Why I Love Hating Myself

          sometimes i think that feeling suicidal is a blessing and a reminder for my ego, that i am nothing. yet sometimes i blame myself for feeling depression, as it is selfish to center myself even through sadness. a cynical part of me dares to ask, that maybe if the world would be more loving/caring when we just hated ourselves a little more... a balance of feeling nothing, and everything: i remind myself that humility is not of thinking oneself as lesser, but to just think of oneself less often. but then i am sad, and angry - mad at the world for escaping themselves, mad at the world for abandoning me, mad at myself for abandoning yet never escaping me. i want to cut myself as much as i want to set fires to city halls; i want to strangle myself as much as i want to hang nooses on colonial statues. i want to burn my skin as much as i wish to assassinate billionaires and police officers; i want to slap both me and those around close - as even though we are dying too, we still douse and drown in our own complicities and shames. what is so wrong with hating yourself ? what is wrong with truth, with deep introspection and reflection for accountability past/present/beyond ? what is so wrong, about confronting/confessing of all the ways we rot and hide ? is that not how we find freedom ? is that not why we fight for liberation ? there is something deeply disturbing for the ways we survive and function; deeply rooted in the oppression of our humanities, we might have even become fearful of our own reflections thus i wonder if we will ever find peace... i love hating myself, and my loneliness keeps me going. i hate myself, thus i embrace/seek/work for change, as change does not wait but collaborate... i hate the world, because i love the world. and i dare to hate myself deeper, to love the world better.

fall apart.

please

just, fall apart.

open your mouth.

and 

hurt. hurt the size of everything it is

- dam

by Nayyirah Waheed

          its ugly of me to wish the world to awake from sadness, but i don't know how else for us to unlearn without pain, without empathy... i have witnessed too many times and people coming together only to cope, for laughters that aren't ours to finish and for joy that isn't ours to own, only to escape from solitude. i pray myself to hold onto grace, for how the rotten can be bitter and sour too. i hate myself/the world so much thus relearning self/community-love/care becomes revolutionary in our essence, our bones, back to our ancestors and for the daughters of tomorrow. we must hold onto hope, through the love for and pains from life... i wonder if people smell the shame off of my community presence and advocacy, i wonder if they notice me shaking. i wander through rallies from protests to political demonstrations, i wander for sanity and salvation for another day. i am tired of self-care being not community care; i am exhausted for us so invested in becoming that we forget to just be, just breathe, just be...

We believers in softness here

Believe in imagination, the colour pink

Believe in ‘fuck the police’ poetry

Believe in our hearts as heaven. I believe in bath time

I believe in bubbles on my nose, and warm warm water

I believe in my bed. I love my bed... 

But sometimes I’m afraid that if I die everyone will be too tired to remember my name, 

so I take care of my little body

You, take care of your little body

Take care

So when all we have left is each other's song

And unknotted curls

And clammy hands

We can rejoice and dance for having loved our skin so well

For having found finally at the end a healthy way to hold

Take care

And repeat it

Ritual, until the syllables run on sentence down your spine

So that when the next deaths come, because they will

We will have vigour enough to remember their names

Speak them angel into our pillows at night

And wear them in our hair in the morning

- "Take Care" by TASHA