Crying

I sat in a corner crying my eyes red. My muffled cries echoed through the stone walled halls as I mourned the death of my pretty bird. The windows and walls in Satan’s den knew everything and yet turned a blind eye to my pain.

I grew up in the shadows of hell being poked, prodded and punished. I believe I didn’t know right from wrong growing up, so I took Satan by his word and assumed everything he did was always for my best.

I always thought everybody lived in a den no different from mine and were poked, prodded and punched. Reality hit me hard, when a span from a different hell broke out the truth for me.

When kids learnt to walk, talk, love, kiss and smile. I learnt to talk, walk, kiss, and shut up and not to cry. Kids grew up learning to love themselves, their lives and world. I grew up to love pain, befriended it too, and Satan made sure I grew up to be his loyal little toy.

I cribbed about life, cried and fussed about how difficult it is for me, till I noticed another living in my cell but didn’t complain.

I went back to my corner again crying , hating my face, my body, my hair, my eyes, my lips, my smile and everything that made me look like me.

I believed I was ugly, I was wrong and that I deserved to cry, to suffer and everything that came my way to break me. I believed pain was right and joy was wrong. I felt I had no right to sing, dance, laugh and smile or enjoy, I believed they were all beyond me. I felt it was right for me to be in pain and agony, to cry, and let the most sinister of all judge me and inflict pain upon me.

I cut myself believing in the need for reinforcement of pain, and please the world and universe. To let the blood wash my tears and the muffled cries echoed in my heart. I still imagine that my bird could have saved me or that it’s a phoenix that will rise from its ashes, heal my injury and carry me away. Wishful thinking I guess.

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