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Balboa Press AU - Halima B.H

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139 pages

English

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This collection of original writing invites you on the many journeys that a broken heart can take to find meaning and purpose—and perhaps even healing, redefinition, and redirection.
This is not simply a book of poems. It is a confessional.
Emergence: A Collection of Unsaid Truths presents a testimony about the stubbornness of emotions and an unwillingness to feel without knowing how to explain and express those emotions. Author Halima B.H. shares her way of making sense of her feelings, new and foreign and too strong to ignore. She once felt too ashamed to own up to them, so she left them unspoken and wrote about them instead.
Emergence embraces the social element of being human without forgetting that everything begins with oneself; that is why the book's only capitalised letter is I. These essays explore various truths—some of the author's own truths and others intended to speak up for those who can't. The author dedicates her work to everyone who lives through the things they feel so profoundly.
This collection of original writing invites you on the many journeys that a broken heart can take to find meaning and purpose—and perhaps even healing, redefinition, and redirection.

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Poetry

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Publié par	Balboa Press AU
Date de parution	21 mars 2023
Nombre de lectures	1
EAN13	9781982296964
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0200€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

EMERGENCE

A COLLECTION OF UNSAID TRUTHS

HALIMA B.H

Copyright © 2023 Halima B.H.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

The author of this book does not dispense medical advice or prescribe the use of any technique as a form of treatment for physical, emotional, or medical problems without the advice of a physician, either directly or indirectly. The intent of the author is only to offer information of a general nature to help you in your quest for emotional and spiritual well-being. In the event you use any of the information in this book for yourself, which is your constitutional right, the author and the publisher assume no responsibility for your actions.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

ISBN: 978-1-9822-9695-7 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-9822-9696-4 (e)

Balboa Press rev. date: 03/21/2023
contents
introduction
author’s note
Chapter 1when it goes away
Chapter 2the person
Chapter 3unhomed
Chapter 4the fixer-upper
Chapter 5discoveries
Chapter 6the queenmaker
Chapter 7the treats
Chapter 8wishes in a diary
introduction
This book is a testimony to the stubbornness of emotions. And an unwillingness to feel without knowing how to explain and express.
Emergence is my way of making sense of my feelings, new and foreign—and too strong to ignore. But I was too ashamed to own up to. So, I left them unspoken but wrote instead.
It is about truth—many mine,
And some, I had to speak up for those who couldn’t.
And it is dedicated to all who live through the things we feel—deeply.
This is not a book of poems. It is a confessional.
Welcome!
author’s note
Emergence is not poetry. It is a confessional. A conversation an unknown friend is trying to have with you. Maybe even one you want to have with yourself.
So, take your time to listen to the things said and the ones left for you to find between the lines.
Try to find your response; I urge you to answer back.
And if you feel inclined, share it with me @unsaidtruth _
Unsaidtruth@outlook.com or any other way you feel comfortable with.
You gave me your ear; now, I give you mine.
one when it goes away
I think how you left was the most disappointing of all.
one day you were alive in my arms,
breathing... laughing... lo ving .
and the very next morning, it was all gone;
replaced by the sound of me choking... crying... d ying —
in a room with the ghost of someone too cowardly to live in love.
walked out
I still hear your voice, controlled and hungry, saying, “strip for me”.
and I, naive and trusting, replied, “I don’t know how”.
but I obediently followed the instructions of
my love, my guide, my teacher.
I did it as I did everything—
pushing down fear until it was buried beneath confidence.
allowing nurture and instinct to inspire what I did next.
I stripped,
with a little apprehension,
some exhilaration,
and a lot of play,
but knowing what I was doing wasn’t a joke.
I took it all off until I was skin and bone.
and a naked soul.
and all the things that never saw the light of day.
I laid myself bare for you to see,
love and honour.
I even spun around,
making sure you didn’t miss an inch of your handiwork,
of our handiwork.
then I watched you stand up,
turn around,
and walk away.
wordlessly.
— did I do it wrong, or was what you saw truly that ugly?
I was warned but
I called it butterflies.
there have been moments when I found it hard to breathe. moments when I was an island, surrounded by a dome that sucked away at the life within me . moments when I desperately crawled towards a lifeline that seemed close enough to grasp. but it slithered away— taunting and teasing me at the very last minute. these moments of breathlessness come in different disguises but leave the same footprint. I’ve realised that though suffocation implies the deprivation of breathable air, it is not limited to one feeling.
like most people, I am familiar with the burning sensation that comes with an obstructed airway. the spicy, eyewatering fire that scratches at my larynx. because this blockage stubbornly refuses to move neither upwards or downwards. it digs its heels and swears not leave without a piece of me as a memento. these moments wash me with an equal amount of helplessness and valour. and most likely than not, I am left with the choice ‘to be saved’ or ‘be the saviour’. regardless of my decision, I’m comforted by the understanding that with a bit of ingenuity and a kiss from fortuna, I will be the standing victor.
I have also been intimate with the inability to breathe because of pressure. when a great mass is placed on my chest, leaving me pinned down. and fighting an enemy I cannot push off or run away from. it is a sobering, sad moment when you have to acknowledge that alone, one’s natural strengths sometimes yield no result . and in these cases, surrender is often our only saving grace.
the most painful face of suffocation appears when I am frozen by fear. this doesn’t happen often. but when it does, it is accompanied by shame. because, unlike the others, this is an opponent that I created . it lives because I allowed it to. and scariest of all can only be defeated by me. so, until I tame that beast, I will continue to be unable to inhale— even though nothing tangible is stopping me. and thus, the nightmare continues.
and despite everything, I would gladly choose to be subjugated by any of those three than be suffocated by someone’s love. it is a different kind of hell when the most liberating force turns out to be the one whipping you into servi tude .
suffocated
voiceless.
inadequate.
insatiable.
homeless.
that’s what forcing myself to accept what you titled as love left me feeling.
I fell 6-feet in love,
and they buried me.
— my grave
I loved you in a way that scares me, then and now still. I loved you the way every girl was told to love a man . I loved you like I didn’t exist without you. I loved you. it was that simple. I loved you, and because of that, I fear I have ruined myself. for myself, by myself, because I loved someone who was never capable of loving me as I deserved—as I gave, willingly.
I am afraid that I know how to love and give love so completely that anything else would never be enough. that any man who doesn’t inspire that level of devotion and surrender to love, and in love, would never fill me.
I am scared that I wasted so much of that love on someone who was and could never be able to appreciate it. I am terrified that this abomination of a love story has made it so that it is no longer about the love I am given or the bounty I am offered.
I am horrified that the benchmark for love in my life now, is whether or not a man can water my garden back to life. whether or not he can make me want to give love back again. I am petrified, and I don’t know how not to be. but I am even more fearful that I don’t know how to fix it.
a lover’s fear
I die for a love,
I’ve never lived for.
I learnt how to love others before I learnt how to love myself.
today, I wanted you. not someone whose one quality piqued my interest. nor did I want someone faceless that I made up in the dark corners of my loneliness.
today I wanted you.
and the budding companionship we have forged from the solitude that comes from living our lives.
I wanted you to laugh with, to listen to. I wanted to enjoy drawing down the curtains together. I wanted to hear from you, of you, and about you. I wanted to listen; I was ready too. to receive all the things that danced on your tongue but were caged by your teeth.
more than that, I wanted to share myself with you.
I wanted to allow myself to be me. I wanted to relive my life— a life that is mine yet so alien to the woman confessing her wants. the woman many have found clues of, yet only a few have seen.
I wanted to be a woman in the presence of a man who knew exactly what he was looking at. these are the things I craved— the things that I allowed myself to hope for, plan for, want .
I guess they were too much because without meeting you, you reminded me of how cruel hope could be when placed on the wrong person.
what I wanted
I thought losing love would make me numb,
and want to shut out the world,
a scared little girl incapable of existing when others lived,
a reject that belongs to no one and nowhere,
instead, all it did was make me hungry,
ravenous,
a collection of insatiable body parts,
desperate for feeding,
but only wanting more the more I consumed.
barren earth desp