Devoured

Slates - (unfinished draft)

A blank slate, I still remember what being like that used to feel like, innocence the way you see people is just really different. No regrets, no worries and no pain all you know that you have these people around you, you see everyday calling you. You get used to their voice, the voice that with age gives more depth to their words and feelings.

These stories have been heard and passed on for eons but no one really knows if this is true. The stories you hear of how you were in your mother's womb, how godly her reason was in the world to make an entire being.

Then you hear stories which are of course the same for everyone of how that one tragic accident you had and considering my vulnerable self. it was the same 'life' the life I kept reminding myself would get better. The criticism i have suffered from has got me through a mindless tormented husk full of guilt for something I'm not sure I have done.

My story may just be the classic cliche everyone has heard but what I would say is different that in my world, my story was pointless it was not deemed real.

When people estimate your abilities, all you're left with is a hole in your heart, a void that can not be filled. Being a teenager in a middle-class family in Pakistan tends to do that to you. You're dealt with life's most important question for a Muslim at the very least. You face this inner conflict of making your world better for your judgment and the constant thought of balancing the world's desires and what comes right after...