remnants of a moon heart E-Book

Lena Mingzhu Weiberlenn

• Herausgeber: Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 72

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

within these pages may you find in yourself the friend you deserve the comfort you need and the healing that will make your soul sing symphonies

Das E-Book remnants of a moon heart wird angeboten von Books on Demand und wurde mit folgenden Begriffen kategorisiert:
poetry, Gedichte, Queer, Mental health, Healing

Leseprobe

trigger and content warning

this book contains material surrounding sensitive topics like:

mental illness, self-harm, suicide, death, rape, racism, bullying, depression, sexual assault, trauma,

and potentially more.

please take care of yourself when reading, know when to stop and know that your pain is valid and that you will heal. we believe in you.

foreword by sonia amélie juillet

there’s a pier by your apartment building.

there’s a pond by a café on your campus.

there’s a forest by a lake in your city. there’s

a bookstore by the shopping street in the

city centre.

fixtures in your life, fixtures in your city.

it’s been months since she’s moved away

but she’s still with you everywhere you go.

that’s where you screamed at the sky in the

middle of the night. that’s where you sat

and talked about everything and nothing

for hours on end until both of you could

barely move from exhaustion. that’s where

you flicked through dozens of books – and

you only say dozens because admitting to

hundreds seems slightly permissive.

that’s where you told her your most dread-

ful secret. and that’s where she smiled and

accepted you in all your messed-up glory.

where she admitted she was also just as

human as you – and just as messy. but that

together, you could get through it. together,

you could be honest and stronger for it.

she encouraged you to feel pride in your

accomplishments. she advised you on your

work. she supported you through your

rants. she hugged you while you sobbed

into the silence. she laughed at your jokes

that lacked a punch line and she inspired

you to let yourself feel. she listened when

you had no clue how to describe just what

it was you were going through.

she didn’t know it, but she saved your life.

whether it was the middle of the day or

the early morning hours when the sun had

yet to rise, she was there. less than a street

away.

you could debate a ridiculously hypothetical

idea for days. you could have in-depth

discussions about the most random

concepts.

together, you could clear up the gloomy,

murky thoughts in your heads.

now, whenever your feelings become too

much, whenever you feel yourself sink into

the absence, you know you can walk to the

end of that pier, sit in the dark and call her

up. she’ll always answer. she’ll always be

around. no matter how far away she may be.

and regardless of how many minutes, days,

months or years pass, you’ll forever look up

at the clouds and see a world of possibilities.

afterall, she’s the one who taught you how

to look at them. she’s the one who turned

fluffy white blobs in the sky into splashes

of happiness in the sky.

you’ll eternally be grateful for the light she

brought to your slightly darkened life.

she’s not just your friend.

she’s your moon.

remnants of a moon heart

to healing

to apo

to my family

both chosen and kin;

to staying alive

and living

chip[s] off the block

she wakes up to the never-ending fight

between the twins upstairs

they’ve been arguing all night again

it’s exhausting and

makes sleep something she needs rest from

she clasps her palms over her ears to drown

out the sound

it’s still there, loud as ever

same old accusations being thrown around

“You’re too weak to do this, just give up.”

“i dont have to listen to you, why

would you know better?”

one of them thinks they’re less naïve.

both are too stubborn to give in.

“All I know is that you’re. not. good enough.”

there is a silence. it’s not the kind she

wanted. she feels the gaping hole that

was created in the sister’s heart; it’s the

devastating kind of silence that makes

you wish for the voices to come back.

“That’s right, you’re not good enough.

You never will be.”

it doesn’t stop.

“not good enough; never good enough…”

she feels the sister starting to doubt herself;

starting to believe those poisonous words.

“why are you doing this?”

“Oh, honey. I’m just trying to help you. I’m

looking out for you.”

the voice is cold, merciless.

palms still clasped over her ears, she gets

up and goes to her wardrobe.

the mirror is gone; at least there is nothing

to reflect the misery on her face.

a look outside the window betrays her

hopes of leaving the house, of escaping the

voices from upstairs.

it’s storming. the clouds a manifestation of

the inner turmoil, floating across the sky

and leaving her behind in the blur of the

pouring rain.

“See, you shouldn’t even bother trying. I’m

telling you, you will fail. Deep down, you

know it too.”

she is the only one left yelling, scolding.

her sister is sobbing breathlessly.

“leave me alone”

but she doesn’t. she keeps talking,

criticising, pointing out all her sister’s flaws.

“Why do you deserve a chance over every-

one else? You’re just one out of billions.

Spare us all from more embarrassment and

stop trying.”

it goes on for a while. how long exactly, she

isn’t sure. it all blends together -

the voice dominates all her senses, dulling

them.

she hasn’t noticed any reaction from the

other sister in a while when she hears hasty

footsteps and a slamming door. she waits.

maybe the closing door will push the pause

button of this argument.

before she can hear anything else, she puts

on some music and turns up the volume.

it doesn’t drown out the noises; it can only

distract her from the argument above.

yet, her heart seems to be harder to distract.

it aches and seems to be throbbing from

pain. the words cut deep, even with her.

it’s barely bearable, the music just baring

the gut-wrenching emotions.

when the songs end and the words from

upstairs come into focus again, she decides

to confront the siblings.

“Come on, are you really crying over some

tough love? Don’t you see that this is me

helping you out? It’s not my fault that

you’re too weak to admit it yourself.”

out the door, down the hall.

“and you call yourself family… true family

wouldn’t treat me like this”

up the stairs, towards the sound.

“Oh please, I know you inside and out.

That’s how I know what’s best for you. I

know what lies deep within your heart.”

in front of the door. the voices louder than

ever.

“you don’t know who you’re talking to”

the sister seems to be gaining some

confidence.

one shy knock, her breath hitches.

“Excuse you?”

they didn’t hear it.

“you don’t know who you are talking to.

you think you know me, but you only ever

focus on the negative”

another knock, louder this time.

“did you hear something?”

it’s the mean one who notices first.

“I think someone’s at the door.”

her voice has stopped cracking.

footsteps. the lock clicks and she opens the

door.

but what she sees are not the siblings-

it’s her mirror.

i wish we were a story on the front page of

a biased newspaper;

the author would have taken all the good

parts - the lovely ones that

make our story great -

and the hurt in between would have never

gotten this voice,

this power,

this attention

- assertion

our love

is as lost as my necklace that

escaped the envelope

you put it in

[-empty]

but if i forgot it all how

would i know how to cope with

the pain the next time someone

breaks me

- still i wish i could forget

this makes me nostalgic for the

memories i

never made

the other day i was sure i saw you;

it was the happiest i’d been in a while

and then i realised

my eyes are traitors

they must be out to get me because

you’re gone and no one will ever

see you again

- i just wish i wasn’t gullible enough to

believe them

what a crime to destroy your kid’s psyche

and blame it on stress

what a crime to murder someone with your

words and blame it on a fragile heart

what a crime to ignore the past and keep

poisoning each other’s minds and hearts

maybe suicide is just a mask that blackmail,

torture and violence have put on to get away

with their cruelty without being punished.

- covert crimes

There is a difference between having no

sense of humour and having respect for

yourself.

- “learn to take a joke”

how odd

we found ourselves

in love

with one

/another/

year before

a chance to be with you comes around

- 33 percent ‘til i get to be in your arms

i am torn between looking for

her love and

draping myself in yours

there was nothing in my head