Insomnia Café: Expired Moods

I wish to raise my voice,

Out-loud!

To everyone to hear it.

I don’t want to nod along,

With every idea you bring.

I don’t want to be imprisoned-

With the fear of conflict,

Or confront.

I wish to say what I feel,

The way I feel it,

Not as I’m supposed to,

Not the way you dictate it.

I don’t want you to pity-

Me or my countenance,

Or behavior or virtues.

For once,

I don’t want to grant an acknowledgment, 

For the tag you provided.

What if I am more than-

Mere Lady Creativity! 

What if I’m so much more than-

The quiet model of subtlety! 

What if I don’t want to be,

The muse you wish to see.

What if I want to roar,

At the top of my lungs,

For everyone to hear,

Until the room shakes,

Or the windows rattle,

What if I can be me?

Just me!

Without the responsibilities or requirements! 

What if I want to contradict everything you say?

Your presumptions and logic.

What if I laugh out loud,

At your hysteria and simple mind?

What if I take out my amiability-

From the pictures, you had of me?

What if I declare-

My true feelings and emotions,

Without giving my regard,

Other than myself.

What if you see the ‘wrong’ color of prospects?

What if none shall matter to me from now on?

Do you wish my company the same?

Or do you like all the things I do-

To be the reflections of your desires?

All your unattainable desires!

Impossible deeds to be performed by none!

Proprieties to be conducted by pawns!

I aligned with your rules,

And your requirements, 

With nary arguments.

To kill my true self,

And dreams I had.

Only to gain shells of a kind,

To be cleaned and polished.

To find myself now,

Dropped in lagoons of personalities,

In the sea of the dead,

Dead, expired moods.

Insignificant, unimportant images I once cherished.

All to be tied with destitute, now.

Not one of them to matter,

Or weigh an ounce.

Yes, I’m still alive! 

Only to be surrounded, 

By the morbid, I collected.

I light a candle,

Once in a while,

To the moods I killed!

My moods that expired! 

My enthusiasm I buried!

My convictions I have sent away!

My strong beliefs I extinguished!

The greatness I once acquired!

The orderly plan I once had,

Only to be captivated,

With fear and strain.

I, Lady Creativity, wish to resign-

From the life of yearning.

I wish to wallow in my pain,

For as much as I want, 

Without bearing your pain,

Or trying to be healed.

Without being forced to figure it out,

Or map the blueprint. 

Without yielding to your requests,

Or heavy yokes you detest,

Without carrying you through it,

While you are being protected and cared for.

I should learn to confront,

Without being tortured by guilt,

Or ached by wounded pride.

I wish to recover from the madness-

All the madness I went through alone,

When no one was looking,

In my solitude, 

Alone in the crowd.

Allow me to be gentle,

To my wounded heart,

To mend the tears that opened,

In my failed attempt of closing them.

Yes! Life is built amongst others,

Friends and acquaintances.

We find our true nature and color,

Amidst those who are closer.

We share one another’s burdens and secrets,

In the light of that spirit.

But, would you rather call it fair?

If the burden is to be shared only by one,

A single individual, rather than both.

Would it really be friendship or relationship-

Of any kind of sort,

If one carries and the other just dumps?

If one becomes the bruised lad,

While the other keeps punching?

If Depression keeps hitting,

Do I keep being knocked out?

If I can no longer press the juice,

Out of my misery-

If I cannot be creative 

To ease the pain I endure,

If I digress to be happy 

When I thought my ache is gone,

Would I call that a relation?

Or a mere prison?

Would it be a passion,

Or a typical death potion?

Resentments and I are truly unfriendly.

But, it sweeps over my door once in a while.

Not regarding my marriage to Depression,

Rather about my life as a matron.

If anything my identity as a social paragon.

Or all the things I acquire as reputation.

But again,

Do not dismiss me yet,

Allow me to grow,

And be my own mellow.

Don’t grant me a title,

For being the perfect model,

Because eyes might deceive,

But words shall be candid.

She quit scribbling not because she ran out of words or reached a resolution for her climax. That could never be the case. But it felt relaxing enough to share her deepest thoughts in her secret notebook.  With that, Lady Creativity put her secret notebook back in the place where she usually keeps it. Looking at the wooden box, she reminisced all the great memory it holds from her childhood. An uncontrollable smile crossed her face for a moment. She proceeded to the bathroom to polish herself for the coming day. The golden hour of the dawn hasn’t arrived yet. But she wanted to visit the café before the day catches up with her. Her insomniac brain and eyes needed the magic of the caffeine!