When I first told my mom I don’t feel like myself she handed me a brochure
Scribbled with techniques on how to feel happy.
Little did she knew,
I was still a newbie
Struggling to grapple the words
When I told my friends,
Being seems more like
Running on a treadmill
that is also hanging at the edge of Everest
They laughed
“C’mon, stop lying”, is all they always chirped
Like birds trapped in murmuration
The surgeon’s laugh trickled like broken shards of glass
When I said
I’m not the same person anymore
She delivered from her textbook
The memorized lines that swayed around my eyes
On how to be fulfilled
“You’ll be alright, honey.” She tweeted
And I left the whitewashed room smelling of ammonia
with a cracked skull
Bleeding melody and drops of hope
Again
At midnight
when sleep seemed like a kindergarten friend
A tiny voice vibrated through my
Calcium mosaic imperfect sphere
And as always
I was swept back
To being the child
Terrified of the unseen monster under the bed
It tugged at my strings
Slowly and steadily
Like a leaking bottle
Emptying me of my wealth
Wordsmith: Sinthia Ahammed
