I want to believe in something
but I’ve read too much.
God feels like a metaphor
and politics like a crutch.
History repeats
but no one reads the side-notes,
and I’m expected to pick a side
when both are wearing cutthroats.
Religion feels like memory,
not faith.
Like something I inherited,
not something I shaped.
But I still light diyas
and don’t step on holy things,
just in case...
Some days I feel like a prodigy,
other days I just scroll.
I keep drowning in half learned theories,
And I've never quite felt whole.
I speak too much in empty rooms,
Then try to shrink when they applaud,
like I've tricked them into thinking
there’s more behind the facade.
Sometimes I think I’m waiting
for a voice that never comes,
for the universe to speak
in a language I’m from.
But silence is the only god
who’s never let me down,
and doubt is the only skin,
I’d wear without a frown.
I laugh in anxious metaphors.
I guess I think too much,
but really thats how I breathe.
If I stop asking questions,
there’ll be nothing left of me.