How to pity
When I am only capable of seeing the self-infliction of the wounds.
The scar tissue imbrues my vision humane.
How to reach out
When I can only judge the haunts that you have roamed.
The germs you have picked up, the gullies you have combed.
How to be
When you have said that you have set standards.
When I am expected to be. Then I cannot.
How do I tell you?
When all my words morph into poison-tip arrows.
Spearheading through the wind, transcending through the emotional multiverse.
They were meant to express, but they have hurt you instead.
How can I heal
When every morning I wake up drained and weary.
Like the strength has been carved out of my heart, and kept aside.
Aside, too far from my reach.
How do I love
When it has been interpreted as so many different wants.
But what I feel is is no expectation; only that I have set you free.
And I don’t need to know how. I just have. And you’re just free.
No speculations. No questions. No need to pity. No need to reach out. No need to limit being. No need to create words aloud. Nothing to heal.