The psychiatrist told me
To remember all the things
That sends light
And warmth
In my heart
Like a ray of sunlight
Scattering all over the rubble we left
That was once called a city.

I told her I can’t
Because the only light
I could see
Is the spark
At the end
Of a barrel of a gun
Straight into
my father’s temple
As my mother made
a shrill noise
Still echoing in my ear
While I sat hushed
On a dark corner,
Hand over my mouth
As if to preserve
What little life
Is left of me.
If there is still any.

Every day I wish
I could do something
Something like praying
To help end this seemingly
endless chaos.

But how could I do that
When I can’t even quell
The voices inside of my head
Telling me this could end
That I could do something
Something like dying.

I could end this,
I could end this…
I could end this battle inside of my head.

And I’d be the only victor.

For I’ve been stripped
Of my home
But not my identity.
And so the wind
Whispers to me
Telling me this could end
That I could do something
Something like living.

Because why would I take
The only thing that’s left of me?

I am Aziza.
The war rages on.

Author’s Note: This is a fictional story inspired by real events in Marawi City, Philippines. While there are wars involving bullets and bombs, the war zone extends to the minds of evacuees in the evacuation centers. To anyone fighting their own internal wars, I’m rooting for you. Don’t ever let your inner demons win, because there are no victories sweeter than what you are about to make.

(To anyone who knows me personally please don’t judge me ^_^v. I’m just making poems for school. Huehue)

Photo by: chimericalnouss via Tumblr


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Cherry Rose Guillermo

I don't care who you are; if you're kind, you're beautiful. ^^

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