Diary 2.2. Headless

Written on 23rd of august 2017. Edited Today.

I walk Cairo streets with faith I don’t have,
in a body I never owned,
I practice,
fake,
perform.
Head’s up, a little frown, defensive bitchy face;
Don’t fuck with me, I’ll fuck back.

My body knows it all;
smell a lie,
panic,
run,
fight,
drift(against the current, sometimes),
walk away,
breathe,
punch,
dodge,
fall.
“You scare the shit out of people so they can’t see how scared you are” *cheeesy*

I feel overwhelmed by the slightest
action  movement   emotion     light,
I hate light.
my apathy scares me.
my insecurities scare me.
my writings scare me.
my old writings scare me the most.
my phone’s vibration scares me.

I write everything on a paper,
this is how I make sense of it,
this is how I know it is real,
she’s written there,
the mess\bliss I used to know.

One step then the next,
one more step,
maybe one more?
keep going!
we got this!

days\months\years have passed
fuckit
and I’m still here
stuck
overwhelmed
fuck you and fuck your pride
I don’t give the tiniest fuck about it\you
it’s about me, not your bullshit.

I get what I deserve,
so am I an asshole now?
I’ll have two of that.

I dreamed of a sea;
in which I learned to swim\drown
then I cried two weeks ago
so yay?

I walk Cairo streets in uncomfortable shoes,
this is how I know you’re not my home,
this is how much you suck,
but I still have shoes
and I guess they are still my shoes,
I care about them more than you.

I hate you, Cairo,
as much as I love beer.

But at least my head’s up?
Is it still even there?
I’ve been walking for too long now,
I got distracted, overwhelmed,
and the sun has swallowed me whole,
Now I’m headless and un-fake-able,
and so help me god.

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