You speak of depression,
like it’s your confession,
“it will all be okay,”
says the girl, not okay,
“Just stop”, I don’t say,
just smiling again,
just smiling again,
as I comfort you instead.
You speak of addiction with so much conviction,
“Just deny the temptation, remember the religion”,
or so you say, still hooked on that repetition,
and I mutedly agree, though not with your aggression,
but what can I say, “you’re right, I’m the idiot”?
“omg I’m a muslim, man I should’ve remembered”.
So when I speak of depression,
I don’t because it doesn’t,
make sense to be reminded,
how my pain is so infectious,
how in the end, I have to wonder,
how can I make you feel better?
And when I speak of addiction,
big surprise, I never,
want to try to describe the religiously disobedient,
or try to convey how much I beg for forgiveness,
or try, in general, because God knows how much it hurts,
to feel so close,
and then betray,
EVERYTHING,
that He so mercifully gave.
Because can you really understand what you do not understand,
and can I really be so selfish and share what might make you despair,
and how much of this is my ego,
and how much of this is true,
because what we all speak is the truth.
It’s just that sometimes,
the truth,
doesn’t benefit you.
Read, it says in the Qur’an,
so will you not read me too?