The Week After

Ok so although this post follows immediately after the last post, they both refer to an event that occured a week ago from today. These are the words that express my sentiments a week after the event.

It's been a week and I barely remember what you did. It was easy to let go and forget about you. Yesterday I wanted to pick up the phone and call you, but when I saw your picture, I couldn't. I had something I really wanted to tell you, but I wouldn't.

As I stared at your smiling face, it felt like I was looking at the past; something long gone that could never be regained.

I didn't smile.

To be honest, I wish I kept quiet because now I feel like a fool. My reaction would have been the same, and a week later I might still have been writing this, but not with this same feeling of being a victim. If no-one knew, I could act like the normal me.

But I am not a victim, not in the way people think.

I am a victim of stupidity; of thinking we could be normal; of hoping there was chance we had moved on; of believing you were over me the way I am over you.

I guess it's also my fault.

I shouldn't have come. Even though I told you what I wasn't there for, my presence led you on more than anything I could have ever said. In the cannabis-induced state with an alcohol-fuelled libido, I should have known that in 4days you would go over the edge.

It wouldn't have been the first time, now would it?

The Last Time

So for the three people who read this blog, I want to apologize for being soo MIA lately, but I've been unable to write for a long time. That's not to say there's nothing worth writing about (there's always something worth writing about) but I just haven't been able to out pen to paper, finger to keyboard. But today I had a burst of inspiration and it wasn't the best, but it makes me happy to know I still got something to hold on to. So here it is; The Last Time

Why? Why did you do it? Why did you push the boundaries so much? I loved you with more than my entire being. Yes, I said and did some harsh things, but it was beause I wanted you to grow with me. We were once children. But all kids have to grow up.... Except Peter Pan. We musn't lose our inner children but we have to grow up. I had hoped to move forward to the future together, instead what do I get?
Attempted rape.
Tears try to break the barrier but they never fall, not for this reason. I won't let them. Because it's not worth the tears. I have cried too many times over you. It ended last year and I refuse to look back. I once jokingly said, 'I try not to walk where I have walked before.' Turns out it was more true than I thought.
When I say I wanted to move forward, I didn't mean I wanted to get back with you, but I thought we could get past the past and develop a meaningful friendship where I could accept your flaws. I know I never did that well and I admit it. I was always trying to change you, make you into something I wanted you to be, rather than letting you grow at your ow speed. Well, you grew up. You really did. I'm proud of you. But why did you do that?
I said I wouldn't let the tears flow for you, and they haven't but they come when I'm walking, watching a film, listening to a certain song. On the whole, I am no longer the same as before. I smile; I joke; I keep up a normal face; but when I'm alone, with only my thoughts to keep me company, I can't shift those dark thoughts out of my mind.
I look in the mirror and I see a lie. A dirty, pathetic lie. And this is my fault. I ask myself, 'Why do I deny myself love? Why do I go to where trouble is expected?' My bad decision reflects in how others treat me. This? This was just the breaking point. This was like a whip to my back, breaking the skin and forcing me to bleed. This pain goes beyond any pain I've felt before and it might be the turning point.
Sadly, you might not be around to see it. I wish I could let you in and talk to you like we used to, long before we ever dated, but I can't. You played me for a fool too many times and I always looked past it. Of course you didn't mean it, but you did it anyway. This time, meaningful or not, you've played me for the last time.

Time To Live

Sitting on the bathroom floor,

Alone. Broken. Forgotten.,

I can only think about the rain.

It beats down on the window pane,

Hard. Strong. Relentless.

And matches the beats of my heart.

Through the pain and the sorrow,

Suffering. Hurt. Misery.

I have stayed above it all.

The sun breaks through the clouds,

Bright. Warm. Fearless.

And like a mother, she tells me to rise.

The sky smiles at me and I smile back,

Happy. Joyful. Elated.

And I know it is time to live.

Something Beautiful

This was written (surprisingly) in the middle of an economics lesson. I was just sitting in class minding my own business and I had the urge to write. As usual (and I'm not bluffing or showing off or roshing or whatever you call it) but this is unedited and pure (mostly). Hope you find it... entertaining? :S

In the dark gloomy night
the tombstones shine like beacons.
And the moonlight dances between the trees’ branches.

The night noises continue,
the frogs croak, the owls hoot;
The magical symphony plays night after night.

Upon the stones, flowers lay
Bright, brilliant and colourful.
In the spotlight of the moon, they call to us.

As the time passes,
As the moon travels,
The resting place of many remains the same.

Glowing in the silver light
the tombs are captivating.
All hues of marble and ceramic are caught in the beams.

Something beautiful,
Something lives in this place.
There is beauty living with the laid to rest.

I Feel Nothing

Ok this is the second part. Hope you enjoy it :) (fingers crossed)

Looking down to the hole from where I have escaped
I should feel happy
I should feel something
I feel nothing.

For the dark, sunken depths that fall deeper than I can remember
I want to laugh
I want to shout
I want nothing.

Every second takes me further from the unpromising past I had
I want it back
I want it gone
I want nothing.

My face is a mask set in stone; void of any emotion
I am walking
I am running
I am nothing.

Turning my back on the past that was my present
I should feel happy
I should feel something
I feel nothing.

The Struggle To Break Free

This is actually the first part of a two-part poem, based on the same idea but are different in every other way. This is a first for me and I think it went well although the decision is up to you. Here it is; The Struggle To Break Free.

Trapped in the suffocating depths,
So far down I cannot see the sky

I know the light is there
but where?

Days, weeks and years pass
and all around me is the darkness.

One day there well be a light
and I will have sight!

I’ve struggled and fought
more times than I can count.

But look!
I’ve broken through.

The light shines down on me
but beyond this prison, there’s more;

More pain and hurdles I have to cross
I will overcome.

Days, weeks, years pass
and closer I fight to freedom.

The pressure are all around me;
I fight.

I can almost reach it now,
the object if my desire,

But now I’m stuck
I can’t advance!

Looking up at freedom
I know I must make it.

And. I. Will.

Nameless

It is currently nameless....

There was a ground. At least there should have been. What I was looking at was a sky. Big, blue and vast. It was surprisingly cloudless that day. The sun was big and bright but it was not blinding like it usually was. No, it was a dark, almost sickly, green. From my point of view it looked like it could have been a big floating ball of vomit. It was a rough round shape, with bit and pieces jutting out and a few lumps over its surface, so that it was not smooth, as I’d always thought the sun would be. So there was the green bright sun, suspended, below me a few feet, in the vast blue sky.

And so was I.

Everywhere I turned there was blueness and the green glob was always below me. When I had turned my head to face east, or what was my right anyway, I noticed a black spot. I leaned forward as far as possible so not to risk stepping out of the place I was in. If I didn’t know how I’d gotten up here, I wouldn’t know whether I could walk without falling or not. So I decided to not risk it and stay rooted where I was. So leaning forward, I still could not see well enough and craned my neck forward, hoping to see more than I initially could of the spot. Still nothing. I leaned in more, as far as I could, until I was balanced on my tippy toes, but the spot still did not become clearer or less mysterious. Slowly, cautiously, I returned to a normal standing position and gave sigh of abandonment. It seemed I was alone and too scared to try to move out the place I had been put in by whomever. Well there was only one thing to do; wait. Wait for anything. Either for someone or something to come around or until – let’s not consider that other option.

Some time that felt like hours passed and still I was standing, with no signs of fatigue or a possible rescue. This really was a strange place. But it was also boring. With nothing to do, I was left with just the option of playing mind games with myself and recently, I’d been playing mind chess and, because I could not keep track of all the plays, I always won against myself. The black spot was still to the east and was as enigmatic as before. I’d studied it earlier, thinking it might be a moving object far in the distance that would soon reach me, but it neither moved left, right nor closer nor further away. It was stationary. Soon enough I was creating stories and fantasies as to what it could be; the wildest of which was that the spot was some kind of alien space ship the size of planets that was so far away, its movement was barely perceived until a phenomenal amount of time had passed. At least in that fantasy there was no hope of being rescued; I was too far away to show up on its radar. I eventually gave up on that idea. Just because I was bored and stranded did not mean I could stand there creating fiction beyond the absurd. So I started with the mind games.

Hours later, I’m still standing here. I’m starting to feel an itch in my leg. I scratch it and the itching stops, but then my fingers start to itch. I scratch it with my other hand and that hand starts to itch. I rub my now itchy hand on my shirt and my stomach starts to itch, while my hand stops. Confused, I scratch and rub furiously, while the itch jumps from one surface to another. Confusion flies out the window and fear sets in. It’s just an itch, but it moves, it travels and it gets worse and worse.

Now I’m scratching like a maniac and my entire body is on fire. The itch never stays still and I’m constantly raking my nails over my skin until it turns red and splits open. Soon enough I’m scratching and expanding open sores. The pain is unbelievable! I start to scream but I can’t stop scratching. The itch is no longer a pest; it has become a catastrophe; a physical and psychological threat; slowly driving me into madness and pushing me beyond the limits of reality. The feel of my flesh and skin being peeled away under my own nails is no barrier to the maniacal obsession and one-minded objective my mind has created; to stop this itch. I scratch and scratch. My fingers dig into my flesh and strings of ligaments, torn tendons and blood coat my fingers. The sight disgusts me but my brain is confused. It doesn’t know whether to stop because what I’m doing is inhumane or to pursue the crazy task of ending this unending itch. My eyes go wide with shock and fear as my fingers not only refuse to stop, they get faster and faster. Chunks of flesh from my legs, back, neck and arms are being ripped to pieces and shredded by fingers, which have taken a whole new life and are acting on their orders to chase down and end this itch. My body looks like a bed sheet that has been passed through a shredder multiple times. Skin is hanging off in odd places and blood-covered flesh surrounds me like some sick, twisted bowl of cereal and I’m the surprise in the box. Despite the horror of my actions, the comparison almost makes me laugh.

Suddenly, my left arm falls. It’s dead. I look down and I can actually see my bone. The whiteness of the bone sets my mind in turmoil. I’ve gone to a place no-one should ever go and I’ve seen the thing no-one was ever meant to see. The sudden realisation that I have a crossed a barrier that should never be crossed, pushes me over the edge of sanity and suddenly there is no pain anymore. Now everything is just a tickle. I look at the mangled and mutilated flesh of what used to be me and all I do is laugh. The itch no longer exists and I’m scratching simply because I’m used to it. My laugh is that of an animal with no thought; as spine-chilling as the shriek of a hyena yet full of pain and anguish similar to that of someone dying a slow, torturous death. My barbaric sounds are wild and carefree. To the green mass of vomit I am contently in the throes of madness but my mind is shrieking out at the travesty I’ve performed.

In my head I’m crying out, begging and pleading for my body to stop this merciless assault. But it’s useless. My body’s beyond the point of salvation and refuses to take orders anymore. Suddenly I see something. It’s familiar and something in my sick, twisted head registers the sight. My blood-shot eyes go wide with fear but soon recognize the sight. My strained lungs stop moving, and my heart slows down from the frantic pace and suddenly all I care about is what my eyes can see. The spot. The black spot. It’s exactly the same. Nothing has changed but now instead of filling me with curiosity and yearning, it clears my mind and suddenly it’s all I see. The tickles and itches and pains don’t affect me anymore. I no longer feel the blood flowing freely down my body and pooling at my feet. I no longer care about the flesh that surrounds me, or the skin that hangs off like a costume which has been exposed to the ferocity of wild cats. From my lidless eyes I stare, unable to blink, and the empty holes where my cheeks had once been, drop open. The lips that were once used to speak, now a tattered mess, stretch open and from my ripped throat, a gurgling sound, covered in blood, spews out. I try again. Still more gurgling. Then I try to swallow the blood clogging my throat and I choke. A hoarse but wet cough forces blood out of my throat and up into my mouth where it pours out of my cheeks. I can feel more blood on its way to replace the regurgitated one but a moment of clarity is all and I need.

Before I can say anything, my legs give out and I hit the ground hard. Blood is forced in my throat and I choke and cough. My body spasm as blood and guts come out of every opening available but I’m paralysed now. I can’t do anything anymore. I’m staring up at the vast blue all around me and then the spot’s there. It shouldn’t be. It’s right in front of me. It’s within arm’s reach but my arms are unresponsive. My body makes no movement but my mind howls out curses of rage at the spot. How dare this spot?! It kept its distance and watched me go mad and now when I need it the least it actually comes up to me. Goddamn the spot! My mind screams at the spot while my body slowly and torturously dies. Soon all that’s left is my eyes. My mind is tired and is shutting down. I just stare up at the spot and the last thing I say before I’m blinded is the spot. The last thing I feel is a full serenity and calmness I’ve never felt before and I silently say goodbye to the spot. This spot that destroyed me, then saved me and is now the only thing to see me die and mourn me.

Smokeless

As I was sitting at the kitchen table, swirling my spoon in the cocoa drink I was supposed to be drinking, this is what came into my head. I didn't know the direction my thoughts were going in but in the end, this is what I was with. You don't have to like it if you genuinely don't like it.

Watching the cocoa powder and the milk swirl with each other in the an unbreakable and languid dance, stimulated by my spoon whenever they returned to their places, all I can think about is smoke. His smoke. He always said he would never stop smoking. The tendrils of smoke, lean and purple, curled and drifted around him as he spoke. His mouth, his smokers' mouth, spoke with such a solid and self-assured tone, but his eyes... his eyes were green and hidden behind his thick frames... They told a different story.

His mouth was resilient and his nose was proud. His tongue was stubborn but his eyes, the windows of his soul, always told me to stay hopeful. I never thought he would stop; I knew he would. Smoking was his pleasure but it was also his pain. Nothing else in the world brought him more pain. (He never knew his pain until he stopped). Being a strong man, he would never admit to being under the control of anything, but he knew was under the control of the White Stick. It was torment.

Every memory I have of him is infused with smoky spirals, dancing shapelessly, shadowing the pictures in my head. It was always how I knew him; but not always as I saw him.

Finally here he is and I can happily say he's the man I always saw; corrupted, and frustratingly stubborn but at least he's smoke-free.

The True First Kiss

This is a story I once wrote. It's very emotional and girl-viewed so if you don't like such sentimentalities, don't read it!

He held me in his hands, so close to him. His cologne caressed me as I breathed. I felt my heart speed up and miss every other beat, as we stood there. Standing still. So still. My head rested on his chest. I felt like I was dreaming. This was too good to be true. To be so close to the one I had fantasized about so many times about before. I knew I had to leave but yet I couldn’t bear to be away from that steady heartbeat, pounding away below my cheek. So rhythmic; soothing; calm. My arms stayed firmly around his waist, almost as if afraid that if I gave him that little extra room, he might leave me forever. I’d never let that happen. I had waited too long, too hard for this moment that I wouldn’t let it slip past.

"I’ll never let him go" I thought quietly. We were so close, who knew if he could read my mind? That snapshot moment was more than enough for me. I had to break it. Raising my head of his chest I looked into his face: the faced carved by angels. So perfect; breath-taking like an ocean breeze in the sunset. Untouchable, unmake able and unbreakable. From his smooth forehead to his thick, curved eyebrows, to his long, black eyelashes, right down to his defined, pink, full lips.

His lips.

How many times had I stared? Waiting for the moment I would taste them? Have his perfect smile on my mine? Have our mouths pressed together, locked in a kiss of deep passion from the deepest parts of our souls? Too many times. Too many times. He was perfect. The stuff of dreams. The kind of guy that girls broke their backs for. He was here... with me. Just me. Me alone. It must be a dream. I never want to wake up. I’ll stay here until there is nothing left. So close. So near. Even the folds in his eyelids made me want to fall and never want to get up. Slowly, almost sleepily, he opened his eyes and I stared into the windows of his soul. Dark, yet so clear. There was a light so bright it was almost impossible to be missed. His eyes glowed like stars in the night sky, fireflies at dusk, a guiding light in times of darkness. I knew I was at the right place at the right time.

I felt my face grow hot as I blushed. I put my head down. He had been staring into my eyes. Searching into them. Gazing as if they were the only things that mattered. In the wide world around us, my eyes were the only things he saw. His hand left my back and I panicked. He wasn’t leaving so soon was he? He wouldn’t leave me now? What was he doing? My mind raced and my heart mimicked it in triplicate. I now understood how people got heart attacks from fear. I almost cried out of relief when I found his hand on my chin. With his index finger coiled and poised under my chin, he lifted up my head. Eye to eye. Nose to nose. So close his breath was on my lips. Warm and soft. Playful and childlike. If I wasn’t staring into his open eyes, I could have sworn he was sleeping. I was trying so hard not to ruin the moment by moving for a kiss. I was never good at romance. He must have seen me for my pathetic inexperience because he smiled a small smile, as if he knew what mental torture I was going through. He had no idea. I could barely breathe. Being so close wasn’t good for me. I had to leave. He could never understand that. I wasn’t the one for him. Some other girl, with much more beauty, was his, not me, but my feet were cemented down. They were failing me now. Of all the times! Panic must have flashed in my eyes because fear flashed in his. Could he actually be scared that I would leave him? Did he really want me there? Couldn’t be. My imagination. What could he possibly want from me? A simple girl like me? Nothing. And yet here I was... and here he was. Here WE were together. Alone but together. I couldn’t breathe. Air was going in and out alright but I couldn’t feel it. I was too caught up in his essence. I had to go, but I had waited too long for this to happen. Just a little bit longer. My heart soared into the clouds when he bent his head towards mine.

This was it. THIS WAS IT! Finally! Everything I had ever dreamed was about to come true. This was real. Not a dream I would wake up from. Not a daydream that would disappear. This was me in the flesh with him in the flesh. All his glorious flesh. He was getting closer. Closer. O Lord! I could practically feel his lips on mine. I couldn't act out. Just wait. Watching his lips come towards me. I suddenly remembered the childish innocence we both had when he had first kissed me. We had both wanted it and like in Norbit after we had kissed we wiped our mouths in disgust. But it had been just as welcomed. That was years ago. Looking back now, it was evident I was headed in the wrong direction; wanting him so much in private and never dreaming it would happen. I should have acted sooner. Tilting my head up for the kiss was natural. It was only a matter of time till his lips touched mine...

The Cycle

In the underbush, a new world thrives.

Standing behind the tree, a predator hides.

Swimming between the coral, a prey escapes.

Eyes are the tools, ears are the aids.

Fingers, paws, claws, all the better to catch you with.

Swift run. Free fall. Slither, silent.

A story starts and one ends.

It's the and only unending cycle; unending.

Pieces of a puzzle put together at the exact moment.

The Cycle.

(feed the fish)

No Title.

I've always felt the outsider.

Cast aside. Set apart.

Sitting on the side lines,

I look on.

In the horizon, there is hope

The sun sets and the day ends;

But it's another beginning.

As old friendships ends,

New ones start.

A smile and no tears.

The past is the past

But the future is bright.

Do not mourn the Loss;

Embrace the Reception.

As we lose the Sun, we receive the Moon.

Rhyming

Rhyming's hard for me (even in english) so give me a break and this is in two languages (which I suck terribly at): (I wrote this in French class)

French Class Daydream:

Je voudrais etre a une autre place

Just to be away from this class.

Il n'y a pas les techniques nouveau

And so I look out the window.

J'ai vu les enfants, marchent au classe en face de moi

Et je pense que "Parce que?! Parce que moi, Le Roi?"

I want to be free, out there, not here, not in this class

Et je peux etre ca avec Ton grace

Si Vous me permet. Ne me lesse pas d'ici

It's hard to bear this; it's not easy.

Une question pour moi par le prof,

But I don't have time to answer. I'm off

La cloche a sonne!!!

And only one word on my lips; Sweet and beautiful;

LIBERTE!!!!

Allow me if the work was simple and base and the french was bad and the grammar and spellings and things. like i said, i'm bad at languages, my french teacher don't help and the blog people won't let me copy and paste foreign data (accented vowels) in. so i had to work with what i had.





I think we should petition for them to allow copy and paste of foriegn data.... just a thought....

Latest poem

Ok so I had literally 20's of poems and short little stories or whatevers, and I come to my laptop and what do I find? ALL MY DOCUMENTS GONE!!!

I almost cried. So at first I thought someone had 'accidentally' deleted my work. But I had a friend of mine look it over and he said it looked like something I downloaded MAY have deleted my files ( I'm still convinced I was sabotaged!) But luckily!! The imaginative juices it takes to write a poem is from finished in my head (although I can't guarantee it'll ever be any good). I've been writing like a maniac.

It's like a light has been switched on in my head. Poems, stories, even taking a first crack at an actual book that may or may not get published. Like WOW!! Just my mind has been filled with crazy and atrocious ideas leaking out from every open corner like sewage from a badly kept pipeline!

Unfortunately, the only I could find to type immediately was this one I'm about to write right (write, right :D) now as I'm behind the computer. I don't know what to call it yet so who ever reads this should decide for themselves:

Like a puzzle, the heart is in pieces.

Like a puzzle, it cannot fix itself.

It needs a helping hand

To become whole.

Like a puzzle, the heart must be put together.

Like glass, the heart is clear.

Like glass, it can break.

When broken it must be fixed

To be made whole again.

Like glass, the heart never lies; only alters.

Like a rainbow, love is elusive.

Like a rainbow, it is eternal.

Without a start or an end

It stands on its own.

Like a rainbow, love colourful.

And that's about it. It's not very good, I'll admit but like I said, it's a sewage leak, not a waterfall of ideas.

A Single Scream

This is a poem of mine. I wrote this a few days ago when i watched the news and saw what was going on in the world. Got me thinking about how we live and ignore the suffering. Well some of us do and i'm guilty of that charge because i refuse to watch the news. Anyway it moved me to write this poem. It's called 'A Single Scream.'

A Single Scream.

A single scream; a single, burning scream,

Agony-ridden; Fear-Inducing.

Not here nor there; male nor female

Just a Single Scream.

A single scream; A single, piercing scream,

Mind-numbing; Heart-breaking

Across mountains, seas and valleys.

Just a Single Scream.

A single scream; A single, crying scream,

Soul-searching; A lonely scream

Alone to bear it's own pain

Just... A... Single... Scream...

My First Official Work (and it's an original. first draft)

ok this is a bit scary for me since i never EVER EVER let people read my writing. (LIKE NEVER!!!!) and now here i am posting it on the internet for everyone to see... scary.

Staring at the wall
White paint and fingerprints
I look behind the dirt and grime
And underneath I see something.
It's not what you might see, it's what I see.
An tapestry; unknowingly made
"Unknowingly"... ignorance is woven into it.

Ignorance of it's creation, of it's beauty and of it's meaning.
I see the unperfected art of a baby;
The broken lines of a retard;
The smudges of a cripple;
The shake of an unsure hand.

I see it all.
To you, it's a dirty wall;
To me, it's a masterpiece of variety.
But even masterpieces have to be washed off the wall.