Friday, 7 November 2014 @ 01:39 0 stares
there are (s)ome things you cannot (c)onquer,
st(a)m(p) on it
suffocat(e) it,
ab(and)on it,
fo(r)get abo(u)t it,
i(n)validate it
(you can)no(t) sever
a pa(r)t of (y)ourself
@ 01:23 0 stares
i am i am
heat and breath and carbon
round and round and
i promised
but the door creaks open
darkness beckons
come string yourself up
meat and bones and blood
flimsy marionette
i thought i would forget
but i remember
an empty head
rise and roll and fall
ticking into another day
it tightens its hold
and i cant breathe
this will soon be over
crawl and run and hide
come swiftly december
or the nothing
will consume me first
@ 01:20 0 stares
How do I ever capture the essence of a being in words? Traipsing through the measured facade, hands out pushing past the barriers on every side, on hands and knees digging underneath the layers in hoping of getting a mere glimpse of what is underneath. The skill of a writer or the skill of a hunter, words constructing traps, chasing after a suggestion, the right breath and feeling snatching thin air with mind made netting.
Him. He. He is? He whom…My mind, perhaps something like a timid dog, curious but wary, wanders around him in idle musing but hesitant to reach out and touch him. I repeat his name over and over again until it no longer sounds like a word on my tongue. I try to figure out what emotions I associate with him. What thoughts? What feelings? What does this person to me? I want to know these things but I don’t. I don’t want to think too deeply. I don’t want to overthink something that seems so natural, overanalyse, pull it apart, dissect it. But maybe I’m also a little afraid? Afraid of what? Afraid of some kind of realisation what I continue to push into the depths of my subconscious?
Who is he? Who is he to me? They are two different things, but perhaps not mutually exclusive. Thinking about him is like hearing a familiar tune you haven’t heard for a long time, the kind of feeling you get when you can feel the beats resonate inside you, and the melody is more than a perfect craft of something harmonious, but something that is in tune with the inner depths of you. Thinking about him is like the smell of the air on a certain morning on a certain day in spring, fresh and nostalgic, the rays of sunshine hit you, but the warmth that emanates is from the memories of another far away day. Thinking about him is like standing on the top floor of a building, staring out at the distant blue skies and clouds and the hazy forms of mountains and the sudden feeling of infinite possibility folds out in front of you even as you stand in a concrete and steel manmade cage.
Him. He. He is? He whom…My mind, perhaps something like a timid dog, curious but wary, wanders around him in idle musing but hesitant to reach out and touch him. I repeat his name over and over again until it no longer sounds like a word on my tongue. I try to figure out what emotions I associate with him. What thoughts? What feelings? What does this person to me? I want to know these things but I don’t. I don’t want to think too deeply. I don’t want to overthink something that seems so natural, overanalyse, pull it apart, dissect it. But maybe I’m also a little afraid? Afraid of what? Afraid of some kind of realisation what I continue to push into the depths of my subconscious?
Who is he? Who is he to me? They are two different things, but perhaps not mutually exclusive. Thinking about him is like hearing a familiar tune you haven’t heard for a long time, the kind of feeling you get when you can feel the beats resonate inside you, and the melody is more than a perfect craft of something harmonious, but something that is in tune with the inner depths of you. Thinking about him is like the smell of the air on a certain morning on a certain day in spring, fresh and nostalgic, the rays of sunshine hit you, but the warmth that emanates is from the memories of another far away day. Thinking about him is like standing on the top floor of a building, staring out at the distant blue skies and clouds and the hazy forms of mountains and the sudden feeling of infinite possibility folds out in front of you even as you stand in a concrete and steel manmade cage.
today was c's birthday, so we all went to the city to celebrate. even though we all had a major sac tomorrow, it was the first day of the holidays so we really just wanted to have fun. it really was a great time, we did what a bunch of teenage girls would usually do, buy way too much bubble tea and food, gasp over cute stationary and jewellery, go into stores and try on different items and laugh at each other being ridiculous. we sat on the train and chatted about what we were going to, played intense five way rock paper scissor games, laughing way a bit too loudly in a small public space with James collapsing into giggles that result in fits of hiccups and generally attracting the amused attention of all other passengers in the carriage as they observed our antics. we didn't really care, we were having to much fun. i think it was the happiest i've felt in a long time, just to be purely happy in the company of someone else, with nothing to interfere. i felt like i could be crazy and i like i belonged. i kind of felt free just for a bit.
but in the end, guilt gets the better of you. i'm always tied down, every moment like this i feel like i spend deviating from the chosen path, from doing the right thing. i'm sick of guilt and worry following everywhere. how can i trust myself when people won't trust me. how can i succeed when you don't have the faith in me. i know im a bit too idealistic but it doesn't mean i can't achieve things, i just wanted to try.
i'm so empty
but i make my personality louder to compensate
i smile bigger
and give out more affection and time for others
but i just can't cover up the fact there feels like there is
just a gaping void inside me
when im sitting here alone
i can feel it hovering
just threatening to swallow me up
and im scared one day
it will
you say you love me, but if that is what you call love, then boy do you sometimes love me wrong.
like a little girl who squeezed her pet rabbit to death in her arms, for fear it would get away,
I am suffocating. please, let me go.
you, whose 'acts of love' make so indebted, for to act in love for you is to always be owed something in return. i who do not now believe in the unconditional,
and because i understand damaged people will then raise damaged children
what i really want is a word of support, for someone to pat me on the head now and then and tell me, good job, you've tried hard. you're doing the right thing. but instead, every time you called me monster, shameful and told me i gave you nothing to be proud of,
spread like poison without an antidote in my veins
and in the end it was me who fought silently to pull myself out of crumbling chasms of insecurity and struggle free of worded cages
you say recently you have been happier, and i am glad that you are so. but to you happiness is like an independent notion, separate and exclusive. i am not happy. and i have not been for a long time now. and you still haven't noticed.