I apologize.

I apologize, dear. I apologize for the disturbance my scars caused whenever you glanced at them. I apologize for wearing them proudly and not pulling my sleeves down each time someone pointed at them and asked if there was something wrong with me. I apologize, dear. For my hair always smelled like vanilla and sunshine and all the beautiful things in the world you despise. I know it wasn't brown enough or straight enough and I know it was messy and tangled up all the time but I loved that and you didn't. I apologize, dear; for my knees were always too bony and my body was too cold to be touched. I should have gained more weight to look more like a woman and less like a tragedy to satisfy all men but not my own self. Sorry. I apologize for not looking like art all the time. I apologize for not letting my fingers touch your bare skin instead of the pen I touch all the time to write you something you will throw away the very next day. I apologize for not being too needy and too clingy. My independence must have made you feel unloved or something but that was never my intention and you knew that too damn well. I apologize for loving the sound of the rain more than the sound of your own voice because I know how much you hated winter and how I found that intensively strange. Speaking of strange, I owe you one big apology for having a beauty mark on my bottom lip and how the whole world found that strange but then again, I loved that and you didn't. Maybe that's why you didn't kiss me for too long. Maybe what drove you crazy most was how I couldn't sleep without listening to Led Zeppelin. Maybe not fantasizing about the lead singer or speaking of how hot he used to be all the time is what you found strange because I wasn't like the rest of the girls but then again, I loved that and you didn't. I know good music was not your thing and I apologize for that. I should have known better than to let a stranger hold me with an intention to let me go. I apologize for mistaking coffee for drugs you get heavily addicted to. I apologize, dear; for my eyes weren't bright enough and for not looking good all the time. I guess nobody taught you that depression sucks the light inside of you and leaves you with nothing. I deeply and strongly apologize for learning to let people go. I learned that at a very young age. Maybe the way my face changed according to the season was something you disliked and I apologize for not being what you like. I know you had some pathetic standards for what a real woman should look like and be like and I never bothered to keep up with them because you knew standards were never my thing but I loved that I didn't care and you didn't. I apologize for not being fully understood and perfectly known so well by anybody and I apologize for being one big mystery you long to discover at first but you get tired after the first failure but unfortunately, I loved that and you didn't. I know I was too strong and a little shattered for someone so lost like you, I apologize for that. I apologize for my confidence and how it sometimes turned its back on me and made me hide under so many layers of skin. I apologize, dear. I was never a popular girl at my school and I knew that ever since the very first day of kindergarten. Maybe the lack of popularity turned you off because you wanted your so-called lover to be known by the whole goddamned world but I never wanted that and you did. Oh dear, I apologize for not being what I should be. I apologize for having a fire inside of me that nothing, not even the rain that I admire, can put out but I love myself no matter how fucked up I seem to be. I love myself, and you don't. I apologize for not even wanting to apologize. I do not apologize for who I am.

يا من يهمس فى اذنى كل ليلة صامتة, اطلب منك الرحيل
يا من تراقبنى و جسدى تغادره الحياة يوم بعد يوم, توقف
يا من جلس فى صمت تام و انا بداخلى ثورات و حروب, هل انت بعدو؟
كيف اثق بك و انت مجرد لا شئ اكثر ولا شئ اقل من روح معتمة تتمنى موتى و انا على قيد الحياة
و ما الحياة الا وهم 
و ما الوهم الا لهؤلاء الذين يعرفون ان الحياة ليست وهم
و ما انا بشئ
و ما صنعت للحياة
و ما ولدت لأحيا
و ما عشت لأموت
و ليس من حقى ان اتمنى الموت
و انا مجرد, جسد بنصف روح, لا اكثر ولا اقل

An Unusual Morning.

I opened one of my brown eyes to see that morning had finally arrived. I opened both of my brown eyes to fully check it's a new day but I had the strangest of feelings. I woke up feeling that I shouldn't. I woke up smelling death all over the room. I told my mind to stop constantly reminding me that being here isn't the problem and that the problem might be me. I ordered my mind to stop playing that song I've been listening to for hours, unaware that it's even playing. I told my mind to stop causing profound aches to my chest, to stop making my body hurt. I ordered and ordered but it seemed to block its ears and didn't quite respond. I told my heart to heal. I reassured it that no pain can last, that just because it's as tiny as my clenched fist, doesn't mean it's not stronger than everything being thrown at me. I kept talking and talking but it swore to never talk back. I told my body to get its shit together and ignore the utter exhaustion and that it's okay to move, that blood is still running through my veins and that there's no accurate reason for it to be so glued to the bed. It responded after 3 hours. It did leave the bed after a several arguments between the both of us. When my feet decided to walk -and trust me, I have no idea how they managed to do so- I, for some reason, avoided looking at all the mirrors in the house and I kept wondering why we had so many mirrors hanging almost everywhere around the house. What would possibly be so interesting to look at every five seconds? It's not like your face would surprisingly decide to look hotter by the time you walk out of your room and reach the corridor. I turned the T.V on and I couldn't feel more disgusted. How could someone be made of flesh, bones, skin and spuriousness? I couldn't help but feel sorry for them but then I felt sorry for myself for judging people poorly without getting to know them with their skin peeled off. I had decided to not eat and to not do anything. To do nothing. To feel nothing. To be nothing. Just like I always seem to do. Maybe if I become nothing, nothing will hurt. Maybe the nothingness I am will shut away the whole world and I would finally stop vomiting every word I uttered at the wrong time. Maybe I would vomit all my regrets and let my head be as empty as my stomach. But it doesn't work that way. How strange is it to let a million thoughts run inside your head at just one single morning and not even be aware of the time passing you by? How silly is it to exist and not live, how fragile of me to pathetically not let myself be?