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it was the 13th of october 2020, when i found myself in the midst of utter chaos, standing in the center of my family, who were singing at the top of their voices, delicate wishes for the coming years of my life, and there were candles lit in front of my eyes, stuck on an entrancing piece of cake that read 'happy birthday maseera'.

i had just turned seventeen.

there was a feeling tingling in my chest that day that i couldn't quite put to rest; and it impatiently bloomed into a hushed thought in my mind and i knew i couldn't avoid it anymore.

it was a day before, on october 12th, when i had planned to write a new book and an obscure feeling was all it took, for me to know what i needed to write.

it was time for letting go.
of doubts, insecurities, fears,
un-learnt dreams, amberish memories,
burning wishes and burning thoughts,
a beating heart that's been afraid too long, a home that i never knew, diaries that i threw away, in the horror that someone might find it someday, and the foolish antics of a ten year old would just like that be given away.

the feeling in my chest was one of courage, and hope, and dreams freshly revoked, of memories i still want to make, of faith i still want to have, of angels and demons, of stories i'm breathing, and everything my ten year old self would dread facing, but i'm now seventeen and that's not the way life has always been.

it was the 13th of october, that rid my back of little knives
i had struck there over the years,
the scars have healed, the burns have revived, and now i write my stories down when winter arrives.

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by maseera | my poem attic © 2020.