The Devil and I
Hind Mustafa
The burdens of my mind pulse within,
the Devil breathing within my skin
And I shove him
down
Down
DOWN
But I can't shove him out of "my" body.
I thread a needle through bloody red lips
Attempting to stitch them into a smile.
Threads of reading and sleeping on time,
Of going to therapy and mental health hotlines
Yoga
Mediation
God
Loved ones
Learning more about my brain,
But His thread is thicker
And it's been maintained.
Whether I feed him or not
He's been feasting for years,
Immortal, always reappears.
And he has reserves within a chasm of fears.
The past, future, the present.
He's a shadow or a master within my seconds.
So within reach to collapse into ash,
Into the familiar fire of his strong arms.
But so far away, the waltz into heaven.
For as soon I begin,
Three steps forward and three steps back,
The Devil stamping out my feet in attack,
“Your form is pathetic.”
It can be tiring to be "resilient."
Because you think I'll step here and here AND here AND here and then I'll finally be safe.
In an effort to escape, the tips of your shoes singeing.
His flame is never too far away,
Remain dark moments and long, burning days.
Numb, crying, hyperventilating, or overwhelmed.
I don't want him here.
Stuck within marks of sin on your skin.
Others let him in.
Why didn't I kick him out?
You sip his gin, unable to stop drinking,
The Devil smiling and winking.
"Try as you might, you always come back to me. But it's amusing watching you stray."
Despite how much you bled for this better moment,
You're still in atonement.
Heaven frowns,
"Why aren’t you here by now?
God’s flame burns brighter than the Devil’s!"
In theory only.
But the Devil lives in you and God languishes in the sky, far far away.
A visitor,
God doesn’t live here.
This is the Devil’s kingdom.
You haven't forgiven yourself for every second of being self-destructive.
Because you know the impulse will rise again.
You're slipping further and further,
Flames light more and more of you on fire.
The Devil’s fingers caress your wounds.
You haven't healed, simply placed a thin stitch over a gaping abyss and called it “recovery.”
From him, of this.
A lifelong kiss.
So soft, familiar, all-encompassing, and hot.
He undoes the stitch on your lip and lifts up your chin.
"We don't need that now, do we?" The Devil is so beautiful.
Tears slide across your face.
“You’re lovely to chip away at, so delicate aren’t you?”
You shake your head, “I’m improving. I’m getting better.”
The Devil softly smiles. “Honey, the peace you're looking for is not meant for you. Why do you think you always return to me? I didn’t barge in, you let me hold you.”
Yes, why is the Devil still here?
Could this have been avoided?
You try to be grateful.
For resilience.
For God’s reinforcement.
I’ve had it worse, other people have it worse.
Could this have been avoided?
Could I have fought harder, noticed earlier, and tried younger, before his thin, wispy,
thread thickened into rope?
I want to leave this place and grab onto hope.
Was this life inevitable?
His thread is a hook within every fiber God once designed.
To pull it out now would be to pull out my heart and spine and soul and mind.
Today I awoke, only to find
This body is not mine.
I cannot reverse the past,
But still I find
The anguish of
What if?
And what is.
What if this was not my destiny, just being raised wrong?
These core beliefs I can never seem to escape from.
Is there a reversion to the state before internalized toxicity?
It can be cooled, but the embers are always ready to ignite a thousand flames.
There isn't a state.
There isn't an escape.
Sometimes I can accept that, and I plan to live as best I can.
But sometimes the weight of his lulling abyss
makes the thought of anything more than existing to the end of this day without doing
something I'd regret that much.
overwhelming.
What makes it even worse is
Sometimes you're conscious of fucking everything up.
I'm conscious of fucking everything up!
Yet I still can't stop.
I find comfort in his chaos because he's familiar.
How sick is that?
How sick is whether you fight a little or a lot,
It's all for naught?
Guess that’s why they call it mental illness.
He's there, a little wink or a deep kiss of poison.
He nods. “You'd miss me if I left! You want me here. No one’s ever held you as long as I have."
“That's ridiculous.” Is it?
The Devil’s greatest accomplishment was convincing the world he doesn’t exist.
Convincing you it's all your own weakness, all in your head.
“He's not here! Heaven's right there.”
I wonder how many years you can spend lying to yourself while you sink further into him.
You can't grapple with what you refuse to see.
You're naive.
“When you snap I’ll be here darling. Always am.”
This is the cracked cement we have to build with.
This is the scarred skin we live with.
There's no beyond this.
This is it.
This is a lifetime.
The Devil and I.
Hind Mustafa
The burdens of my mind pulse within,
the Devil breathing within my skin
And I shove him
down
Down
DOWN
But I can't shove him out of "my" body.
I thread a needle through bloody red lips
Attempting to stitch them into a smile.
Threads of reading and sleeping on time,
Of going to therapy and mental health hotlines
Yoga
Mediation
God
Loved ones
Learning more about my brain,
But His thread is thicker
And it's been maintained.
Whether I feed him or not
He's been feasting for years,
Immortal, always reappears.
And he has reserves within a chasm of fears.
The past, future, the present.
He's a shadow or a master within my seconds.
So within reach to collapse into ash,
Into the familiar fire of his strong arms.
But so far away, the waltz into heaven.
For as soon I begin,
Three steps forward and three steps back,
The Devil stamping out my feet in attack,
“Your form is pathetic.”
It can be tiring to be "resilient."
Because you think I'll step here and here AND here AND here and then I'll finally be safe.
In an effort to escape, the tips of your shoes singeing.
His flame is never too far away,
Remain dark moments and long, burning days.
Numb, crying, hyperventilating, or overwhelmed.
I don't want him here.
Stuck within marks of sin on your skin.
Others let him in.
Why didn't I kick him out?
You sip his gin, unable to stop drinking,
The Devil smiling and winking.
"Try as you might, you always come back to me. But it's amusing watching you stray."
Despite how much you bled for this better moment,
You're still in atonement.
Heaven frowns,
"Why aren’t you here by now?
God’s flame burns brighter than the Devil’s!"
In theory only.
But the Devil lives in you and God languishes in the sky, far far away.
A visitor,
God doesn’t live here.
This is the Devil’s kingdom.
You haven't forgiven yourself for every second of being self-destructive.
Because you know the impulse will rise again.
You're slipping further and further,
Flames light more and more of you on fire.
The Devil’s fingers caress your wounds.
You haven't healed, simply placed a thin stitch over a gaping abyss and called it “recovery.”
From him, of this.
A lifelong kiss.
So soft, familiar, all-encompassing, and hot.
He undoes the stitch on your lip and lifts up your chin.
"We don't need that now, do we?" The Devil is so beautiful.
Tears slide across your face.
“You’re lovely to chip away at, so delicate aren’t you?”
You shake your head, “I’m improving. I’m getting better.”
The Devil softly smiles. “Honey, the peace you're looking for is not meant for you. Why do you think you always return to me? I didn’t barge in, you let me hold you.”
Yes, why is the Devil still here?
Could this have been avoided?
You try to be grateful.
For resilience.
For God’s reinforcement.
I’ve had it worse, other people have it worse.
Could this have been avoided?
Could I have fought harder, noticed earlier, and tried younger, before his thin, wispy,
thread thickened into rope?
I want to leave this place and grab onto hope.
Was this life inevitable?
His thread is a hook within every fiber God once designed.
To pull it out now would be to pull out my heart and spine and soul and mind.
Today I awoke, only to find
This body is not mine.
I cannot reverse the past,
But still I find
The anguish of
What if?
And what is.
What if this was not my destiny, just being raised wrong?
These core beliefs I can never seem to escape from.
Is there a reversion to the state before internalized toxicity?
It can be cooled, but the embers are always ready to ignite a thousand flames.
There isn't a state.
There isn't an escape.
Sometimes I can accept that, and I plan to live as best I can.
But sometimes the weight of his lulling abyss
makes the thought of anything more than existing to the end of this day without doing
something I'd regret that much.
overwhelming.
What makes it even worse is
Sometimes you're conscious of fucking everything up.
I'm conscious of fucking everything up!
Yet I still can't stop.
I find comfort in his chaos because he's familiar.
How sick is that?
How sick is whether you fight a little or a lot,
It's all for naught?
Guess that’s why they call it mental illness.
He's there, a little wink or a deep kiss of poison.
He nods. “You'd miss me if I left! You want me here. No one’s ever held you as long as I have."
“That's ridiculous.” Is it?
The Devil’s greatest accomplishment was convincing the world he doesn’t exist.
Convincing you it's all your own weakness, all in your head.
“He's not here! Heaven's right there.”
I wonder how many years you can spend lying to yourself while you sink further into him.
You can't grapple with what you refuse to see.
You're naive.
“When you snap I’ll be here darling. Always am.”
This is the cracked cement we have to build with.
This is the scarred skin we live with.
There's no beyond this.
This is it.
This is a lifetime.
The Devil and I.