I am sorry that I am dark…
I am sorry that I am capable of drawing the worst emotions out of you and place them in front of you, making you go livid over your own mirror image.
I am sorry for those spiteful comebacks against your most indecent, unfair speculations you whip me up with because I don’t shut up after being constantly hurt.
I am sorry for laying out the most venomous path from blocking you coming back into my life when your tongue developed a nasty taste of maligning a respectable person.
I am sorry for turning cold after you subjected me to sadistic weather denouncing me every now & then so you could easily hide your guilt from yourself.
Do I really have to be sorry?
I saw, at a very tender age, how humans are.
My father’s body placed in a funeral pyre;
people crying, people screaming;
people pretending to cry, people pretending to scream in pain.
Who would have thought what a 6-year-old could notice?
This turned out to be another gathering for you
the moment things were over,
the jolly lines of a personal sitcom started.
My mother had the toughest time dealing with it
but all you wanted was for her to stay immersed in her sorrows and never get up.
She knew the blabbermouths around her won’t feed her children
so she mustered up every ounce of her trampled courage
to go to work the very next day
and disregarded all the eyes prying into her bold actions.
The sulking heads kept scowling as to how quickly
she forgot to mourn and stepped outside the home.
For a little girl, it was admirable but I noticed everyone’s reactions
oblivious that they are being decoded.
I thought people would applaud her for being brave and strong,
instead, it made me realize the joy people dwell in
in pulling others down who want to climb out and do something better for themselves.
The darkest parts of human behavior I never intended to face at that age.
The way they talked behind her back,
the way they were jealous
Men because of her valor,
women because of her fearlessness.
I kept asking myself why would anyone be offended?
She is only trying to feed her family rather than asking for help,
or begging or victimizing herself
when she has been struck hard by her doomed fate in her prime.
I am sorry I grew darker with each rendezvous with humans,
when people secretly took pleasure in seeing others in pain and constant suffering.
I developed trust issues when in front of people
they smiled at me & said
“consider me like your father”
but turned a blind eye like I never existed the moment crowd disappeared.
I realized even my darkest parts
were shards of honest lights that still
knew about keeping the words.
My bones didn’t know the hypocrisy to
turn away from own blood.
My mother, that one person
who kept pouring in through the
tiny crevices of my open wounds;
the meaning of honesty, loyalty,
kindness & love and gradually
nursing it back to feel something;
while boldly ignoring that her whole existence
had been put under fire by that Lord
and how are we going to survive
in this vile world, was still the biggest question.
But she didn’t flinch while answering it, for certain.
Never once she responded back harshly to the haters; as to her one’s life & personality is what they make of it.
I am sorry for some of my darkest remnants that still
managed to hide somewhere that embrace
me when at any moment I am made to stand
in front of vicious thoughts again without ever
trying to intentionally hurt someone.
That darkness is much more comforting
than your sneaky glitters.
I chose kindness because I want to do good by that one person who could always find magic in living.
I chose kindness after accepting reality,
not out of weakness.
But to some people,
but I am not sorry for being dark.