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Syahirah Nadirah
Trust me when I say that there is nothing more than I want than to be happy.

Yet sometimes it feels like something, someone out there is against the notion of letting me achieve happiness. I hold you when you're down and patch you up, dry your tears, tell you everything is fine -- and I've done this to many people, not just one -- but everyone, everyone tells me the same things when I'm the one on my knees and crying:
"Why are you crying over that?" "Stop crying."

I hate it.

Sometimes I feel like everyone out there are just parasites who depend on me for their own benefit and leave me once they're done, once I'm useless, insignificant to their now sated stomach. I don't want to sound like a whiny, pathetic teenager who clamours for attention from the rest and demand that they notice that hey, I'm suffering, stop whatever you're doing and help me and buy me a whole year's worth of tissues to show me you care. I just want people to stop thinking I'm their human substitute for a pillow or the plush toy that you only reach out for when you're sad, and once you fill me with your snot and tears and mucus and sadness you throw me aside into the dusty corner again.

When I reach out, where is that hand that should be clasped around mine?

And so it all comes to one conclusion that despite how I appreciate the company of those whom I love, I am still, in the end, completely alone.
Current Mood: melancholymelancholy
Syahirah Nadirah
01 April 2013 @ 11:39 pm

everywhere is cold

I shine the light for others and gladly they bask in it, urgently desperately as if- no, because their very lives depend on it

but as they take in the light it gets sucked out of me and I wonder

if it has always been this cold
Current Mood: listlesslistless
Syahirah Nadirah
04 March 2013 @ 09:04 pm
okay just one more, I swear.

this was written a long time ago.


here at the table
on a rainy London morning
I sit with a pen,
a napkin
and the daily paper’s
crossword puzzle,
forehead creasing and
lips stretched taut
thinking, so hard

(about you.)

decaf gone.
espresso ordered.
time and time again
I raise a stiff finger up,
face plastered grim
waiting for you to come
and take (me)
my order.

(no one notices
the nervous chill
that blankets itself
around my finger)

you come here, so
sweetly, beautifully
fresh smile ready to
take my breath
that I just want to
                           (reach out)
and reassure my
weeping mind that
you are smiling at

calloused fingers
inky blue pen
scribbling, writing
everything about you
on the little napkin,
wishing, wanting
for your delicate fingers
to soothe the roughness
of my own and

show me
the tenderness that I have
long forgotten

but even with all the
creases and folds,
the napkin isn’t able
to (encapsulate) entirely
the beauty that is you,
and your fingers dance
tantalisingly, gracefully,             away
like always.

like the vapour that forms
from the coffee you serve
that c u r l s,
                         into the air
my love cannot reach you-

and it dies.

words pouring out of my
mouth, only to (evaporate)
before you can hear it
before you actually know
that I exist.

at least I hope, fervently hope
that your wonderful eyes notice
beneath the six fifty change
the coffee stained tissue
that I bequeath unto you

but like the vapour off the mug
of steaming hot coffee
the words I've penned to reach to you
are thrown away
once more.
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Current Mood: tiredtired
Syahirah Nadirah
04 March 2013 @ 08:49 pm
last one for today.

might write more.

that, and

my thoughts are roundabout
skipping around a fancy bush
with no direction, route or path
and they pluck the flowers of
ambiguous phrases and let
some petals fall for the
awaiting masses to pick up and
trail after neverending thoughts
around a circle path that
has no beginning nor end, and
of course people ask when will this
stop, which I honestly think
is ridiculous because of this and
Current Mood: accomplishedaccomplished
Syahirah Nadirah
04 March 2013 @ 08:45 pm

here's yet another one.


being alone
driven away
to be bracketed, sandwiched
between barriers
like coffin doors
or six feet of red earth
buried, covered, shoved atop
my identity, my being
my attempts to be free
more scratches upon the metal
coats of the parentheses
(around me)

Tags: , ,
Current Mood: sleepysleepy