pain

Don’t Tell Me to Move On

Artwork by Sheena Marie Tubiano

Moving on you say?
How can someone like you
understand what the fire
between my ribs feels like
when I come across a picture of him
so pale
and I think, he was sitting there laughing
but he had cancer
I almost lose my mind

What’s moving on
if not betraying the memory
of something that changed your life forever,
made you this broken piece of furniture
nobody notices its tears
everyone uses it
as if it’s just been bought
they even break it more
thinking that
it can take it
no it can’t
no it can’t
no It can’t

You think that I’m strong
you keep saying it
you say I’m gonna be OK
you say this will pass
This never passes,
this lives in me
like a worm lives in an apple
it eats and it eats and it eats

You don’t see
not because I’m hiding anything
but because you’re too busy seeing yourself
I’m the only one who can see
how inky the color under my skin is
I’m the only soul
who can put a finger on where it hurts
right on my lungs
and can feel them no longer breathing
they’re giving up on me,
I apply CPR to survive
C stands for catch the worm
I tried, it caught me first
P for protect,
I write, on anything, on everything
wood, your palm, Instagram
R for run away
I’ve been running since

It will pass
it never passes
I need you to see,
I need someone to see
because I’m so lonely
and I can’t see you
scratching the surface
as you dig,
deep, the hole to my animal sorrow
you can’t see,
because you’re fucking toxic

I’m sick of losing hope
hope, that thing, with wings
dragon wings
and dragon breath
it burnt me
countless times,
ever since I turned 18
hope befriended me
and I befriended hope
and we are still friends,
but I’d like to end this friendship now.

—

It’s 03:20 a.m.
I’m not sleepy
I’m thinking about how stubborn I am
and the sound of your begging voice

on an audio I accidently deleted on Whatsapp,
I’m stubborn because we are still friends
I see a great deal of hope in you
and I’m stubborn because,
hope got me to safety many times,
maybe it will again

Your voice has a smell to it too
when I remember that audio
I also remember that odor
your sweat, on the praying mat.
I wish we never cleaned it
so I could always remember to mention you
when I paste my forhead to the floor
when my tears trace me to God.

—

Poem by Faiza Benameur 

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