Novocaine.

-

I have lost my words.
I lost them somewhere in a pile of papers, unfinished, scribbled down on pages, discarded, like a neglected child.

I have lost my voice.
I think I have lost it in a canyon with no echo, or maybe I've forgotten that I have one to begin with, how can I dare to speak when I know everything coming out of my mouth is a failed attempt of tenderness?

I think I have lost my mind.
Trying to figure out how to be.
The riot of emotion in side my chest hurts, and my soul is bruised.
The constant battle is wearing me out,
Draining me,
Drowning me.
I don't know how to breathe,
I don't know how to be.

With so many rules set out, and so many laws I seem to be ignorant of, I have lost so many times,
Against the people I love,
Against myself,
Against the world.

I try to tell myself that I am okay.
Like useless words of condolences coupled with genuine sympathy,
I tell myself that I will be okay,
Like the frail promise of cure to a terminal illness,
I convince myself to believe that I will be okay,
Like the naive hope of a man condemned to a death sentence waiting for freedom.

I repeat these things to my reflection only to be faced with two vacant eyes,
Their piercing gaze is hollow,
And for a split second, I feel sorry for her.
What did I do to deserve this ?

This unjustified mortification,
This tottering thoughts,
The fear,
The fear,
Of all the possibilities, of doing things wrongs again,
Of making the wrong choice again,
Of chasing after the things I can't have again.
Of losing myself completely,
In a cold unforgiving ocean that will swallow me whole where I can't be saved.

I am afraid of becoming someone else,
I am so scared of failing at what I think I do best,
I am so scared of never finding what I am looking for.
Sometimes I believe that good things are hiding right in the corner, waiting for me to stumble upon them,
The kind of happiness that makes you feel as if your heart was cracked open and stuffed with sunshine,
The kind of self confidence that makes you sure of who you are,
The kind of peace that makes you sleep at night, knowing that you have done your best.
I long for all of these things.
But maybe I am a coward,
Maybe I am petrified and exhausted and so so overwhelmed by my own thoughts that I can't even bring myself to get up and fight one more round.
Maybe I was meant to live as an almost.
Maybe I was meant to starve for love and acceptance while seeing them dangling right before my eyes only to be pulled away from me when I reach out.
Maybe I was not meant to be happy.
I have been searching for so long,
Blindfolded, misguided, mislead by so many whispers, I have fallen into a trap.
And I am stuck as if I've fallen in a paddle of cement, and now,
It has dried out.

I think I have driven myself insane,
I think I have lost my mind.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

mirror

-
My thoughts are not holy, My body isn't a temple It's not a sacred space It's tender flesh and a fragile spine, It's nothing remotely divine, It's belimished skin and visible markings, I know there is solace in metaphors, in similes, in saying things not as they are but as what they're like,  in trying to compare what you can't understand to what you do, Maybe only then it will make sense, Trying to simplify it, pulling threads and tying ends and loosening knots, trying to make it look familiar, But it is almost never accurate, Words are just letters, More times than not they hold little to no significance. Little to no reassurance, little to no validation, Sorry , a half hearted apology Always met with sincere acceptance. 
Read more

The apartment

-
 When I think about my ideal house. I think wide balconies,  I think penthouse,  I think small yet not claustrophobia inducing.  I think roomy but not huge.  I think large but just enough to house two people and a pet, preferably a cat.  I think walls, muted yellow and forest green,  I think walls that you can pin me against and kiss me. I think walls, unlike the ones I keep around my heart, that aren't prone to crumbling at any hint of tenderness. I think walls I can hang up pictures of us. Crappy art I make and posters of your favorite things. I think of walls that have ears but never heard screaming or anger, I think of walls that have never witnessed disappointment.  I think of warm nights and cool breeze and long hugs and affection unaccounted for. 
Read more

The Quest.

-
I know regret when I see it, I spot it easily on your grey blotted aura. It glistens through your bloodshot eyes,  the windows of your soul, one glance is more than enough to recognize it. You have taken it upon yourself to seek redemption, From things you have no control over, but it never hurts to try. The sought after resurrection of what have been long dead will drain you, yet, you carry on, with a broken compass and a useless map, determined to revive what was once alive, reclaim what was once yours, But you can't seem to find it. That missi ng thing. You tell yourself that you've got nothing to lose and maybe Just maybe This time there will be a different outcome. A lie you cradle along with the truth. And when you go back to where you started, You swallow your pride and  disappointment, Like splinters of wood,  But your insides are lined with sandpaper, your spine is made of steel, and none of it longer fazes you.
Read more