These nights I find my sleep has not changed, my problem has always been the difference between my remedy telling me that it could be my personality and not this illness, sometimes I get confused, I remember my heart broke somewhere between your personality and this illness I can’t remember which part took its own life first, I’m kept awake by the problems with myself that I can not seem to fix that stay with my breath and follow me into bad decisions and lost words that are careless and still know how to break even when they come from kin, you can still taste salt, you forgot why you thought elsewhere in the first place, these things just come out you’re looking for help and guidance most a mouth to band-aid them too, sometimes its so hard to stay soft when you’re this ill and lost, there is no beginning or end, it’s a mix up, a false habit you’re trying to erase out of your system these decisions are still plaguing the body and you’re trying to find the correct outlets but your body just will not survive so you give it what it wants even though you know it will hurt you, you become this light that trusts so tirelessly when you see a temptation a way out, and after all this, you’re are left with its echoing words of what you keep telling this body over and over again, what does self-respect look like when you’re ill and stop being 10g away, how do you get your super powers back when you’re watching a wreckage smoke from the inside, how do you save yourself, what does that look like from inside the burning building, you’re a metaphor for yourself how you excuse these decisions, swear you never meant to hurt the body this way, swear you will not do it again but where does it end where do you stop, where does this kind of harm end for you, have you given up, if not what now, what’s next for a girl who has lived until 23, writes from her bedroom window, cries her own love song, doesn’t change her mistakes, and is trying to survive her mind, what happens now, how does she not give up-. What is your answer? What would you tell her?
8.10.18 | Fall.
Sky in, a type of kin that will make even you beg for more, whispers of favourites turn the flame on, I let the words curve into my mouth this way, what I’m trying to say is still unfinished and coded, it sounds a lot like unspoken verbs, pronoun of this is the heart, the adjective is the way the mind is feeling but too scared of its truth only, we have never done things this way before, our words are backwards and on purpose, how do we make sense of all this heat, what happens when both passion and tension sweeten the tongue, how do we tame ourselves out of these flames, so carefully careless we could set everything on fire the way we like this feeling to be this talented, watch the way it has taken over a body that shares the words care and love with self, when she lets you in be carefully honest with everything, she is both blind and bright in the same notion.
A home, been paying attention to the way you respond to my lessons, there is no type that have made it this far, I tell my kin to be careful with the way they swallow my words even I am learning, we talk about love and she tells me this is the first time, I know how she must be feeling, when you come this close you become a puddle of clichés, a mirrored glass of what you want to see even if it must mean the half untruths, love does this, she is high off his scent and I can see his spells lovesick out her mouth this way, talks about how unreal this must be, and I watch her happy like it were the night sky filled with moonlight, she asks me what to do with her heart and I tell her to be strong, love is a beautiful ache and if you choose to love, you must also be ready for its infinite charm, and she asks me, what happens, when heartbeat loves two people distance is a battle, and love is bitter sweet war, I fear for her heart, she asks again, what does it mean for love then, I look at her, she sinks into the car seat, the sky chimes rain down on the car as she turns the heater back on, I sink into my seat watching the rain, and I say nothing.
I am so good at convincing my body about others, when my heart isn’t so invested my mind is this picture map of unsolved people and how it is they will benefit my breath, I find my mind working in myths, myths that are classified unready for this world open to new problems and continually stuttering at love, I don’t have strict titles of heartstrings how they choice and love things like it were their breath too, I am madly in love with love, which is why I feel so bound to the word, why I speak so strongly in and out of its presence you cannot implode on my circumference around its complexities and tell me anything about its wrongs, love has an ambiguous ambiance circling its truth which is why its so simply silly easy to get lost in its clasp, become beastly in its eyes when they flaw, never not this love too, I care in doses of extreme spells when it comes to heartbeats I am an unhealthy addict even if it means my own breath too.
6.6.18 \ the L word
I am witness that nothing can prepare to compare when you kiss someone who has learnt to steal your heart charmingly, hands that notice the hiding spaces you quiet down next to them, breathe at the same time to open your world for the L word with your fingertips reaching into their heart and mind, guide them carefully, warn them this wonderland utpoia has been a paralysis of heaven even without their love first, they are the first to be welcomed, you warn them a second time reminding them how this body is selfish when it comes to my love so you tightly hold their hand saying be careful, tell them to speak in trailingual, flowers, speak in the rain and dreams, your secrets are my secrets too now, answer, I have fated us both, choose a kingdom, you kiss them gentley whispering, I’ll be waiting for you right here, so come to find me
6.6.18 \ kissing.
Kiss, I can be nice and I can be casanova, I’ve learnt so well what it means to romance hearts and never exhaust melody of being animate, kiss me and tassle your words tightley enough around my neck wrap your hands with mine, please; and melt me with your rare, kiss, I get bored easily so be careful with my heart, it is bored to death with all the lies and split hearts of ghost words with no erotics, kiss me again, I am warned by her’s and him but I could not warn you enough about me, I’ll giggle into your ear whisk my tongue down your lips to your neck you have been warned about how I get my ways, it’s just one allure after another, bite you back and create fantasy right before your eyes, hands tied behind your back, I am not afraid to show you how much I love, when you love me too-, love you.
4.12.17 | royal temptation (this whole poem is a tease.)
I always find it overwhelmingly intriguing, when the heart gets tugged at this way, you feel it in such a raw and familiar calibre that its almost possessive, how quick the heart chooses a kind of trouble, knowing so well how forbidden it will taste, honeyed, these invisible chains are dangerous to a heart that knows no boundaries when it comes to who it’ll sweeten only for them to touch, glance at and tease, they don’t know this kind of willingness is so much painful and pleasure, so dangerously tempting, its really unfair to make the heart and mind turn want into need this much, watching the way heartbeat speaks only to fantasies about what heat can be done about thier throne to this body, how they can come and drink all of this hydration, to nourish them in ways that can only be teased by the sweetest parts of the mind until they are well fed, which means by me, until we are both full, and watch, how they comand this body, need a heartbeat that can dominate both, both honesty and this, a throne of all this woman and all that royalty, come closer, you can’t possibly be comfortable looking like that, let me help you become a little more familiar with the way I mean
30.8.17 | Temporary
Been circling the idea of temporary, a moment so intense it almost feels like its going to last, how do these moments decide their own, are we able to see it coming, how much should we invent into their moment to know if it lasts, if there’s a real chance, sometimes we can’t tell and all the uncanny match up and by then we’ve done too much, such an intense feeling, of not wanting to let go, of not wanting to let go even though they are a bad habit, how long are we allowed to stay this deluded, the dreamer in me is always played for a fool, the calculated oasis in me says you knew how this was going to end, to not trust the body is to play yourself, to play with your feelings, but it is not your fault, as human beings what are we supposed to do when we desire, an intensity so strong we dwell so deep, we didn’t even realize it was this bad until they stopped trying-, I’ve been circling the idea of temporary, moments so intense its going to last, moments decided their own, able to see it coming, we invest into their moment, there’s a real chance, all the uncanny, an intense feeling, wanting to let go, they are a bad habit, allowed to stay, the dreamer in me, the calculated oasis says this was going to end, trust the body, your feelings, its not your fault, human beings, we desire, intensity so strong, realized it was this bad, they stopped trying, been circling temporary, moments so intense, this fear grows.
I’d like to start with a sentence I always remind myself.
“Without failure, how do you expect to succeed?”
Being in my early 20’s I am learning courage to take on opportunities with clinical depression being so present in my daily lifestyle. At the age of 10 I was learning how to be an expressive person for myself through poetry. I remember writing poems when I was at my most vulnerable, I learnt to be creative with my words in a sense of being able to be as expressive as I wanted without being judged, because what I wrote was for my eyes only. These words were my comfort and truth.
When I started my very first blog in June 16th 2015 it was also another stepping milestone for me. This platform was where I escaped in order to be heard and understood by my body mentally, emotionally and physically. Poetry taught me to never underestimate the power of a platform for your self care and your own voice. This is how self revelations and taboo considered revolutions are started.
Being a poet, listening to poetry and having a friend that is also a poet who is going through mental health is one of the ways that is helping me the most. Being able to connect with somebody at such an intimate and personal level with my poetry, telling my story about something that is considered so taboo especially in the black community, I truly believe in awareness and taking the right self-care and love for yourself first. For me this has naturally inspired my confidence when I am feeling really depressed. I’m still learning to notice some of my symptoms and being a poet as well as being creative, I’m teaching myself to never apologies for my mental health, ever.
The way I see it, creativity and poetry have helped me positively progress my mental health. I would defiantly say it has taught me how to be patient with it’s intensity at my own pace. Educated me to use my own words, to reach out, as well as tell the world about my mental health journey. This was a huge deal for me, I am generally a very private person.
To crown how much I’ve grown through creativity and poetry it goes hand in hand. To me, being creative means being able to express yourself in a way that is true to you, and poetry is a form of art, another platform to express your creativity. I strongly believe everyone’s story is as powerful as their vulnerable narrative.
Hi, my name is Fatma, I’m a 22 going 23 this year. I am a sister, daughter, activist, blogger, fashion intrigued, clinically depressed, self-care, mental health creative writer who lives in Melbourne. Here is my story.
I was born and grew up in Kenya Nairobi, with both my parents one older sister, my younger sister and my baby brother. In 2002 we moved to Melbourne Australia. When I was 10 years old I was a shy kid that didn’t talk much and had one friend who I was with for a short time but after a while we drifted apart most of it is a blur which I honestly believe is a suppressing of my memory. When I was 10, it was the first time I had ever tried to kill myself, it was also around this age I had started writing, but to me it was just a way to express my feelings because I didn’t talk much or at all. I was bullied by one girl who up to this day will never forget her full name, and from here on out my life started to really take a toll on me mentally without me consciously realizing nor understanding. I started to feel as though I was just existing rather than living.
When I was in year 7, my mental health really plummeted. If you asked me about this year I literally have very little memory of it. I only remember finally having a group of friends in school, and being able to slowly talk and laugh but even up to this day I can’t remember if it was coping or compensating for my lack of visibility and isolation through out my primary school years and daily life from school and home. I also become more suicidal, and my family knew nothing of this. My routine at home consisted of me going to school, and living in my bedroom.
When I was in year 8 this is when I met my best friend who is still my friend up to today. She helped me with getting my confidence little by little, and slowly I grew into the person I am today. I am always very grateful to her, she has given me so much I can’t ever put it into words. Even with my personality starting to show I was still very caught up in my head and had all these unexplained emotions. But I figured everyone felt this way and that I would grow out of it as I get older.
I didn’t. As I got older, until I was 20 I was having recurring panic attacks mostly at night that I didn’t even know what was happening at the time, then after a while I realized something might be wrong. So it was this whole year that I started researching how I felt emotionally, physically and mentally to find out I might have major depression. I was in so much denial for a whole year and a half and this made my mental health worse. At this point, I had no motivation to do anything, even more suicidal, easily irritated, didn’t eat well, and shut everyone out.
Since then, I have made a blog for my creative writing, performed my first ever three poems on stage in Melbourne Afrocentric, made great friends, starting to network with beautiful creative souls in Melbourne, much closer with my sisters and brother, seeing a professional, and I am much more able to communicate my feelings now; And in the works of creating my brand for the organic skin care market.
My mental health is something I truly struggle with everyday, but it is also something I pride my time and care in. I am still learning about it and learning to take good care of it and my body in three cycles (emotionally, physically and mentally), to be much kinder to myself and know that my depression does not define me, it assists in molding me into a better person each day. Even when the really bad days make it feel like it can’t get any better, even so, this, is when I know I am the most creative.