Threat To My Thoughts

I feel useless after I talk to people. I have so many of these thoughts that I want to write, share, voice and scream. But, when I make them known to the world outside of my mind, give them a voice for others' ears, and let them into the minds of others, they vaporize into nothingness. They go away. They become hollow. They become meaningless. And, I can feel the emptiness loud and clear. It feels like someone stepping into a room and crashing into a handful of empty vessels, making a cracking noise.

What is it? Is it that I am only my thoughts? I am made up of only my thoughts. Is it me who is just a vessel and these thoughts fill me and make me who I am? Or, is it me who keeps my thoughts alive? And, is the presence of my thoughts only of substance when it is unknown to other beings? Do other people just consume and spit out my thoughts like plucking away weed?

I fear writing sometimes, to pen my thoughts down. For, if people read, my thoughts extinguish into non-existence. Then, where do I put you, my thoughts? We are safe nowhere but in this mind of mine.

- Oizys.

When Did I Pick Up This Pen

I do not know. I do not remember when I decided to write for the very first time. What was that moment when I must have thought inking was better than telling? What was that moment when I sought solace in the empty pages of a diary rather than in people who claimed they deserved my trust? Was it when my blood denied my color? Was it when my batchmates moved away from me? Was it when the teacher skipped me because I took some time to think? Was it when my kinfolk ignored me because I was too ill? 

It must have been a moment of sadness when my words went unheard that I thought of registering on a page. It must have been a moment of pain when my cries were ignored and I poured my emotions into the back of a notebook.

It hurts, you know. I love filling these pages with beautiful words, broken poems, obscure sentences, and abandoned memories, but the whys and wherefores are themselves my brokenness and moments where I was abandoned.

- Oizys.

Sacrific For Survival

I am stuck in a rut. In a room. Between one side of the bed and a table filled with dusty books and this crappy laptop. I want to get out, getaway. Far, far away. I can not live like this anymore. This comfort comes at the cost of my privacy and peace. I have no other way than to lock myself in this room. I do not want this. I want to move out of this hellish stomach that incinerates my freedom with its toxic acid. I just want to tear it open and spring out. I am losing every intangible part of me. My dedication, my love, my books, my words, my mind, me. The connection of blood has kept me tethered. Their blood filled my veins, tying me to this stomach. I want to rid myself of their so-called ichor and be free.

"There is a freedom that comes with abandonment." Suzanne Scanlon. 

Perhaps detachment is what will be the key to this junky lock. I am desperate to alleviate myself by chopping off this relationship. Desperate to get rid of this dependency. I know I will bleed when I part ways. If sacrificing my own blood is what is needed to gain survival, then so be it. 

- Oizys.