At least you're happily married.
Maybe it's all just a test.
Have you thought about changing your diet?
You'll just have to have lots of sex.
At least you can still go on dates.
Remember you're both very young.
Make the most of it while you still can.
Pregnancy isn't much fun.
Sometimes parenting sucks.
You've got enough on your plate.
Weekends are ruined by kids.
Perhaps it's a good thing to wait.
I've heard there are pills that can help.
At least you can sleep through the night.
Perhaps it's not the right time.
It looks like you're coping alright.
It took us a year to conceive.
I can see why you feel so depressed.
I know you've been trying for longer.
The main thing is not to get stressed.
Your condition is really quite common;
I've got it and so does my friend.
God blessed me with two healthy children -
It'll all work out in the end.
I wonder, sometimes, how the world can have so many secrets.
Perhaps, I would be happier if I was ignorant. If you, and everyone else, did not come, whispering into my ear...
fears, lies, the wrongs of the past, your deepest insecurities
Perhaps it is my face that makes you - all of you - trust me.
Or perhaps it is the way I blend easily in the background, the way I speak up only rarely.
I know enough secrets for a life time; plenty enough to drown in.
Some of them, granted, learned from behind a door, listening, but
most freely given.
You say you can trust me, that's nice.
'Fact, it's enough to make me smile.
I think I'll still keep the secrets to myself, though, even if I return the sentiment. And yeah, I do.
Sometimes, see, it's less of a burden not to know, than to see everything so clearly, and be so utterly helpless...
i'll still keep all the secrets, though, don't you worry -- exhausted of it though I maybe, i still know how to keep my mouth shut, how to help out when i can...
there is a tumour
in the right hemisphere of my brain
and it's filled with the words I do not say
a mixture of perfect late responses and bitten tongues
L'esprit de l'escalier
Bitten bloody tongues
every time an interaction with you turns sour, this part of my brain
I feel it, I feel it
and it grows
and the heat
goes straight to my eyes and I tear up
'why the fuck am I doing this'
I sit a debate for 10 minutes of how painful my metaphorical scalpel would feel ridding me of our cancerous interactions
and then I distract myself with laundry
Accomplished fingers stroking the strings
Vibrating the air, adjusting the stiffness
Ribs of willow securely placed between my knees
Enbowed and concaved
The amplification like ,embroidered words
The flawless cello harmonious
As I grieve the instrument , I weep
to fall in love with a poet.
How strange it would be
writers of darkness who share their nonsense
in passionate form.
I'd fall in love with a poet
to dream with her
of what could be.
Oh to dream,
of one who understands me.
Is it you miss poet,
is it you
who understands me?
Let her go
because all that hurt isn't worth it
and we both know that
you're only holding on a ghost
she already left months ago
How can you call it love when
you've been hurt over and over again
Aren't you tired
of the same act that she plays
she's not even a good actress
Aren't you tired?
You deserve happiness
and admit it you won't ever find it with her
I hope that you realize your worth
don't waste your love on her
Don't settle for what is given,
for what is convenient,
for what is easy.
011017 / 9:51 pm
this is an open letter
and i pray you never find it
because sometimes you just fail to see how deeply i feel things
i don't think i give you enough credit for being there for me and putting up with my shit,
so here's an official thank you
i ask myself very often, why was i drawn to you?
why can't i tolerate others for minutes but can talk for hours with you
i secretly wish things would've worked out between the two of us
i secretly wish we give it another try
but i guess it is what it is and spilled ink over my pages can't explain that
my friends think i deserve better,sometimes i think i do too
they think you act like a jerk and don't value me
maybe they are right
sometimes i curse myself for thinking so much about you,
antagonize myself because i care too much about you
i like my choices and i hope you like yours