so, where the idea of love came from.
Love.
Such a funny four letter word.
Love.
It seems like nothing but a dream.
Love, love is nothing but a dream.
You cannot touch it,
You cannot see it,
You cannot be it,
One can only,
One can only,
Supposedly,
Feel it.
I am still learning to feel.
My fingers still shake,
I cannot see the stars.
“Fly me to the moon,
And let me play among the stars.”
The camera shutter opens and closes,
Making a soft clicking sound.
One picture and then another,
One moment captured, frozen by a mechanical being.
I have once again strayed.
Have you ever tried to touch yourself?
I tried to masturbate a couple of weeks ago,
It hurt.
I did not come.
I put a finger in, and rubbed.
Instead of feeling good,
I felt strung like the string of a bow.
I hear the camera shutter open and close again.
Another moment captured,
Another moment frozen.
I want to have sex.
I want to be fucked,
I want to be loved,
I want,
I want,
I want.
“Am I fuckable?” I say out loud to no one but myself.
She answers a resounding no.
No.
Never.
Ever.
No.
I need an ending.
I want an ending.
I have an ending.
Give me an applause,
Stand on your feet,
Rise in unison like the sun.
Feel.
Fear.
Love.
Hate.
Try.
You are hurting my eyes,
The sunglasses on my face are not dark enough.
There is no darkness.
The light is too bright.
I guess too much light makes the darkness seem even more dark. The darkness falls,
Of course it falls.
Take a seat.
You do not need to stand.
And let me play among the stars.”
The camera shutter opens and closes,
Making a soft clicking sound.
One picture and then another,
One moment captured, frozen by a mechanical being.
I have once again strayed.
Have you ever tried to touch yourself?
I tried to masturbate a couple of weeks ago,
It hurt.
I did not come.
I put a finger in, and rubbed.
Instead of feeling good,
I felt strung like the string of a bow.
I hear the camera shutter open and close again.
Another moment captured,
Another moment frozen.
I want to have sex.
I want to be fucked,
I want to be loved,
I want,
I want,
I want.
“Am I fuckable?” I say out loud to no one but myself.
She answers a resounding no.
No.
Never.
Ever.
No.
I need an ending.
I want an ending.
I have an ending.
Give me an applause,
Stand on your feet,
Rise in unison like the sun.
Feel.
Fear.
Love.
Hate.
Try.
You are hurting my eyes,
The sunglasses on my face are not dark enough.
There is no darkness.
The light is too bright.
I guess too much light makes the darkness seem even more dark. The darkness falls,
Of course it falls.
Take a seat.
You do not need to stand.
Touch your face,
Wrap your arms around yourself, Smile.
We have reached the ending,
Or maybe we have not.
There is no order,
Only order in the chaos.
Breathe in,
Close your eyes,
Breathe in,
Now open your eyes.
What do you see?
Wrap your arms around yourself, Smile.
We have reached the ending,
Or maybe we have not.
There is no order,
Only order in the chaos.
Breathe in,
Close your eyes,
Breathe in,
Now open your eyes.
What do you see?
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