By Medha Nambi
What if I told you I'm an ocean?
A vast expanse of secrets,
A myriad of museums of every skin I have shed,
And every season I have had to shed them.
A glorious problem,
As mercurial as memory,
As nameless as time,
As twisted as sorrow,
As disguised as grief.
What if I told you that it is when rage and not blood that floods my veins that I feel most powerful?
I am, however, yet to find out what brings me peace—
Not happiness, but peace.
I refuse to set my eyes on happiness,
Something so fleeting, so unforgiving, so carefree.
For all my life, I've placed happiness on people,
And that has always been the beginning of the end of me.
For someone who breathes through words alone,
They fire like missiles at my brittle bones.
Save me if you can, if you dare,
For you will not find me at rock bottom or on any floor,
Not in daydreams, not in nightmares,
Not on the battleground or six feet underground.
You will find me high, high,
Higher than any emotion can reach.
Don't bother climbing beanstalks of pity, empathy, or duty to find me—
I'm warning you.
Don't come with presents, don't come with hugs, kisses,
And don't you dare come with words,
For I am higher—
Higher than any flame can reach,
Higher than the cold can go,
Higher than hope,
So high the moon looks up at me to find her lonely.
For I am assured that only the truth,
Only those who truly, devastatingly, and beautifully understand me—
My spirit, my lack of it,
My heart, my soul,
Everything in between—
Only those who have traced my footprints,
Listened to the sound of my tears,
Saw my faith,
Can ever find me there.
And if there is no one,
Not a single soul that can offer me something equal to or greater than love,
The comfort of just being myself—
Then so be it.
I shall never be found.