I am pregnant
Beyond the due date.
This is me checking out for movement –
Alive or not?
how long do I have to wait for the labor?
It is going to hurt and except for breathing in and out
and pushing, it will all be out of my hand.
What if they are stillborn?
What if all the wait was for nothing?
When I look down at the blood covered body of it
Will I be able to shrug, bury it and move on?
Will I be able to say “Words, words and words”
And accept my failure?
So what if my post-term word has long legs, thin arms and loose skin?
It will be alert and wide eyed.
It has been a long time since I wrote something for the sake of it; because it is fun; because it makes me happy; because it is the absolute one thing in the world of activities, and endless To Dos, that I would happily do. I was too focused in attempting to write good poetry that in the process, somewhere I forgot the reason behind all the writing that I did. It all came down to writing that one poem that would be “it” (which I doubt, even exists); it all became about impressing the reader (assuming that I HAVE a reader,) and my friends.
It got so bad that recently three of my friends came up with a couple of amazing poems, and instead of being proud of them, I found myself in this place where I was resentful of the fact I was not able to come up with something close to what they managed to write. It all came down to jealousy, which culminated in me writing a bunch of crass poems.
So today I decided enough is enough; that it was time to get a grip of myself, and remind myself why I write. I write because it helps me make sense of the milky way of chaos that makes my mind. Without words I am a swimmer forced to swim with their arms and legs tied up – I would definitely drown. I write because I have to. It is the one way in which I am able to communicate what I have in mind.
Someone a long time back asked me to write for myself. And this is what it is. This is for me and me alone.
I don’t give a damn about you liking or not liking this one. This one is for me.