Great Reads by Suki

Today someone said to me, "When God wants to punish you, He makes you a mad man." Words that are way too familiar, but this time round, it felt like he held a mirror right before me. I pushed this line at the back of my mind months ago. Too afraid to confront my own truth, my madness. Maybe too quick to dismiss it as careless placement of words. My existence has been particularly heavy of me. A weight that has been getting heavier by the day. It has settled so well in me, even rested in my bones. It shows up quietly, in the empty gaze of my eyes, or emptiness of my face. It chokes me when I'm speaking, and hold my lungs hostage when I try to breath. My madness is not frantic. It's polite; even civil. It demands order. It's me nodding at people, the "I'm fines", finishing up my tasks on time, drawing up to-do-lists, making a meal-plan, submitting to a feigned performance. My madness is this stupid functionality that has sucked the soul out of me.  I u...

  My voice will never be loud enough. My back aches from the pain of the dead women that I carry, I am homesick for a place that is safe, A place that I do not have to look over my shoulder, A place where my voice is not silenced by a blade to my stomach, Or a gun to my head, Sometimes a blow to my face. A place that, actually, does not exist.  Your minds reduce me to a shy, quiet person, You want me to always stay quiet To be reserved and only talk when you need me to.  You want me to shush, like a pinned wallflower But unfortunately, I am a wildflower,  And I don’t know how to be anything else.  All you see on my face is silence, All you see within me is a shadow.  Almost like a fleeting ghost.  But I am not, I can't be,  And will never be.  I won't be a waste of girl.  Or a waste of womanhood.  I am not you. I will never be you.  I am obsessive, I am intelligent, I am bold, I am crafty, I am rough, I am loud, I laugh like a ...

Please just love me. It can't be that hard.  Can it? I throw myself to you. I tear apart anything that stands in our way.  I beg but in silent words, That you see how this heart of mine, Is laid bare at your feet. My eyes search and search, I see you in faces of strangers. My hands shake for a while, Waiting for the weight of yours. I ask for your light to bend,  Just like light bends, in a dark room,  To just light my way a little. And I will have a reason to bloom.  How hard is it?  To put everything down, And ask me,  How can I kiss you tonight?  How hard is it, To hold me just for a night, To breath next to me. You make me feel like, I am a riddle to solve. Or a war you have to win. While I am just flesh and bone, Broken and real, In love and its unrequited, Yet I still yearn. In the hollow of long nights, Where the sound of your voice alone, Would crack my loneliness in half, Would make it more bearable, To breath one more time. To love you i...

  If I were to describe color to a blind person, I would tell them that, Colors are emotions. They are how stories are told. They are how you feel, sometimes sad, sometimes happy. Colors are feelings. They are how you experience every day. They are emotive, sometimes making us crazy, sometimes cracking our ribs, colors are our little friends who carry us from day to day. Colors are the lenses through which we experience our senses; Red is the heat of the moment. It is the wave of immense feelings you get that course throughout your body. It is the lively demeanor you get that you do not want to fade when you are dancing and no one is watching. Red is a burst of passion, like when you are in love and your heart feels like it’s beating twice as fast as it should, or as of your face is gleaming more than it does on the regular, red is the feeling of intensity. The feeling of more than, the feeling of love. Blue is calmness. It is the breeze that hits you first on a cold morning ...

Listen to; You're Somebody Else, Flora Cash, When we were Young, Adele, You were the story I never wanted to tell. The story that I would so often throw under the rug and forget. Or the story that I held so much to myself because it was the only thing that was mine. It was the only thing that ever was. Just a story. The story that if I opened the book of us and started to tell, then, it would be more than just my mouth talking. It would be my eyes tearing up and my heart wanting to say things that it should never have to say. It would be my soul pleading and begging and asking,  "Was I that forgettable?" What is it with love and mistakes and regrets and sins? And what is it about these things that lead me back to you over and over and over again? And even now, if you just said my name the way you say it, I would come crashing back at your door. You starve me of your love and what do they say about that kind of love? That even though you served it on a blade or sword I wou...

x   I walked into our garage which was just a small area away from our main house. The flowers were well watered. The gardens were neat and I only wished I had gotten home earlier to see everything in the light of day. I couldn't wait for tomorrow. As I walked to the garage, I thought about how I would never have to open that roller door again or even deal will the storage boxes. Moving to the country was never on my life's to do list but Eli needed it more than any one. The kids were pretty much okay although they had a hard time losing their friends and moving to a much quiet place. The farm was the best part for me. It awoke a lot of my childhood memories especially being raised in a farm. Eli was nowhere in the house or even sitting outside the front porch reading The Monk who Sold a Ferrari for the hundredth time. Eli was many things but the last couple of years he had been reduced to just a few things. A loving father, a husband and a man who sat out thinking about his ne...

  I hate to burst your bubble, but heaven is just a small town with familiar faces, arrays, old people, young people, farmer’s markets, a sky, cafes, the weather. It feels like another small Mid-Western town that is yet to be ridden over by civilization but is almost there. I’m glad I died in the fall and the town was covered in tanned and dry autumn leaves here and there. Once I got here, I envied the dead. Those who had died earlier and I envied the living as well. I always dreamt of a forever and the fact that I was immortal now I almost felt doomed than, angelic. I felt lonely. Lonelier than I had ever felt my whole life on earth. In death, I was not supposed to feel, or so I thought. The feelings of the people I left behind, they haunted me every single minute. It almost felt like a knife was permanently gorged in my chest and every once in a while, someone would push it deeper and deeper and I was just waiting to die all over again. I could hear awful whispers every now and t...

I died when I was 17. I did not have anything as fanciful as a eulogy, or even the least, a funeral. When you die a death like mine, you barely get a final resting place or the roses placed around your place of final rest. Your grave smells of moss and other things that begin to grow. Some that I had never experienced in any of my 17 years of existence. A premature end, no one present to piece the stories together or to narrate the life and times if any. Comfortably in my grave, sitting there for the last couple of years, I decided to script a story of my own. Of the things I loved and the things I lived for. Of the things that hurt and those that brought a ton of joy. As I await judgment, I jolt down my eulogy, who would know, Mortui Vivos Docent, they say. A perfect narration of all my archetypes those that were seen and those that I only knew. Those that I role-played and those that actually existed. A beautiful coming to age, illustration of a dead girl's persons, shadows, anim...

  I sat there my face feeling dirty. I had splutters of blood all over me and some of those were on my lashes. My vision was blurry. Everything had happened so fast. I was not thinking. My hands had been tightly cuffed from the back. Maya's gown was drowning in his blood. Red and white had never gone so well together. I was angry and confused and part of me was sinking peacefully at the thought of what was ahead of me. Maya was crying so hysterically, it echoed at the back of my head all the way towards the police station. I could have hurt her. But I didn't. I knew she wished she would have died with him. But she would pay for it by living with the hollowness and I hoped it haunted her. I hoped the image of Nick lying there lifeless drowned her every single day. I took a shot at Nick's face for playing our song, one to his chest for daring to be with her and one to his head hoping that he would die. He had taught me to shoot, and there I went. He landed on the ground and I...