When I write,
I write with too many words:
When I speak, try to express myself,
I jump from viewpoint to viewpoint -
being unsatisfied with my speech
as though the person is requesting another one
of my long ass, and in those moments, concise poems.
Then I read their faces
as the words flow out of my mouth
like the flow of sweet liberating ink out of my pen -
but sometimes those words build my cage
as they trigger furrowed eyebrows
I said the wrong fucking thing...
now they think I'm fucked up.
my voice drones off,
the amplitude of my vocal sound waves
reach a value so its unheard by human ears -
but I'm sure some bats somewhere
are listening to my words and,
perhaps not shunning me.
But my voice drones off
in my hasty attempt
to retain what's left of my societal facade:
so they don't see me as fucked up,
"slightly messed up" - but I can handle that.
It's better than witnessing everyone deserting you
and watching that one person who publicly shuns you, break you down and humiliate you publicly.
So that you scrap another failed attempt to be human and socialise,
so that you go home and write a poem like this,
so that you hate yourself
and question if there exists a being
who can understand you -
or at the very least,
will allow you
to be 100%
I like her -
But then what?
She said she feels she'll get married to a nerd someday -
She...doesn't like me...
I'm...too stupid to be a nerd...
I'm just really good at last minute studying.
She makes me feel things...
And then my heart stings
Because it's fucking hungry for more
But I just fear she'll find me a bore.
Or is all this part of the game
The distance and public shame?
Or... do you need time?
'Cause waiting's no crime -
But before it's too late,
Can't you give me a sign
That you and my heartbreak won't dine?
I'm so hungry -
there's a freaking black hole in my stomach -
but ignore that...
I didn't come here to write that:
one of my best friends
asked me if I was in love -
Now, I immediately retaliated with...
I can't remember,
but I made it very clear
that I wasn't.
I was trying to describe
the things you made me feel
that made it impossible
for me to have a conversation with you -
because he was mad at me,
we'd been interacting with girls together
and been getting real good with physical interactions,
so he was mad at me.
But as I relived the moment,
the free-falling feeling of weightlessness in my chest,
and the hard and loud pounding of my heart against my chest.
The problem was you were the cause of those physiological changes,
all I did was stare at you
as I felt as though I was perpetually falling
and only heard
the banging of my heart against my rib cage.
And it was triggered by your facial expression -
"Prove your worth" -
it was so upfront
you were beautiful, enticing and threatening
all at the same time.
And I was in a state of paralysis,
feeling so so much
but being unable to express any of those feelings
that you and your tall slender body,
you and your smile,
you and your voice,
not in love with you -
but if you look me in the eyes again like that
I won't let my shyness and my feelings paralyze me -
I'm just gonna make a fool out of myself at the very least:
and on the plus side, your little spastic laugh
is so adorable.
Everything reminds me of you.
You're like a ghost, mum,
Like a ghost
Haunting dark crevices
In my brain.
You're not even dead for goodness sakes.
But memories of you
Are like faceless spectres
Hovering about the circumference of my mind
And when I try to reach out...
When I try to scrutinize the ghostly memories...
I get nothing...
I'll forgive you...
I'll do my best to forgive you -
The stain you put on my soul
Will still be there...
It's permanent -
It's like a mental itch
That just doesn't want to go away...
Did you love me...?
Or am I right to say
In mother-son relationships.
That the months I spent in your womb
And glued to your breasts
Formed... No bonds.
Aren't we supposed to be close?
You and I, mum?
Sometimes I envy my friends -
I'd like my mum to shit on me because I made her wait 1 hour in the parking lot...
I'd like my mum to make my life a living hell, just once in a while by restricting me from going to a party...
Or I'd like her to embarrass me in front of my friends... Because deep down I'll be certain that she loves me.
Mum...why do you haunt me?
I thought you and I were over,
Why do you still haunt me? -
Maybe it's the voices transmitted from the unseen umbilical cord between my navel and your unseen placenta that's taunting me.
Addiction's the puppeteer
And I am his puppet immobilized by fear...
Fear of the torment of Withdrawal
That overheats my brain like the sun of Cal.
Under Withdrawal's hypnotism
I fear opening up due to a friend's criticism...
My brain becomes a swamp of unwanted desires
That starts to excite neurons on my brain's wires.
I check the date... The time... The minute...
They say it takes 27 days to win it -
For me to be liberated from Addiction's unyielding strings
But I feel like that will only happen when my death's bell dings.
That you won't understand
That's why I wanna shrink
When you ask me
To explain myself.
That's why I want to cover up
When your eyes
Start to scrutinize my soul's scars...
To tell you how I got them...
Then I'm forced to lie
And say I love them
To say I don't mind them.
Don't do that to me...
It's so painful
Every damn time
To open up to someone new.
And I don't know why...
I wish I knew why...
But I'm scared
You won't understand me...
Thus putting my suffering to waste.
Because the weight of my past is hard to push over
Just so you don't feel like I'm a stranger to you...
I wish there was another way
You could have your questions answered
Without me having to search through the murky waters of my soul
And realize every damn time how effed up I am -
Isn't there another way
That doesn't involve me
Sharing a monologue of my past?
Isn't there another way...
That doesn't result in me
Shunning my true self...
Hating or fearing my internal shadows
And wishing for normality
Or for you
To stop with the fucking questions?
Running quickly transcended
from an attempt to "keep fit"
To one of my escape routes.
It meant physical distance from family...
Distance from people...
It meant me and my thoughts alone
In the tranquility of my breathing
And feet slamming against different terrains.
Running meant entering
An enclosed musical bubble.
I didn't have to listen to people
Who spit nonsensical vitriol into my ears.
I was free from lying
To ease the conscience of those around me.
Running meant freedom.
From the cages of societal norms...
It meant freedom from the fear
Of never being understood...
It meant freedom
And momentary peace
A certain type of peace
Where my thoughts slow down their pacing,
where they don't bolt about the confinement of my cranium
And demand attention.
I could finally do some introspection
And give some attention
To the dark figures lurking about in my soul
And smile at the faint glimmers of light
The minute good
My dark soul and mind
One of my pills of sanity.