Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

12.10.17 | Incapable of honesty

you know, I look at love and I see where their trying to come from, I see their scars right through their words, there’s this vulnerable intimacy just for a moment and they are able to tell the truth, I’ve noticed it a few times, how love likes to take hearts and hold onto them so that they can use it when necessary, I’ve seen it so many times, I’ve felt how they speak about themselves and such narrative is the kind that cuts through skin, the best kind, the honest type, then they use that same narrative to dip yours and their body in poison, how often they lie and think you do not notice don’t remember that you’re both human and instinct, despite this you also allow them to take over this body sometimes because it feels like a different world when skin and kisses are touched in a kind of way, they are just the right amount of dishonest still, they forget that you have done this before, we all know our worth is as much as our truth, so when we lie we can not expect the truth, when we tell the truth we can not always expect the truth back this, is how you also loose love, you’ll fall out of love vigorously, they don’t understand the unpredictable reality such is too much, and you, you like to take others words and ponder their actions, match the words see the way they lied in front of this honest body to them not malaise, a massacre of torn up recycled truth to them just words, and you, you can’t help but laugh now, because again, this has happened too many times, you’ve seen what it means to love a lie, when you’re not ready for its kind of intensity, when you have watched passion in eyes that wreck with false narrative and actions in case you liked hearing lies you’ll witness what it means when the hearts brakes into two even halves, feel it ache throughout the body that had been taken for a fool, think not much of it, it is a gentle intense reminder of worth in feeling, if you were the honest one you will not regret a moment of your words, to know that you were honest with this kind of body is to love harder and know how to love back, this, is so important.

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Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

5.9.17| 18.9.17
A day

If I had it my way, I would space out as much as I wanted and watched the world so capable in my mind, I see the way we like to deflate and synchronize ourselves to norms in order to society so the pressure is worse, if I had it my way we would touch clouds and say nothing, most kind of heaven created with our dream perfect, aren’t we allowed to be as we are and not be afraid of what is normal, aren’t we allowed to be sick and have no one question this state of mind, if I had it my way I make words like happy, like self-love, like self-care, like mental health, like us, dream perfect, we would look at ourselves and see what keeps us alive, smile silly at the world instead of feeling like we’re existing rather than living, if I had it my way I wouldn’t be clinical, I wouldn’t feel sorry for myself because to go through depression is to criticize what is there whether you see it or not, I don’t like the way we hold back our tears and are scared to befriend the ocean why are we so scared of our emotions, I don’t like the way we’ve learnt so well to hide what we can not control, the way we speak about mental health like it doesn’t exist, that we speak about ourselves in lost dreams and memories, my kind of love are the ones that rest on my hips, and dip into something sweet with love for company, its something like purple rain, I know times are changing its time we all reach out, its like waking up to an untouched day everyday, is watching the people I love create and vine into their kind of content, if I had it my way I would space out as much as I wanted and watched the world so capable with the ones I love and not deflate at what is normal, I would watch myself become hero before my own, and watch how love lights me up as their inspire, this is a learnt fearless dream you can not tame flames that have been ignited this beautifully.

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

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.

Article #2: “..about how creativity and poetry helped your depression.”

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.

Thank You.
Fatma Hussein

Article #1: My name is Fatma, I am a 22 year old from Melbourne, Australia. Here is my story.

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.

Thank You.

Fatma Hussein

 

Poetry: Melody of being Animate

28.8.17

And I still fall in love too easy, try to convince my shadow that this isn’t what it is, say to it that maybe we shouldn’t, can’t you see the heart has already been through so much, when I can’t stop thinking about the way someone makes me feel, there’s no stopping its unsolicited devotion, I sit with the longing until my shadow believes me and even then, the mind is still not swayed, its so easy for my heart to fall in love, when it believes your truth, can’t see how hard it beats at notions, so sweet, the way he hides how he feels, how he asks about my day, the heart likes to know how much you’ve missed it, will tease a feeling to test its loyalty, convince that unsolicited with passionate purpose and tell the mind see, you’re just over thinking it.

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

23.7.17 | Self belief now…

Can you imagine if someone told you all you have to do in life is create yourself, learn to grow from the things that we are told are so taboo that they aren’t true, imagine, if all we had to do was love, nurture such care strum its vision into our dreams and god told you all you have to do is create, that its possible to believe in yourself and have an illness that isn’t visible to the naked eye, would you believe it, if I told you that you get an untouched day everyday, that this kind of warmth comes from you, what if I told you that when characters tells you you’re sparks for motive and its these kinds of words that make it worth it, like you’re doing magic with your bare hands, has the strongest ability to change self belief, interactions that are the sweetest compliments a form of your own motivation and self belief there really is nothing like it, make another light and your own by believing in yourself first.

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

22.8.17 | 23.8.17
Rain.

They say that human beings can’t live on their own, better to have real solitude so it doesn’t matter if Im there or not, said, you’re just afraid from abandonment, you’ve distanced yourself from a lot of things, the real things, rain, the way we love is a comfort to both lover and me, rain, how much it takes away the pain when lover is gleams of the star light and moon light dust rain, that this abyss of existence is slowly eating away at this body, wanting to get lost in its dream it is not afraid, has known too many black holes that have not been seen in the same hope, much like a bitter sweet boy, like how his words are so sweet he forgets that he has to match them words silly, when he tells you wishes like we belong together smile at him and tell him you do not belong to anybody but this one, rain, how I could let this goddess planet cry for every time I have not been brave enough to feel this bodies blues, too afraid of being called broken, scared, that this mental state could be a living thing, is it not stuck to this body enough, maybe, how it knows not to give up like this body does, rain, when I heard my first suicide poem I watched it so many times I replayed the whole 3 minutes in my mind, closed my eyes and become submerged with words that leapt out of their mouths and into mine, my being a resurrection, rain, for every time I look at my older sister, my baby sister and baby brother, rain, when I learn that parents are human too, rain, when I learn that I am human too, can’t see this magic hidden in a broken mirror shards that bleed at the attempting of picking up my pieces, hold them up against the sun light between dreamers and careful words, among friendships and that boy, rain, because you’re allowed to feel and nobody can take that away from such compassion that has been berried for self, keep it safe don’t get lost in its downpour, breathe in this fresh air, open your eyes and see it for all its chaos, give it permission, rain.

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

18.8.17 | Kind

Been rationally drowning self in understanding how it is you love someone and whether words that learn how to cut tongues and bind itself to narrative that live in the masquerades of awkward glances, side way smiles and pretty words, how we, are watching love move, and dip its self first, is this really love at all, capable of taking such an intensity by what you seek rather than what you see, I mean, if we really think about what it means to love someone beneath the surface of what is in our horizon and feel, one of the unambiguous confessions left honestly is what we seek, I’m not repeating about the way we configure tangibles and intangibles, I’m begging what varies, the in between instances where when we make a decision without a seconds thought, immediately play a mental monologue of what we think we saw in love, and there, caught in the gloss memoirs of what we seeked to begin with, in them, holding onto hidden between silver measures of their imperfections, reminding them and ourselves of how fragile we can all be, the human heart beating at each attempt, always, do we really know love at all, what Im really trying to say is a friend once told me, don’t be in a rush, and I remember looking at her and thinking, those are words I have memorized for myself before.

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

18.8.17 | Care

The introverted mind, a consolation of masses that are too much to even ponder and what it really means when you’re watching the grey sky from inside of your bedroom window, a mental hereon of an illness that leaves you feeling the breeze from inside the body and learning to care about yourself even if its narcissistic, I’ve come to learn that even with all the pondering done there’s not much room left for taking a break, even so, there is a huge appreciation for silence which most would find softly uncomfortable, but when you’re this invested uncomfortable learns to settle into a kind of body and politely it becomes a survival thing, when you spend this much time with the mind and this kind body you pick up on care that is much deeper than what you may have previously composed, you also don’t like picking up phone calls, so often we forget that its okay to be our selves, its hard to remind a kind of existence that only knows what its been told is okay, and the way we unconsciously allow something that is not greater than us to set our kind of normal being, still, it is not our fault, need to learn ourselves to be kind to our own, and never be submissive or kind to a system that is not kind to you, said that we don’t have to be so strong all the time we don’t have to hide so much of ourselves just to please a temporary feeling, a temporary person, we’re always allowed to feel as valid as someone we love, because if it were them, this strange, you would be softer, kinder, and you would love them harder.