It is very difficult now.

It has been difficult to write, even more so when writing poetry. It seems that I have lost the will to pick up a pen and paper and write about anything.
I don't understand why.

Even now as I type this out in the draft format of the blog's post, I am constantly berating myself for doing something that I do not care about or want to do. Should I not do it because I do not want to do it? Or should I keep typing away at this trying to figure out my muddled mind?

I think that it is my mind that is standing in my way. My confusion with who I am is making me a bit lost. It had been going through my head lately, but it got worse as I passed my eighteenth birthday in October.

Why do I feel like my soul is screaming because it is trapped inside this jail of a body? I want to cry with big crocodile tears, but I cannot. I want to scream like a banshee, but I cannot. I want to laugh like I truly mean it, and smile without a trace of the mask I wear, but I cannot. Sometimes I take the mask off and I look at it with curiosity because I cannot seem to remember why I have it, or why I wear it.

Surely there must have been a reason. A good reason.

I have lived in my head for quite a long time. I have not ever made a genuine connection with anyone. I do not have many friends, and those who call me theirs makes me question their motives. But who am I to complain? It was me who made it that way.

But I feel like it is time. Time to be willing to be open up? I don't know.

I am so scared, you see. It isn't the "scare" where someone pops out at you with a "Boo!" and you giggle it off. No, it is the sweat-trickling, eyes-widening, shuddering, chilling, and horrifying fear. For who will accept my crocodile tears? Who will hear my screams? Who will want to laugh with me and who will see me, take off my mask and tell me I don't need it anymore?

Maybe it's better off to be alone.
Who cares, right?

You promised

She shouldn't have, but she did.
She... wasn't supposed to.
But she did.

She lied.
She lies.
She will lie.

She promised she wouldn't.
She promised.

You promised.

We are here

They kept on saying that we are not here.
But as of late... we are here. 

Air Kiss

I like the sound of air kisses.
Your fingers feel every fold of your lips, the gentle curves of the entrance to the heart.
Hot air blows out with each breath, and it's just so personal that you have to take away the hand for a moment, only to feel the imprint of beauty lingering behind.

Lips press against the force of the fingers for a second, only to be released with the sound of morning glories opening to the sun. And when the kiss is released into the world, you can feel the warmth fleeting away.

And that's when you realized what passion and heat air kisses have. How personal it can be made.

Kiss

With All My Heart

I didn't hate you.
I only missed you
I didn't resent you,
I only loved you
with all my heart.

I loved you.
I loved you.
I love you.

I loved you... I love you

Clasped Hands

So much power in those clasped hands
For the warmth that is found in a moment of grasping

When hands are held, hearts are moved
A symbol: You are not alone -- let's walk each other home.

Silent Dying

I can always sit and watch the way
The rain hits the water's surface,
Creating worlds of reflecting ripples
That are cut off,
Without able to spread its wings.

Is this what my life is meant to be?

Inspired by: Silent Dying, Laura Makabresku

Remember

I was standing in front of S. I said something. I don't remember.

S called me dead and emotionless. 
You're an emotionless cadaver with daddy issues, she spat.
He hits, and you can't even talk about it.

Her words maimed, killed, tore and scratched. She clawed at my insecurities, my weight, my body, my financial troubles. My best friend ripped my carefully placed shrouds in front of everyone.

Do you feel better? I asked

What?

Do you feel better?

I've never felt better.

I'm glad something good came from this. 
I kept your secrets. I kept my promises. I kept my word. But you... You didn't keep my secrets. You didn't keep your promises. You didn't keep your word.
Remember.

I woke up sweating and hyperventilating. It was a dream.

Who Will Be Us?

God created you to be you and me to be me.
If you are not you and I am not me
Who will be us?

Me

I'm a mess

I don't regret a lot of things.
But what I regret, I always remember.

I broke numerous promises.
I falsely claimed; I have foolishly trusted.
I have pushed away; I have stayed when not needed.

Oh, well.
I'm a mess.

Mess

It's Been A While

It's been a while.

I've been alone.

I was hurt.

I was sad.

Notice the past tense.

I have found true friends.

I have found ways to heal.

I am not scared to be alone.

No longer.

Ready or not... I'm back now.

Rise

Nothing Was Clear

Lies.
They crashed like tidal waves
Soared and swelled with imagination.
I couldn't tell if anything was right.

And soon, too my surprise,
I found myself building walls.
I hadn't realized that they had built
A castle for me to live in.

Exist

When I pressed my hands against the panes drenched with sunlight, I felt cold clasp my hand in a familiar embrace.
And I thought:

I have very faint memories of before. The only existence I know now is the one I was given.
An echo of what used to be.

Now, it's hard to exist when the world is giving me a manual of perfection.

But,
I dare to live, to be vibrant, to shine with all my heart and with all my might.
And when I die, as I inevitably will, I shall shatter into diamonds.
And people will see that it was what I was made of.


"We were both alone, both existing as the absence of something else."
- Tahereh Mafi, Shatter Me

If I actually said this

Ellen told me that we have clashes in opinions over certain topics and controversial issues.

"I'm not being pissy, I'm just stating fact," she over explained. Her inner voice said, "Maybe we should work on that so you can officially be in my group."

"Isn't it natural?" I asked. "But you know, I don't fight, argue, discuss, and defend issues with you that I don't give two cents about. I don't need to prove anything to you, much less argue about something pointless, because frankly, I don't care. If it isn't in my star system, then I obviously don't think about it. And the really cool thing is, is that I don't care about your opinion. And if push comes to shove, I won't care about you."

I wonder what her face would have looked like if I actually said this.

If

Tell me something.

I don't need a better thing

I'd settle for less

It's another thing for me

I just have to wander through this world

Alone.

I asked a friend to just talk.
Tell me something, I said.
Tell me anything, please. Can you do this for me? I asked

Of course, he said.  

I didn't tell him what was truly going through my mind:
PLEASE. CONNECT WITH ME. 
I need some sort of sign that I am not alone, that I deserve to breathe, to laugh, to cry.
I need someone to hug me and just exist along my side.

Keep on counting

1... 2... 3... 4... 5... 6... 7... 8... 9... 10. 
Again.
1... 2... 3... 4... 5...

My survival depends on those steady, repetitive digits. Without them, I fail to keep a calm face. Without them, I fail to be indifferent.
It's hard to describe the present, because whatever what was written before was the past.
There's a lot of mindlessness, small intervals of thoughtless fun, and silent streams of tears that don't matter.

Whenever a chance comes, I dive into whatever comfort I can find in the arms of carefree friends, who really aren't my friends, who don't know what I'm feeling, who don't know what I need, who don't know me.


So I keep on counting until it's an automatic jerk reaction to any type of confrontation.

I'm just past blaming everyone or everything.

I just want to burn, and I want to count while in flames.

Hold on me.

Father is home. Before he came, I ran around the house cleaning, pushing everything back into place, opening up cleaning products that have never been used.
I made the house sparkle, inside and out.

After I was done and was out of breath, I looked at my hard work, and had this deep urge to destroy everything.
I wanted to tear the plaster from the walls, break all the glass windows and burn the furniture.

Now that I look at it, the battle of rage and tears rushing through me was not one of mere anger at a paternal figure, but because I was just so goddamn pathetic.

I still wanted to please him.
I still wanted to have his acceptance.

It was a mistake to think that I was  rid of him.

He still has a hold on me.

"Do you love him?"

Father is coming home this week.
Which prompted me to ask mother, "Do you love him?"

Guess

There was silence on the other end with intervals of silent muttering.
"I think so," she finally answered.

An interval of silence lapsed.
She asked, "Are you asking because of the hardships we have between us?"

I wanted to laugh out loud, not because of the obvious problems they had, but because she had considered the unbelievable pain Father put her through as mere 'hardships.'

"No. The last time I asked, you said 'No.'"
She stared at me with guarded eyes that accused me of stabbing her where it hurt.

"I guess you changed your mind," I stabbed again.
"I guess I did," she said.

3:13 PM

3:13 PM

When it hits exactly 3:13 PM, the afternoon sun sits right in front of my window, bathing everything in my tiny corner of the world a golden color.
Warmth emits from the windows, and laying on the floor with my eyes closed, I curl around it trying to get it to seep into my chilled body, willing my body to forget about everything and nothing.
As the light pounds into my eyelids, I smile as I feel the loosening of my chains of worldly expectations and my drive to be someone I am not.
When it hits exactly 3:34 PM, the sun isn't in front of my window anymore but in front of some other soul's window, leaving my tiny corner of the world back to its mundane colors and dust.
The ties are re-knotted, the pressures are again placed on the shoulders, and I am still lying there trying to remember what the poised gratification felt like.

Too much to ask?

I have very mixed feelings about relationships. I can't keep any, but I constantly search for a someone that relates to me. I can't open myself up the way people want me to. I can't be one hundred percent honest about my feelings unless I really hate the person and want to cut that person down to itty bitty pieces.
People say I'm too honest. Brutally honest. Apparently, my honesty kills. I can't help it. I say how it is. I want to be vibrant and attractive and yet I want to be mysterious and sultry. I have mixed personalities. I have numerous personalities. I want to relate, but I only want stuff I really want to connect to relate. When I find a person to share anything with, I analyze everything. I jump to conclusions. I assume. I break. I tear.

Please understand. Relationships that are beautiful and full of life are so beautiful to behold that you're scared to touch them. I haven't learned how to do it properly.

People always ask me, "Why the heck do you hide so much? You're so easy to be honest and real to; you know my every secret and flaw! Why can't you show me your real self?"
Because I'm not stupid. Everyone knows things end. Besides, I've got nomadic syndrome. I get antsy after staying in one place for more than 3 or 4 years. The longest place I've ever stayed was in Hawaii for 6 years, and that's only because I had to. The span of time I allow for myself doesn't call for a deep and long-lasting affiliations.
I want to be so many things; I want to do so many things. I want to live and die and breathe and exhale. I want to see souls and hold hearts, I want to be spiritual and deeply rooted. And all without the ties and strings.
Is that too much to ask?

Ethereal

Grey

Time

I try convince myself that I'm a miserable person, that I like necrotic thoughts. Edgar Allen Poe is my best friend, ravens are my familiars, and my glass is always half-empty. I choose black over white, and when Naomi or Young asks me what's wrong, I don't tell them and I keep it inside myself to let it simmer in my cauldron of deepness.
But I'm just deluding myself because I know I'm a life-kind of person. Death-kind of people only need to focus on the end, which makes me jealous because I have to focus on the past and the present and the now. They have it so easy.
I don't get why the present is so important anyway. I always hear "Live in the now!" or "Seize the day!" Rarely do people actually do that. Some dream in the future, and others are re-living the past. They're all searching for something either way.
Besides, after 2 seconds of time ... one ... two ... the present is the past, and the future is now. Do we seize the past now? Or seize the future? And then ... one ... two ... 
So, when people ask me, "Black or white?" I say, GREY.
Because I like to believe that I've got my feet in both of them. That I like the dark and the light. That I like Edgar Allen Poe and Walt Whitman. That I am me, and that is enough for now.

Grey

Love & Hate

I hate the way you choose someone you barely know over me who knows you to your core.
I hate the way you close me off as soon as you reveal a little bit of yourself.
I hate the way you always pick the right girls who are actually worth it.
I hate the way you dismiss me like I'm your personal booty call, and I hate the fact that I still come to you time after time you call.
I hate that I'm always there for you.

Tears

I hate that I cry for you, that I share your pain.
I hate the way I laugh at your words as if they meant the world.
I hate the way I cling onto fantasies of you and me.
I hate the way I want to look good in front of you.

Hurt

Is that what it means to stand by and be your best friend?
Because it hurts, and I don't think this is the way things should be.
But still I love you all the same.

Still

I love the way you smile at me.
I love the way you're only honest with me.
I love the way how you show that you care.
I love the way you're the light to my dark.
I love the way you free me from my chains, how you
I love the way you know when I'm lonely.
I love the way you notice.
I love the way you see me for me.

I love you. I want to be more in your eyes.
I wish you could see that.

Boring...

I haven't written or posted as of late and now I find that the words jumbling and piling in my head are coming out at the wrong moments and coming out wrong.
Like how last week I was judging an audition and I yawned really big and loudly whispered "Boring..."
The potential candidate faltered and retreated into her already self-conscious self.
Like how a couple days ago I found myself singing about sex really loudly in church.

The other reason I haven't written is because...I put a halt to everything for the past two weeks. I was... numb. To my friends. Family. Life.
I pretended I didn't have emotion.
I just didn't care, and not in the good way of female empowerment but one of indifference.
So lonely. So tired.
Of what?
Me.

Numb

Contradiction

"You shouldn't be doing this right now."

"You know you'll regret it later. Stop doing useless things and make better use of your time!"

"You know better than this. What is wrong with you?"

Voices of my conscience prick my brain apart.
I just have no motivation.
No desire.
I can claim nothing as my own, I can not let go of anything for nothing is mine.
I just blame everything and everyone and now, I have become indifferent to any emotion.

My greatest fear in life? Failure.

Yet... what am I doing? I can see myself in the foreseeable future wallowing away in the misery that I myself made.

Contradiction

Regret

New Year Resolutions

I wanted to laugh when people started gushing about how they will change so much in 2013. Yeah, right. That won't ever happen. 
Because everyone knows that change doesn't just come because you want it. Either you were forced to change or went through something so life-changing that change was inevitable.
The stuff we mention now are superficial ones, shallow and optional.

So... I made wishes this year. I mean:
"There's no point having wishes if you don't at least try them."
- Sally Nicholls

Wishes

It's different than resolutions because wishes have no expectations and resolutions are excuses to start over because of all the regrets in the past year. I learned this from Avy's blog in her post Mirrors and Smoke.

1. I wish I could stop doubting the words people say to me. I want so much to be able to trust and be open.
2. I wish I could have a real relationship.
3. I wish I could find my real self.
4. I wish I could stop lying.
5. I wish I could forget.

Shh... Don't tell anyone...

Forget

There is still life to be lived

Losing Hope

I was expressing my opinions of my previous post to a treasured friend.

"You're anxious for things that haven't happened. That's like saying 'I'm going to die someday so I might as well not live.' You'd be missing out on the good. 
Think about all the good things that will happen because of what you consider bad."

"I can't really think of any."

He laughed and showed me a thought his friend had written:

"2013 isn't a blank slate, but a new chapter. A new chapter means that there's still hope, that there is still life to be lived. So live it well. Become who you were made to be, and don't lose sight of the ending. Which, as it turns out, it is only the beginning."

"I can't find the hope," I said. "I haven't had a relationship or even a real conversation between me and Him."

"Yeah, I felt that way, too. So I just said, 'Hey.' And it started again. I think I was genuine with Him for the first time in a long time."

"I've never been so unhappy or so scared in my life. I want so much to just rest and be in peace."

"Cling. Desperately. With your nails. He didn't go anywhere. And your past relationship doesn't matter. What's important is that you can start a new one now."

I am revived.

Finding Hope

2013

People tell me that a new year means a new chance at everything. It's a chance to clear out everything in your head, a chance to review past mistakes and to learn from them, a way to form clear consciences.

But, there is a deep foreboding. A new start means a new way to make a mistake.
Forget the past? Never. The consequence? Wariness. Fear.
And when I remember all the hurt I've been in, I wonder yet again if this year will do the same.
The fear that I will be swallowed by another ocean of disappointment and shame in myself is crushing me. I can barely breathe.
Fake hopes, spiteful defeats... they are like sparks will no doubt fade away into nothingness.

I just want to forget everything and never look back.
Is that not the true meaning of a new start? To try yet again, to build, to try to change?
I want to leave my soul and bleach the black into white.

Oh, 2013... Am I the only one with such a depressing view of the new year?

Sparks