Curl

I am tired of crouching. My body bends inwards as if it’s giving all its got to protect this paper thin heart that does nothing than being afraid and hateful. I can feel it grow into a perfect circle. An extention of a fetus, layer over layer to let nothing touch this brittle bits in which my existence is fully depended on. I can see nothing behind my shoulder that grows into a shield. My world became narrow as the only thing I see is the inside of my own stomach. So this is what it feels like to grow into a hole in a tree. My feet and my head will meet eventually, my hand will grow wrapped around my torso until my tiny little core can’t hear anything but itself beating. Peaceful as a child with nothing to compete with. Not sunshine, not a girl, not an old friend, not an orchid. To be free from jealousy must be like death, peaceful pitch darkness with no pressure of being at least as beautiful as a translucent ray of light. My body feeds on the desire to become anything but itself to grow inwards. So that my tiny brittle butterfly wings heart wouldn’t have to be so painfully crippled over the feeling of not enough. Not exciting enough, not expensive enough, not easy going enough, and not quite like a warm sun enough.

Now I understand why I love watching fire dancing. Maybe, if I set it on fire I’d be free to not be. To not be what I can never be. To not be anything but.

Kasur baru yang keras bikin badanku sakit. Aku kira aku tumbuh jadi fetus yang makin erat membebat sesuatu yang terlalu sering meledak karena hal kecil seperti kalah main catur.