I am not Her

you would see some trapped undefined grief in her eyes, they used to show anger, that she can play swing with, her armor. But as she keeps feeding her soul with the wisdom brought by the wind and time nurture her growth, she started to be able to recognize what sad is. Then she found that its harder to play swing with sadness rather than anger. Her heart become softer, but she doesnt like it, she wants to hate and mad and angry, but she can no longer.

She loves the serene sound of the dance of the sand and current under the water when she floats, and she always wish she could just dissolve within the ocean behind the line where the sun meets the ocean. She feels a strong longing toward the moon, “its like my home is calling” she would say.

She tried to speak her feelings out once, but people sneer, people go away. So she learned to bury, keep everything behind her laughter, her eyes can pretend to glow with cheerfulness. She become, oh so loveable! If only they know how hard she struggles to be so, carrying the battle she doesn’t understand, shut off the noises, kill the sensitivity, not  to be…different.

But things unfold itself right before her eyes, she enjoys how truth; the one thing she remembered ever wished for so deeply; float and amuse her sometimes. It makes her feels like she owns a magic wand, she just cling it on the air, then its only a matter of time, things she’s feeling is happening taking shape.

Speed and height calm her down, musing occupies her life, not living by the book is her guide, gravity is her prime enemy, stupidity makes her clutch her fist, being human is her eternal struggle.

Ah well! that’s her, that i am not;

that woman

with the dragonfly on her shoulder

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6 comments on “I am not Her

  1. arjun bagga says:

    Wow
    gravity is her prime enemy,
    being human is her eternal struggle
    where did you learn to write like this? This is brilliant!

  2. HJM says:

    A captivating piece and I immensely enjoyed reading it. I love this:

    She feels a strong longing toward the moon, “its like my home is calling” she would say.

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