Coping Mechanism
The moment I sit down to write,
I sweep everything else mundane to the rear end of my mind.
Dashing to my wooden desk,
Littered with paintbrush bristles and a mess of star shaped sequins,
I grapple the nearest pencil.
I tear apart an ivory hued paper,
With soft blue stripes from my school notepad,
And gape in awe at the miracles of the two combined.
With empty lines and a sharpened pencil clenched in my palm,
I’m floating amongst a sea of possibilities.
Magic occurs when the pencil is lost in the thick of its words,
And the paper unleashing delightful sighs as it peers at the beauty of messily handwritten art.
I’m left speechless with wonder at the power of the tip of a pencil,
Words don’t fail when I unchain my mind and let it flood on paper.
I pour out my heart,
Soul,
And mind,
That takes bravery to do,
It’s less painful on paper.
It drenches with the contents spilled from my spirit,
The paper weeps hearing all my woes and aims in life,
But it vows for it all to remain an unknown story.
It silently listens to my intellect and wonders avidly when I’ll treat the empty lines with more of my wisdom.
I’m composing words that dance and sing off my tongue,
Pouring out the hundreds of art canvases trapped my mind,
The expressive metaphors and all the bedazzling imagery,
That paint my repressed emotions,
And everything between the lines.
I write to help me cope,
To touch the world in a different light,
And make me trust that sunshine exists.
I write to untie art wherever possible,
And cherish the written magic.
The Serpent Of Envy
The serpent of envy gingerly wriggles,
With bloodshot green eyes,
Out of its ditch,
Settled at the foot of my heart.
It darts angrily,
Towards the apple tree.
It conquers my every emotion,
All the gestures of my soul,
And discards a ghoulish black ink to the remains of my overwhelmed heart.
The serpent of envy,
Desperately trekking from the depths,
To the utmost peak.
It bolts towards the apple tree,
Leaving behind its unpleasant ink.
It watches with its rich green eyes,
A world of perceived perfection,
An ideal,
The serpent so despairingly craves.
It thirsts for the ripest apple’s impeccability,
It’s tenderness,
And all it’s exhibited excellence.
With a heart hazed by pitch black resentful ink,
The serpent of envy demolishes the lushest apple,
And the entire tree.
No Value To Golden Medals
What does one do when they approach the destination they so desperately craved?
Do you humbly applaud yourself,
Or do you seek the praise of others?
Will you capture your special moment?
Maybe a picture of your so beloved,
That attractive golden medal,
And scream it in the faces of your followers,
As they scroll casually through their feeds,
On social media.
Did you do it just for their slender attention,
Or did you do it because you had a fierce passion?
Is it the satisfaction you get from their cheering that lifts you from the bottom of a self confidence pit?
What were your motives,
And your intentions?
Hear me as I say,
Accomplish your big dreams with a passion.
All your exhausting effort,
And tediously long midnight hours,
It shouldn’t be done to impress,
But rather to inspire,
And motivate others to continue dreaming,
While working hard,
To accomplish what seems impossible.
Not because you desire to show the world an arrogant part of yourself,
And not because you want to be viewed as better than everyone else,
But because you had a dream worth working hard for.
Prove to them that impossible doesn’t exist.
Destroy stereotypes,
And the roles in which society permitted us.
Show them that the word impossible was only made to set limits,
And constantly remind them,
To break limits.
Don’t show them that an elevated status is the sole way to attain endless bliss,
Show them that the forbidden highway you took to drive yourself towards your dream was what made achieving a golden medal so incredible.
Show them that the journey to reach for impossible,
Is what made you appreciate the struggle,
Rather than showing them the sparkly glimmer from afar.
It’s all about your own unique journey,
Not about the prize,
Or your spectacular win.
From far away,
All one can see is the accomplishment in gold paint,
They won’t be able to see what’s behind it.
Behind that golden achievement,
Is a journey,
With miles and miles,
Of obstacles,
And barriers needed to be overcome.
All that was needed to catalyze the journey,
Was a dream.
The person behind that achievement,
Was sprinting through an unbelievable obstacle course.
Without their dream,
They couldn’t run,
Because their dream fuelled the stamina,
They needed,
In order to run.
They came across multiple boulders,
Blocking their path.
It was the tackle to overcome that barrier,
That made their journey so authentic,
And gratifying to accept,
That the achievement was nothing,
Compared to the battle,
Behind the glittery gold medal.
You took the chance,
To achieve what was known to be your impossible.
You sacrificed yourself,
Racing despite a weary soul.
At last,
Approaching that finish line,
And seeing that achievement come closer to your view,
Once through lens of gold,
Now unshielded.
With your naked eyes,
You see what you so desperately craved,
Right in front of you.
It wasn’t about ticking off that achievement on your bucket list,
It was about the journey,
And how far you had come,
From just that single dream.
It was never about the fireworks of finally attaining a once known impossible dream,
Or the golden medal you hang so proudly in your bedroom,
It was all about the perseverance,
And the solutions you made to overcome the constant struggles,
That lead you to the finish line.
Instead of looking at your destination as a sparkling golden medal or trophy,
Look at it,
As a journey,
Because there’s no value to golden medals,
But there is in the journey.
It all starts,
With a dream.
Farzeen Rashid is from British Columbia, Canada. She enjoys poetry writing, embroidery, and mathematics.
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