Poetry

.Incompatible. 

“I’m crying these tears but they fall within, I’m dying inside and I’m drowning in sin.”

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Would you look at me differently if I told you I finally didn’t know what to do?

Could you help me if I cried out and pleaded to you?

Would you judge me if I told you I’m not perfect and I make mistakes?

Could you forgive me if I told you that this time my mistakes were too great?

Deceived by my pride and pushed by my follies; handing out nothing but sorry

Sorry for my character – abused and tattered

Sorry for my words – misled and scattered

Sorry for my tears – pain and like my pride, shattered…across my face

I keep coming in last in this race … of life, of love, success, all the above

I want to be free like the words my heart wants to speak

Uncaged is this mind, but shackled is my being

So much I yearn to let these drops of knowledge leak

They pour from my soul, they reek

The stench of defeat…of shame from the meek

My words are in prison along with my feelings; trapped in a maze

Wait, do you even hear me?

I speak but my words fall upon deaf ears -- yelling I … Praying I… Hoping I….

…. Wishing I could just escape these walls that follow me

Every where.

They’re every where.

Look – even there. Where’s the air?!

I’m no mime, but I’m beating on these walls that you cannot see.

Escaping is not an answer for me.

I’m crying these tears but they fall within, I’m dying inside and I’m drowning in sin.

I’m wondering if hope will ever be let in.

… I….It’s...I’m…

Hoping my goals can be reached; my words will be preached.

I … This is hard for me …

I’m knocking on wood, I’m hoping somebody could… Unjinx me. I’m hexed with the per-plexed….. mind.

I’m seeing but I’m…I must be blind.

Somebody free me or take me to the sublime

You see, I’m running out of time.

This makes no sense to you, but for me this is old, and for you, this is new.

I’m lost in my own world, and my skies aren’t blue.

They’re hazy and my days are a gray hue.

I … You… We…

I’m not perfect, but I’m not you.

I’m proving things that, to you, aren’t even true.

My pride is slowing down my stride; this anchor is holding me down

Could you forgive me if I decide to harbor myself under the ground?

Away from this - I’m…going into an abyss.

-- Aisha Begum
Copyright June 18, 2010