Yearning salvation

I don't question your actions towards me anymore. I still don't understand them, but I'm accepting them, in the most difficult way there is.      

I won't back down for what I have to say, my mind is free and so am I.    

You insult me, directly and indirectly. You kick me in the guts, hard, but with your words.
You say you love me, but I concluded that through your actions, you don't.

If you're mad, you throw it on me, all your rage, spilled right at me.
You always take my words in the most inaccurate meaning there is.

My only question to you is "Why?"
Why are you doing this to me?
Why are you shredding my heart into pieces?
Am I not enough, as I am?
For everything I say or comment on, you twist it so it can lay in the other direction, the wrong direction.

My tears fill the pages I'm writing on. My coffee starting to get cold, and so is my heart.
You break me to pieces.

Laying down now, all I can think about is your words. Your venomous words.
"You'll never be good enough for anyone"
"All your friends and family will walk away from you if you continue having this ugly personality of yours"
"Why is your heart so filled with hatred and rage?"
And this only shreds my overwhelmed heart to smaller bits.

I've changed a lot, don't know though if I'm a better or a worst person than I've been before.

But my heart isn't the same anymore?

Though I crave your love so hard, I stopped feeling. I can't feel that tingle of joy when something exciting happens, or the shiver of sadness when grief strikes.
I'm a person woth perhaps no true emotions.

Call me a stack of waste.
Hopeless and un fixable.

If my mother said it, I believe it

If my mother said it, I believe it.
A sentence from Mitch Alboms book,
A sentence that captured my heart.

Mom...
Where should I start from...

How ashamed I feel,
For not letting you know everyday how much I love you.

How ashamed I feel,
For this breath that I'm taking now, thank you.

How ungrateful have I been...
Loving your mother isn't only about respecting them and doing as they wish,
It's loving them, unconditionally, and showing it.

For all the little things they have done,
To satisfy our desires and wishes.

Mom, I'm sorry...
I'm sorry for not sitting with you every night,
Having endless conversations.
I'm sorry for not pouring my heart out to you,
And instead turning to others for guidance.

What you have done for us is beyond what any person would do.
You're a mother..

We could meet and befriend lots of people on this world
But mark my words..
Never will you find a heart as pure as hers.

She will love her children,
She will protect them,
And go beyond to provide them with what's best

Love her, with everything you can..
With every breath that you take..
Every second of every day,
Believe in what she's doing..
Show her affection..

Take care of her,
Hold her,
Kiss her,
Love her.

White moments within

You left,

Not willingly,

But still gone.

***

Forced to shut down this love,

My heart shattered to pieces,

Bled in the process,

And now it only hopes.

***

Memories withheld.

Everything else turned to dust,

Except for these memories.

***

My eyes don’t shed tears anymore,

Yet my heart mourns,

Everyday, every night.

***

I now loath that so called color ‘Red’

Our moments were ‘White’

But the memories that still remain,

Are soon turning red.

***

You and I were one,

Now it’s done.

***

Fate they say,

Selfishness of society, I think.

***

Give me back my white moments,

And I’ll bring back my wishful heart.

***

Without you,

I’m a mix of opened veins,

And a burning desire to return to white.

***

But everything is red.

***

A piece of her, everyday.

There was noise everywhere, and all she wanted was a quiet place to sit and think, alone. She grabbed her brand new colorful notebook; that reflects her “outer” personality and appearance but rarely her true feelings, ran downstairs, put her shoes on and went outside. It’s ironic how the first place she thought of was out there, out there where everything seemed strange to her, where she faked most of her smiles and cheerfulness, where it simply wasn’t safe. But none of this seemed to matter, as she put her red jacket on and headed outside.

A place on the staircase seemed perfect, and luckily her old man kept the lights on. She sat down, crossed her legs, opened her notebook and began writing, “Why is this place unfair? Why is it that every time I try to get up on my feet, I stumble and fall back down? No one can help me, for I am helpless myself. This failure is tearing me to pieces, to an extent where I once had impure thoughts of hurting myself! With God’s will I got over that phase, by realizing how wrong this is and turned my heart to Allah.

But in a way I’m still hurting, something’s missing in my life, something is not right and I’ve got no one to turn too. Funny thing is everyone’s around, from my parents, to my siblings and friends, but I just can’t bring myself to talk to them! I just can’t. I can’t talk to anyone, because I don’t know if anyone would understand what I’m going through. What if they thought wrong of me? What if they got sick of what I keep on saying each and every time? Well, I guess that’s how life works, peoples’ intentions are good, but no one can help you but yourself.”

She pulled her left sleeve up and looked at the time, 10:26 pm, wondering how time goes by so slow during winter nights. Before closing her book and getting up, she had one last look at the half-moon that was right across of her and wrote back in her book, " الحمدلله في فرح, و في حزن. الحمدلله على كل شيء"  then continued her way back in.