I have risen from scraps, no not ashes.
I will not give myself that high a level of accomplishment
There is worse happened to others I know.
So, scraps it is. A variety of shapes and sizes.
Some are crumpled and thrown aside,
They are wrinkled with faded colors,
But each one has come from me
The unwanted pieces of me left behind
Why? I don’t know.
The harder I try to search for an answer the tougher it gets to breathe
They are mostly unmatched scraps, that have lost their relevance
It is tough to find the sequence and they don’t tell the complete story
Some were blown away on the stormy nights
A few were torn into tiny pieces eventually muddled in the dirt
Then there are others that are resilient even though they are burnt by the events of the past
I can never find two matching pieces,
They all come from different stories, some creased too deep while others cut with sharp scissors
But I am determined, to create my own scrapbook.
And this time I will use black sheets and not white
For it is easy to hide the rough edges in dark places
Also no one comes looking for you in darkness.
There is freedom in knowing you made this world by yourself
The little pieces will get a little trim here and there
To create a new story that I am writing.
Not everyone is expected to like or understand the story
But I am sure there will be few who will find themselves in there
This time I will draw all my dreams without fear
Even the unrealistic ones, reality has too many restrictions.
Because it is in those dreams that I find the real me
I have decided against use of colorful tapes to hide the uneven edges
This time I will be using glue proudly to show off every torn piece of me
Even the ones that have no hope or a happy ending.
All crumpled pieces will now be displayed with pride.
There is a hidden forgiveness in all those scraps
The one I owe to myself.
For I have been swimming against the tides for too long
‘The Tide’ and I still don’t see eye to eye.
But at least now I know what I am swimming towards.
Black Coffee and Grey Stories 