Aphrodite's Serenade @aphrodites-serenade - Tumblr Blog

Noisy house, noisy mind

The house that drained so much of my life force is growing smaller by the second.

I never did say goodbye to my bedroom, the only room that provided solace.

There was no time for words.

Even in the midst of my escape, my parents spared no kind words.

I knew then,

there was no use in one final look.

Why remember something you’ll never come back to?

I could begin to erase those memories, I thought.

I could push back all the screams, all the tears,

Push them far enough so they’ll never resurface.

–

The empty room that now lies before me is mine to change.

A new beginning, or so I thought.

How could I have known?

No one who leaves a noisy house has a peaceful mind.

A seed was planted in me before I was born.

It has grown into a terrible weed, into the shape of something like a man.

My fingers dig deep into my scalp,

Attempting to drive him out of my head.

He does not leave. Will he ever leave?

–

Oh, I beg you to answer me.

How am I supposed to heal,

when I haven’t yet escaped that horrid place?

The screams, the tears,

they’re louder this time, so much louder.

I fear I’ll die, oh dear, I’ll die.

This must be a joke.

I’ll die along with the same house that ruined me.

Only then will I get rid of this noisy mind.

Hope

For most of my life, my body has been stuck in this small, chilling cave.

The darkness it's enmeshed in has made my skin go cold.

My words come out as whispers, ignored by those passing by.

I am nothing more than dirt no, less,

because the bugs themselves couldn't care enough to clean up the scene.

–

It is then no surprise that death has come for me.

In the form of an angel of all things.

Take me, I want to say.

But as expected, in this pitiful state, the most I can do is breathe.

–

What a surprise it is to have my body dragged upwards, as if pleading with me to stand.

Your face is unknown to me, but the gentle tug of your hand is enough to let me know the nature of your touch.

You can see through my skin the wounds that have spread across my body like a deadly disease.

I realize you aren't pulling me to my end.

You're bringing me back to life.

–

I expected the sun to be the brightest thing on this Earth.

Instead, I can only stare at your blinding smile.

You've shown me the light, picked up this wrecked body.

You, whose name means hope, have freed me from my own self-destruction.

An apology to— myself

Oh body of mine, how I've battered you.

And yet you still make sure my heart beats.

–

I promise you over and over that I'll get better.

I'm sorry, I say, I can't help the way I think.

–

I pick this body apart, piece by piece, as if it'll change anything

And as if I can rearrange anything.

Why couldn't you have been shaped like those other girls, I ask, looking at the mirror.

–

I've put you through terrible outbursts of mine.

And you suffer the most due to my self-consciousness.

–

With time, my body will grow tired of me.

It will give out, like every other body.

It can work as hard as it can, but it can not keep me young.

–

But for now, my body refuses to give up on me.

It tries to make everything work despite my constant blunders.

–

It's too kind, really.

I gave up on myself a long time ago.

Think of me, a woman

My parents may have left their parents, siblings, and friends behind,

But they can not leave their old ways of thinking behind.

–

No matter what I accomplish,

My goals are scrutinized to the point that I don't bring them up anymore.

My existence is degraded and reduced because of the simple fact that I am a woman.

–

People with no knowledge of me think I should retire from my aspirations.

They'll list an "appropriate" title for me: Mother, maid, wife,

And demand me to be happy with only that.

–

Oh mother, you know I'm too boisterous to stay at home.

I am too disinterested in men to ever serve a “husband.”

And having children terrifies me to my core.

–

Regardless of where I end up,

I ask that when you visualize my future,

you look at me first.

Don't think of a man.

My father is a small child in a man's body

I say a lot of things about my father. He's aggressive, dismissive, and self-centered. And yet I can't help but pity him. I see how his eyes look when he sits alone at the dinner table. This wasn't the life he envisioned for himself when he was a young man. He likes to say he doesn't need to prove himself to anyone but lies to his coworkers for validation. He puffs his chest and criticizes himself in the mirror. He swears it's a habit he wants to break. I'd like to think that that's what he sees when he yells at me and my brother. His father taught him that real men don't cry. I guess what I mean to say is that he's still a small child trying to be a man. He's failed. And I could try to hug him, give him the comfort he's never felt, but he'd push me away. He's a scared boy who doesn't know what he's doing here.

To be God

Have you ever looked at the sky and imagined the space between your hand and whatever is beyond the warm skies?

Do you think God can see what's above him?

It seems to be that everything stops with him.

When sunlight rests against your sweet brows,

Do you realize that God cannot feel a single thing?

Your hands are not bound, go on,

Touch, feel, and experience.

But as for God, anything underneath his presence crumbles.

He can not allow himself to be fascinated,

Not when he's seen it all.

And he cannot allow himself to be seen by anyone

Not when he's made himself unknown.

Oh how sad it must be to be God,

to not believe in anything greater than yourself.

Tender is your touch

The rate of my heart quickens at the sight of your skin.

The mere sensation of your hand on my shoulder is enough to give me chills.

You can make time stop, did you know?

Every now and again, I realize I idolize you too much.

I have to remind myself that you, too, are human.

I must remember that, like me, you're a young girl with so much to learn.

You, too, have cried and broken down.

And every time I see mere glimpses of your teary face,

I can't help but pray you receive all the good things in this wretched world.

Only when I see you asleep and unaware,

I can pretend that nothing bad has happened to either of us.

I'll remember you forever,

That is the one promise my clumsy self can keep.

I know a love story of you and me will never be written.

And if I ever gaze upon you and him,

I'll hold my tongue.

If he's the one you chose,

Then, you must surely feel safe with his touch.

I'm home

My mother’s demands to visit her have an ugly contrast to the comments she told me when I once lived with her. I've stared at my car keys for hours. Setting my GPS to her house feels like a chore. Then again, everything is a chore with her. I knock on the door, impatient and restless. When she takes me into her arms, tired with age, I try my best not to cry. I should have arrived sooner. But as soon as I walk inside, she begins to list her complaints. I ask myself why I came in the first place. She sits me down, and I can feel memories of being at the dinner table come back to me. My hand trembles. Her food is just like I remember. I realize no one has ever made something as good as this. But her demands for reassurance ruin my appetite.

Is it good?

I just told you it's good.

Will you come back for more?

I'm here now.

You should be here more often…

We can bond over certain topics. Her jokes make me laugh. Midway through the conversation, she brings up topics I've asked her to not mention before. Arguments become shouting matches and fizzle out into silence. My mother is good at forgetting, and she continues as if nothing happened. I can be too good at remembering. Being with my mother drains me. As soon as I drop onto the bed, I fall asleep.

Visit again, okay?

Her hands cling onto mine. It hurts. I look at her and tell her what she wants to hear. I tell myself this will be the last time, but when I look at her standing alone on the porch, I know I'll be back.

Call it a sin if you'd like

In a room whose walls are decorated with painted flowers,

Lies two girls, in their own stage of blooming, on a queen-sized bed

The scent of vanilla and honey is overwhelming if you step inside

Enough to make an adult feel sick

The girl with longer hair keeps her eyes closed, not knowing if she's doing it right

Not if what she's doing is right

But the girl with shorter hair breaks the kiss too quickly

“You don't like it?” asks the other

“I do…” she replies

“Then, can we..?”

She mimics what’s she’s seen on TV, except she’s never imagined doing it with a boy

Outside, they'll be what they're told to be

But inside, in the comfort of a pretend home,

No one can tell them that they’re too young to know

They can live freely, away from disgusted eyes and mouths that scream this is unclean

What's pure love anyways?

If not two girls, leaving sweet promises on each other's skin?

Disease

I look at childhood pictures of me and parents fondly

Knowing that I will view them differently years later

I mourn for the girl in the picture, knowing that she's what her parents taught her to hate

A fictional character is received with loving arms by their parents

And I hold back my tears poisoned with jealousy

A hand that is warm and inviting

Will point to the exit when I reveal myself to be different

I shouldn't be here, eating dinner and laughing with them

My dad brings up the same kind of people each time

Insults and curses leave his mouth as his teeth tear through his food

My mother agrees and laments about the time when the world was good,

When people were normal

I have learned to listen quietly, so that my tongue may not betray me

So when the church celebrates the Binding of Isaac, I remember to bite down

He tells us that life is not about what we want, it's what God wants

My parents eyes are glued onto the pastor and I feel a knife stab my chest

The pain would lessen if I weren't so close to them

But when I come back from school, they smile

They embrace me in their arms and I pray that this is not the last time

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Look at me.. not for too long

Her eyes are the most beautiful gems on this earth

She's loved by the moon and sun, with the way they glow and shine in any light

They dart all over the place, not able to stay on one thing for too time

Look at this... Oh no, look at this

She's a spark of joy, but the light becomes dimmer the farther her figure walks away from me

A dreadful thought overcomes me,

I'm fading into the background, into one of the many normalities in her life

My body moves faster than my mind, and once again, I'm near

I have to hold onto her, make sure she doesn't forget me

She swings around abruptly, her locks falling into place as she searches for the reason of this sudden action in my eyes

There's heat rising to my cheeks, I must surely seem pathetic and ridiculous

I wanted her to look at me, and yet…

I look at my feet before she notices any signs of the fear that has overtaken my body

Her eyes are still on me, looking at these imperfections, all of them

I'm a child again, apologizing to my parents for being so needy

It's her touch that now makes me search in her eyes

Her fingers draw circles into my skin, dotted with blemishes

They trace my cracked lips and overgrown brows

The longer she touches me, the more I barrage myself for not hiding my dark eye bags, for letting my face get round, for not taming my hair

The thought that she would stop loving me because of all this makes me want to sob

Don't look at me any longer, please

Comfort envelopes me as her lips press against mine

It's her softness that makes me forget what I was even saying

I've never felt so beautiful as when I am with her

Books and pens

Humanity's greatest gift to the world were books and pens

I want to partake and contribute to it as much as I can

My dedication to my craft goes beyond crumpled manuscripts and scanning hundreds of pages

It's a passion that keeps me up at night and glued to my screen to watch a tale unfold before me

Even when I rest, I get a sudden surge of inspiration

It makes me jump out of bed and frantically search for a pen, fearing that the thoughts will leave my head

If others express love with words, I show love with a pen

I love people too much to let them go, so I immortalized them in the pages of books

It can seem tiring to some people, flipping pages, and not being able to understand a single word

Or the countless times I've spent hours pulling together a single page

And yet, if I had more time in the world

I would spend it the exact same way

Bystander

Last year, there was a senior who caught my eye

A tall girl with bleached ends and painted dark lips

Thin brows but thick eyeliner

An expression that teased hundreds of secrets

Talked about wanting nails but always chewed on the ones she had

Laughed a lot with the girl seated next to her and rarely smiled at anyone else

I never knew more than her name and the face of her boyfriend

I wondered why out of the many boys, she'd chose one who looks like any other plain boy

A boy with no real power but lets you know that if he did, you'd never see the light of day again

A boy that cares nothing for the feeling of a girl, only what he can take from her

A boy whose first reflex when he gets you away from your friends is to slap you

I sat in my parents' car, watching and asking myself over and over again

Why, beautiful girl, did you choose him?

Even I know I wouldn't deserve you

But did you not think you could do better?

Were you taught to be quiet, too?

I should've asked at some point

After graduation, I never saw her again

But in my mind, she's walking in a field of flowers,

She's smiling and laughing with that friend who, like me, always watched from the sidelines…

Men and what doesn't belong to them

The price tag is at $30, too overpriced for a simple doll

The sky is pitch black by the time I leave the mall, my hands empty-handed and freezing

A breeze of air sends strands of hair onto my face

A buzz emerges from my back pocket

Where are you?

I turn off the screen, I can't be seen distracted, especially at night

It's like my mom's warnings are screeching against my ear

She tells me of men who hide in dark alleyways, biting like dogs at woman's feet

She reminds me of how my cousin was dragged by one of those dogs, how her eyes don't glow like they used to

She walked too much like a woman, that's why they caught her, she tells me

Because they can't blame her for her baggy clothing

But how do I tell her that my father is like those men?

Pulling her wherever he pleases, dressing her how he sees fit

It's as if the wedding certificate, buried inside a memory box, is the same thing as the receipt that's pushed by the wind

I walk briskly under the street lights, my heart beats loudly every time a car slows down

Even if I'm in the middle of a crowd, it'll only give me the illusion of safety

I wonder if my friend felt helpless, as my 4th grade teacher hugged her tightly, knowing everyone's eyes were on her

I heard a story on the radio with my grandma once, of a woman who was sold as a child to a much older man

She sighed. Thank God, we aren't in that wretched country anymore.

I couldn't find it in me to tell her that this happens everywhere, even in the safety of a “first world country”

I look at his message one last time, knowing I'll never see his picture again

If you don't answer this time, I swear I'll kill you

I should have known that he was like every man, poor, rich, old, and young, with what doesn't belong to him

Conversations with her

There's this girl that I love to listen to for hours

She perks up as soon as I present her a question

I love the way her eyes light up, how they urge me to come closer

Her lips move rapidly and I don't dare interrupt her

She tucks her hair behind her ear, but she talks so much that it moves forward again

I press my phone against my ear when we talk during odd hours

There's a lot of things she tells me that I don't understand yet

But the way these words come out of her mouth is enough to keep me smiling

I sometimes worry that she finds me boring

One day she'll stop talking and find out that all I do is listen

I simply lose myself so easily to her

I've found that time doesn't matter at all when I'm with her

On the first day she opened up to me, I was shown a new world

I want to stay in it forever, I tell her

And she pulls me in entirely

I can't help it; her name is love

Love is a girl with brown skin and a smile that puts the sun to shame

She's a girl with dark hair and eyes that brings comfort that the night can not

I find myself asking the same question,

How can such a being exist?

I want to worship her, head to toe

She deserves the world, whatever it takes

The gods will hand it over gently, into her hands

It makes me cry, the way she seems so intrigued by everything she comes across

I don't want to be away from her, even in thought

Tell me, what goes on in that mind of yours?

I want to know it all, so please, please, speak more

I hope you never get tired of that, of me and my foolish state

Oh, what would I do if you ever hated me?

The words get lodged in my throat at the sight of her eyes on me

I want to praise her, over and over again

The words spill all over me, and I look at her apologetically

Yet she's still there, smiling as if I'm no bother

Oh, I can't help it; the girl’s name is love

A picture of my mother

I asked my grandmother how my mother looked when she was young.

“She looked just like you.”

She said it as if she didn't think too hard about the question.

But I refused to believe that such an angry and tired woman once looked like me.

After rummaging in her room, she handed me a picture frame.

It weighed in my hands, and the dust fell upon my jeans.

I wished I could've reacted the way any girl my age would've.

“Oh she looks pretty.”

“Oh she's so thin."

“Oh she did look like me!”

I couldn't bear to look at her any longer.

She was young, naturally, without those deep lines that run across her forehead and cheeks.

She didn't carry a scowl as she usually does.

She made it seem as if she was smiling for you and only you.

And she looked she free, with no worry weighing on her mind.

My grandmother handed me another picture and another.

I understood then that my mother should've never had children.

I can't be sure she was ever happy with me around.

I try so hard to have a civil conversation with her, and yet we end up cursing each other.

I take after my father, who can't choke out the words, “I love you.”

The pictures shake in my hands.

“Grandma, why did my mother marry?"

She smiled, sadly, without saying anything at all.

What else could a girl do back then?

I long for that care free girl in the picture.

I'd give up my own life to let my mother turn back from this path.

She was so happy... so so happy.

I know I took this away from her, and I know I can never give it back.

She enters the room quietly, wearing that same damn scowl.

I wish I could be anywhere but here with her.

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