sunrise clarity.

I owe myself an apology.

You wonder often you think to youreslf and thoughts ferment to a point where one moment is no longer tangible from the next. And the heart continues to beat and the fire continues to burn strong and you get caught up in the smiles and wonderful modes of discourse and the charm that makes even the bare tree's look so powerful in their silver blue magnificence. You walk outside with your new jacket and your new bag and your hair looking the way it should and you loose yourself in reflections that catch you striding to work, from work, to class, from class, towards one more challenge that piles above and beyond those that already exist and those that have already conquered you to a point where you were crawling in a pile of your own misgivings.

Your fingers fly though words, your eyes scan texts, you write things that move anyone but yourself, you sing on a note that pleases everyone but you, you sing along to a song that isnt about you and never will be. You run out, you move in an out of significance, you ponder through clarity and visibility and no you are not more than you think. You are more than you imagine to be. You are not them, you are not those people who fall and continue to fall.

Stop beating yourself up, the world will listen one day, and till that day comes, babys just gotta be patient.

to crave and to give in.

I walk slowly, like one who comes from so far away he doesnt expect to arrive.
-Jorge Luis Borges.

I hope you stay forever young. I am too young to be in so much pain all the time, everywhere, in every dimension, in every turn my feet walk when I walk from home to class. I am to young to wake up every morning acutely aware of how my body fills up mattress's with such ease, with such wholeness. I am too young to start the day by wondering what to wear, what in this closet that holds an image of an eighty year old in a retired home should I use to cover myself, to appear the least obscene, to hide to an extent that the largest person in the room is wearing black from head to toe, everyday. Even her eyes you think, even her eyes in circled in black.

The sixth alarm of the morning goes off and you look to see your roommate still blissfully asleep, eventhough you have already put on the music and blasted the hairdryer. You call her name, over and over and she finally moves- a little. Im changing you tell her and she says okay and you either way go and hide behind the closet- lest someone see's lest that girl with her 120 pound frame and dancers frame manages to catch a glimpse.

If anyone who understood Urdu looked at the margins of the notes I take in class and were to read what I wrote hidden behind another language they would know all of my greatest fears.

One day, I will be beautiful.

That day is not today nor tomorrow and I will forever live a life of obscure insecurity until one day, one day- I will be beautiful.