Missing In Action: An Interesting Turn of Events


“Interestingly enough, a lot has changed.” 

It was World Poetry Day a few hours ago, and the collection I’ve been working on is coming together rather nicely. I haven’t posted anything in quite a while, and that’s not because I felt that this wasn’t a place I could voice what I was feeling, but it was because I couldn’t put into words what I had been feeling these past couple of months. It is finally starting to settle in, all of the changes that my life has sprung upon me, and just how much I’ve changed along with it. Interestingly enough, a lot has changed.

I turned eighteen on March 11th, and it hasn’t started to feel that way until today. When things that used to hurt don’t anymore, when acceptance becomes something easier to wrap my frail fingers around, when I feel in tune with who I am. There is a lot that I’ve learnt in such a small amount of time, but my greatest change must’ve been my newfound comfort in where my life is.

Yes, I crave companionship. 

Yes, I miss having something to hold onto when I forget my way.

But, I’ve somehow been able to accept the fact that I may not love again for quite some time. 

You know when you listen to something soothing, and it drills that feeling of a promising tomorrow deep within your bones? When the goosebumps raise and the adrenaline pumps a little harder? That is every new dawn henceforth. I’m beginning to understand how much responsibility is being put on me and my choices and how those choices affect my life. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about how things would be if my situation was different, but would this feeling still exist even then?

I’ve blown the lid, I’ve learnt that I do not draw the line. Art is supposed to push the limits, loved or hated. It’s revolutionarily limitless. I’ve seen that a lot through my poetry recently (which I hope to share soon) because I’ve come to the realization that it isn’t worth holding back. It’s worth every breath, every thought, and every idea. I don’t know about you, but I’m sick and tired of worrying.

I just want to live. 

Love, Anisa Nasir (2)


  1. Would love if you posted your poetry. The gift of the poet is in self expression. Agony or passion.

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