Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

12.4.18
Soft flame

I am a curious mind and an unfortunate heart brake, I come to my body for advice about things that make the heart ache because I don’t know anything light when it comes to heartbeats, I have outbloomed this more than I can care to admit, I am the type of love that knows its intensity and the burning loyalty of things that keep me this safe, this rush of throbbing is the only intensity I am happy to bare, it reminds me of the good I have done and prompts the good in this world, we dream like lovers are the type to give love a new meaning, we double check with your body, loving dreamers never forget to show we care about your breath, you will never feel unloved in our presence, we’re the type of love that can be too strong for you sometimes you may even feel like you’re covered in honey, we will never apologize for our sweetness, we’re both soft and fire don’t forget, you’re the one who sparked us in the first place.

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Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

12.4.18
draft

Its always a question, a statement of assurance, how the things that learn to keep my body, how the heart is a misfortune in this world, where you find solitude in yourself and keep this body close, how you’re able to let others prey into your sweetest spots just so you can see if they are worthy, how the heart has also learnt to mend and brake at this attempt, you’re the breath of its moments, when you can’t hold it all inside anymore you test its limits and give boundaries no limitations, everything is a gamble now, when you’re this intoxicated on a mind you’re lost in thoughts of how to reconnect and spark its soul, I have always been the type of dreamer that fantasize about love when I feel connections with hearts that become vulnerable at my words, that learn some of my secrets, that know how to tempt me in ways not others can, I am left with questions when I feel this way and what does my body do, it convinces me that this confession is not the only honeyed truth I need, so I hold my breath and I ask, how is it that you’re able to captivate my entirety in this way I have to know, and then, I press send.

 

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

11.4.18 | 12.4.18
Unfinished

I know, but what if I was told that dreams are a reality, what if I didn’t watch others and watched myself, I know, what if I gave myself the same connection I crave for others to this healing body, this good body, what if I told the mind all my secrets and the heart joined in, or if I didn’t have to take medication, what if I understood just how important my mental health is, back then, now, I know, what about this body, what if I praised its reflection instead of giving it reasons to apologize, I know, I know but hear me out what if, I didn’t know what it felt like to want to watch myself tear a good thing away from this identity like it was this ugly thing I had mistaken for a flaw, like I knew how to crack this skin, brake my body open so it might have been easier for the pain to drain out of this body, I know, I know what you’re thinking, but what if I didn’t know how to fix me, what if I did, what if I told myself I’ve tried and that therapy isn’t working anymore and this medication is making me feel worse, and that my body has started aching again and all I want to do is sleep away this lifetime, forever, I know, but what if I told you I’m in love with this body, that every time the heart brakes its the first one to run to it rescue with chocolates and pep talks, that the mind has also learnt to kiss the heart in need, that slowly, we are learning to love from the inside, we are learning that to be whole is to bruise and ache so we know what we are worth, that we are always this worthy, that we suffer from this type of craving, to reach the most of ourselves, I know, I know what you’re thinking but what if I told you..

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

13.12.17 18.12.17
Depression and anxiety. two mindful contradictions

I said, I must just have a really nervous body, the kind of heart racing sensation that doesn’t know how to pace unsteady, watch the simple things around an existence that has learnt to watch how others self but not mine, I have been this type of lost to my own care it has been so long since I have felt anything unfamiliar to anxiety that can shake this body to not want anything unfamiliar, he said to me, none of us are made this way, you have to learn self and detach from familiar, he spoke so softly to me and I couldn’t even look at him, I thought about how predictable we are all addicted to something that takes away the pain, how ominous to feel contradictions like they were happy pills for a way of survival, that we mellow out this pain but finding release in ritual that is driven by emotion and pleasure, how fear is not only an insecurity but also a super power, that we are always so close and hero, how we choose to see the sky depending on our set mood, vivid vibrations to the mutual intensity we can’t help but feel alive when we bask in glorious deeds, that kind of sensitivity that takes over bodies enough to fuel a curious mind, a captivated feeling a body that can smell where he has been even when he chooses to speak in white lies, but never myself, never this breath, Im not even sad about it anymore its to be expected because when you have spent gazes memorizing the air they breathe and their smell how could you forget, I won’t hope for more, I tell them don’t make light of me, I have breathed of you enough when you choose to be this kind of memory, want a love that can be sparked by the scent of flowers and rays, and watch anxiety and of that boy mist into the air, when you’re this way you start to find ways to let the ocean become kin, so soft and fragile you’re, this is the only familiar you’re scared of letting go, you don’t like the way this illness makes you this unbearable thing that you can brake and spit fire at love only to wish you could swallow your own words how irritating, you’re able to be this honest but forget to soften your tone, to only yell at the mind in code and feel the mind speak back saying you can try explaining it to them but it will only look like an excuse you can not come back from this, so when this oasis hits you’re your own company, and a black hole vacancy that is lost and found inside of its own fable.

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

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

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.

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