She is a block of stubborn marble
being sculpted to a certain design,
to a certain direction,
to a figure that speaks a different
message from what she intended,
from her transcendental essence –
With each hammer-strike another part of her is
ticked off, important pieces that the artist
dismisses; the pieces she cradled within the walls
of her prison,
of her person,
The fleshing of she not being she as
limbs and torso and intellect function only through commands and demands,
this precious stone, this block, this cell,
this compact arrangement of atoms that
thirst delicate fingers of art, of feeling,
of anything but this undulating hollowness
the fraud calls Still Life
I spent much time outside my head
I didn't notice when I'd lost people
I spend much time inside my head
I now don't know how to gain people
Sometimes the consequences of experiences
past, alter us to a point where we operate
on safe mode or auto pilot
never good enough for anybody
no one worthy enough to break the walls
just existing for the sake of existence
Alone time is dangerous. It’s a dagger in the dark with all your self-doubt and misgivings stabbed into your mind like the summoning of the neurons responsible for all your pointless pain. The thing that scares me the most is that wretched voice within that’s beginning to sound too close to the truth for comfort.
You know that tickling feeling you get when you’re riding the Vikings? The swinging part where you’re flung way up in the air and stay there for a couple of seconds then be gliding down by the sheer physics.
That’s exactly how you make me feel when you flash that goofy smile of yours, the knowing glance that you’ve made my heart skip a beat or stop altogether. The satisfaction that you achieve as you transform me into the happiest person on the face of the earth because of a surprise kiss on the cheek or an uncalled for hug that just melts me into your mould.
I might be short with the headcount but I understand the concept completely. Friends don’t leave you for dead. No matter the entanglement, if you’re close friends, casual friends or soulmates, the response should be the same. That you’ll always be there for them through thick and thin, even when they don’t ask for it. ESPECIALLY, when they ask for it. You should be there in the way you understand how they need you to be. Right beside this person with no blood-relation but is just as important as family.
Who are we to decide what we deserve in this world? When all we’ll ever do will never be enough to satisfy the essence of the word. Deserve. What does it mean? It’s such a delicate word where you roll your tongue towards the end. Like the taking of what it is due where you coil your arm outward and sweep it back to your base; like a kiss for a heroic: a type of currency where you exchange things of varying values and try to cheat the other that your item deserves to be traded for his item, as if they are of the same forge and temper and copper.
There it is again.
That word. Deserve.
So easily drawn from your vocabulary, without a second thought, the word feels like the only one you could use in that sentence, like it should be lightly used without it’s many consequences or your many pretexts that indeed, it can be the appropriation of your fleeting feelings that you claim I deserve so much.
What do you know of what I deserve?
What do you know of the word itself?
We live on the same planet, the same soil, the same goddamn city, and yet we are far away like the north and the south. We are the ends of two poles constantly tugging at the same rope, expectantly at when it will end and the other would turn up – breathless as the day of flushed confessions and the sweeping of feet from under our unguarded of moments – yet coming up with nothing, just the unruly confusion of the disentangled stub because the hour that you started to pull was the hour I stopped, as our body clocks succumbed to different whenevers. And each time this cycle rotates back to the beginning, each time the other throws the line back the other end, there is another grain of unintended hurt tucked away in the chambers of our hearts which cannot be helped. We are two people enamored by the closeness we share, the love we profess, the time we implore – the laws of man and the universe could never part us. It’s just that the injustice here does not come from the situation itself or any external force in any form but from our unwillingness to compromise our separate lives to make room for our love to evolve.