Mornings and Their Meanings

I woke up this morning and realized I no longer recognize who was standing in my mirror.

I must’ve lost myself completely. In twelve full moons, I’ve ripped out pieces of myself and scattered them in various places. I thought they’d all somehow find their way back to me, but in the end, they remained lost. My first mistake was that I created a home out of someone I now barely know. There is nothing left of her, and I only cling unto the life of oblivion, hoping that in a far, distant universe light years away, my old self lives and breathes, stuck in between.

In life, I am limited. I am so small that the world would never know if I vanished completely. Days would move on, untouched and unbothered, and I’d be sitting at the opposite end of the world, weeping silently. It is killing me how I want to be so many.

There is a voice in my head that won’t keep still nor fade, no matter how many times I beg of it. At times I could feel it taking over me, stripping away other trails of thoughts that I have until I could find anything I can bleed on. When you’ve shied yourself away from words, they get tangled in your throat the way Christmas lights do when they’re stored in boxes for so long, and could only come out as wisps in your lips.

What a strange feeling it is – to share your utmost vulnerability to the world. It’s like walking around naked, unmasked and prone to hard whips and blows from angry, blurry mobs of people. I regretted it somehow and wanted it to be over so I can possibly hide away and wrap myself in a thick, tangled web to never have to deal with the lashes again. At the same time, I am tempted to stay. Whenever I am confronted by my fears my soul gets tipped off the precipice of moving or staying still, if I should push myself even further and fall off or stay where I stand and keep safe.

Wipe your tears, darling. Someone said. Today is a new day.

Yes, I have lost myself for a while back there, and it took me months to figure out how to live out of this dread. But I think you aren’t supposed to find yourself in a lifetime. Sometimes, we’re all just lost.

You can’t keep reviving a dead tree back to life, you have to plant a new one.

It’s a new day. I told myself.

It’s time to plant a new one.



Cariza is a writer based in Washington, DC. If drinking coffee and writing sad poetry were a personality, it'd be her.


  1. Reply


    February 10, 2019

    I’m in love with this post. I’m in between deep breaths while reading this because it literally magnifies how i’m feeling right now. i wish i could go back and write poetry again, like i used too. you inspire me. Thank you cara.

    • Reply


      February 11, 2019

      I’m so happy this resonated with you, Marian.