I am 17 years old
And my room is a metaphor for my state of mind,
Clothes & blankets thrown haphazardly
Symbolise thoughts left scattered
& emotions neglected to be categorised.
My saving grace & source of solace
Is the multiple mirrors in the room
Reflecting the slight youthful joy that is
A permanent tenant
On my face,
I am happy, I am a mess
By the Lord’s Grace, I am a happy mess.
I am 17 years old and I feel like my soul
Has been reincarnated so many times
That even its Creator does not recognise Her masterpiece.
All my raw parts have been prodded over and over again
Until the blood in my veins dried up like a river
Whose pride has been stolen by drought.
The bones in my body have forgotten their original purpose,
Nowadays it feels like they’re a prison
Incarcerating my freedom of expression
For I cannot cry without racking & rattling them up, violently.
Yesterday night I watched my Saviour escape
Through my bedroom window,
There goes that thought of soaring into the skies like a bird.
I am 17 years old,
My self, the camera & social media are my worst critics
Yet I venerate them
Like little personal Jesuses.
When the whole world is awake,
I hold night vigils for these misplaced mutis.
I have a shrine in my heart,
Dedicated to sacrificing a piece of myself to them,
Each and every day,
Trying with all my might to satisfy their perpetual hunger.
Yet they demand more of my blood,
Gallons of my self-love
And seven oceans’ worth of my tears.
I am tired yet
With sad eyes,
I watch as huge flames engulf my bed.
Goodbye, eternal sleep.
I am 17 years old
And I swear I know what love is.
It’s the universes I’m willing to bend
To make the girl in the mirror smile again.
I feel it every time I wake up early on an elated
And I hear my Mama’s laughter
And I marvel at Allah’s majesty.
I truly believe that Love is epitomised by
The hands of the boy who sings symphonies
That flood my eyes with unrestrained passion.
Love is my Papa’s voice booming with undertones
Of sincere pride & boastful love
When I tell him that my maths test wasn’t
A boogeyman this time around,
When I simply tell him that I am a mess, I am happy
I am a happy mess.