Everything begins with I,
Impulsivity and Indecisiveness.
These two words go together, my
Impulsivity and Indecisiveness.
They make me say or not be able to,
Impulsivity and Indecisiveness.
They usually come in a pair, the two,
Impulsivity and Indecisiveness.
I know that they will go away,
Impulsivity and Indecisiveness.
But some days they just flood my brain,
Impulsivity and Indecisiveness.

Decisions are kind of a funny concept. Some people believe that everything happens for a reason. Others believe that each decision has a domino effect on other parts of life. Have you heard of the butterfly effect? This idea believes that every decision leads to various outcomes, and that there are multiple paths a person can take. I like to agree with this statement.

Decisions are what make a person. At least, they're what show a person's character...

I observe ordinary character on a regular basis. I work at a liquor store in a town of roughly three-thousand people. I know the regulars by name, and I can tell who's had a rough day or who is excited for the weekend by what they purchase. I know when Barb is furious at her husband because she buys two liters of *** and the smokes he hates. I can tell when Dave is on good terms with his fiance because he skips the Fireball and heads straight for his 24-pack. Bob... is really just Bob. He comes in and buys a liter of coke, a liter of Bacardi, and a pack of Marlboro reds every day at 4:30 on the dot. Each of these regular's decisions display part of their character. Many of their purchases can be influenced by their emotions... but what part of life isn't?

You're probably wondering when I'm going to get to my point. That'll be a couple hundred words further. You of all people know how great I am at ranting.

How is my minimum-wage job connected to decisions and character? That's a good question. Each decision leads to a specific outcome. These decisions are based on the character of a customer. Their character is displayed in their decisions at my dead-end job. Anyway, back to your decisions.

Decision Making
Relationships are basically a hurdle of decisions. Deciding how to sleep together. Deciding the best way to kiss despite the height difference. Deciding what to say when meeting the in-laws. Deciding when to say "I love you". It's decision after decision after decision.

I like to think that each decision can lead to various outcomes. For example, if I would have never lost my virginity to a one-night-stand and cried about it to the girl living across from me, I would have never met you. So, if I waited to take off my clothes or if I cried about it to my roommate instead, this last year would have gone a lot differently.

I'm beginning to work my way to your decisions. First, let me state that you were the most indecisive person I have ever met. You were passive. You were lukewarm. You were flat. You were only certain on one thing: your admiration for college basketball.

I have to admit that you were decisive on your verdict to be with me... for a time. I guess I have to give you a little credit. You weren't all bad. There was a lot of good in you. But, there was a lot of rottenness underneath your tall, dark, and handsome physique.

The Beginning of the End
You decided to avoid a decision from the very beginning. Sure, it was me that you wanted. I mean, I was great. I still am. I may be biased, but I don't care. You wanted me... but you didn't want the price-tag I came with.

What did I tell you from the beginning? Let me refresh your memory. We were sitting on a lime green couch in the lobby of our college. It was close to midnight and I was exhausted but didn't want to be without you. I told you that I expected you to:

1. Be honest.
2. Be faithful.
3. Pursue me.
4. Make me a priority.

I didn't ask for much. I was searching for... Oh, I don't know, a relationship that sounded pretty standard in my terms. I wanted something serious, but that doesn't mean that I wasn't looking for fun or liveliness. These requests were normal, in my mind.

I then asked you if you would choose me over your mother. I knew you were close to her... and I hadn't met her yet. Also, for some reason, I already had a feeling that she despised the thought of me, and the idea of her little man bringing a girl home... (God forbid she have a brain on her head).

I didn't want to be tantalizing. I believe I am gentle in nature. But, if everything worked out, I wished to be the number one woman in your life... not your mother. I restated my question after a few beats and you continued to ponder the thought. After a few seconds you told me, "No, probably not. But I might change. I want you." That should have stopped me in my tracks.

But it didn't. We were together for about a year since that night. We kept things quiet for a few months before becoming "official" or whatever. Your decision or avoidance should have sent me running... and it did... to you.

I think part of myself knew that I deserved better. Also, part of myself believed that there was beauty in maltreatment. But, I saw potential in you. You were my best friend.

You were... I was in love with you.

I was willing to fight for us. I was willing to fight for you. I was willing to battle it out... and I saw myself coming out victorious, like the warrior I truly am... but, you were a battle lost from the very beginning.

Whatever "Fighting for Me" Looked like to You
Things got worse when confusion arose between your mother and I. She thought I was sleeping with you (when I wasn't). There was a lot of yelling... most of it was in Spanish. I was scared. I was petrified. She believed I was ******* up her perfect son. This put us on unsteady ground.

This was also the first time I saw you cry.

It was a battle between what she wanted and what I wanted. She wanted me out of the picture. I wanted you to stand up for me, and to stand up for us.

You chose me. This would be the one and only time I came out as the number one priority. I believe this was because you were over three hundred miles away from her piercing eyes and thin lips. It was easy to put us first when she wasn't there to "knock some sense" into her son.

Your mother didn't speak to you for months. She was furious. She was angry. Her dislike toward me grew with every passing day.

Letting the Bruises Heal
For the next six months, things seemed to get better. We fought but made up. We talked of the future while understanding that we were still young. We grew as lovers and as friends. We made promises and kept them.

But, the semester was ending. The snow was gone and the grass was nowhere near green. Three months of separation were just around the corner and I knew of the trials to come. I also knew that if we could make it through the summer, that we could last. That is, if we could make it with your bitter mother by your side.

Seperation Leads To...
Three months of fifteen minute phone calls every once in a while dragged on. I was patient with you. We were both working our tails off. I was taking summer classes. You spent any and all of your extra time off working for your dad or training for soccer preseason. Still, I was patient.

We saw each other twice during the summer. Those days were some of my happiest within this past year. Distance really does make the heart grow fonder. Those first moments of seeing you were like revelations. All of the time away made sense. The eight hour drive to see you made sense. We made sense.

It was during your stay at my house when I realized I didn't want to be with anyone else. Ever. It was the first time you told me you were in love with me. I felt the same. We didn't just love one another, we were in love.

It was during my stay at your house, a few months later, when I realized things were heading south.

Temptation
We fought. We fought a lot during the month before I drove to Wisconsin. It was almost daily. Somehow we made up... somehow. You were stressed and I was anxious. I was anxious and afraid.

But, I came down to see you, nonetheless. Most moments, I believed we were healed. We could conquer anything. Others... I knew your mind was elsewhere.

Although, when we said goodbye, I believed we were true. You made me a promise I was sure you would keep. Our goodbye was the second time I would see you cry.

Looking back, I think I know why. You were tempted. You were more than tempted.

Decisions and Indecisiveness
The day after I got back home, you said you "wanted to take your promise back".

Two days after that, you left home to go to a camp I knew nothing about. You "couldn't take your phone" but I knew better than that.

We went an entire week without talking. And I knew something was wrong. I had never felt so sick in my life.

You eventually returned home from camp. But, it took you two days to respond to me. Once you finally called me, you told me you "couldn't do this right now". Then you hung up. That's when I knew it was over.

I was furious. I was jealous. You were tagged in pictures on social media with a few girls in particular.

1. Phones were allowed.
2. You were awfully close to one girl.
3. You were lying through your teeth.

We met up on campus a few days later. I had a list of questions that just about vanished into thin air when I saw you. You were ruggedly handsome... And I was still in love with you.

You greeted me with a hug. I just about cried.

You explained to me that your parents gave you an ultimatum. It was me or college. Stay with me, and college was out of the funds for you. Break things off with me, and college would be paid for. You told me you chose college.

You explained how you "needed to do this for yourself".

You also told me you didn't love me anymore.

You decided against me.

The Entire Truth
I was confused. I was heartbroken. Nothing made sense. It was like you gave me a puzzle that was missing more than half of the pieces. I spent the next month trying put the thing together. I came up with one single solution... but I didn't want to believe it.

My hypothesis rang true through a friend. I believed you cheated on me. Yes, I was sure your parents pulled their big levers; but I believed you were hiding information from me. You were.

I can't go into the details because I don't know all of them. In fact, I probably never will. I've ran through every scenario a thousand times in my head, and I still come up short.

All I know are your decisions. Your decisions show your character. Your character is flawed. Your decisions broke a large part of me. I am still attempting to put myself back together.

Out of all of your indecision, out of months of tug-of-war, you were so decisive on leaving. You were set on cheating. If anything, I wish I could ask you why.

Why did I always seem to come up short? Why wasn't I good enough for you? Why did you choose money, college, and your family over me? Why did you choose her over me?

So many questions I will never get closure on.

Deciding to Decide
I have moved on... for the most part. There are still days (like today) when I miss you more than anything. But, I am stronger. I am certain that I was good enough for you, even if you couldn't see it. I am also certain that you were the first person I was truly meant to be with.

Remember when I mentioned the butterfly effect? I know that different decisions lead to various outcomes. We have the choice. We decide where our life goes (or we choose indecision).

Your decisions led to a different life. A life without me.

And I think, as of right now, I'm okay with that.

Indecisiveness**
            enough as it is,
I stay in the confines of my comfort,
choices I begun to prolong.
Waiting for something
probably won’t come.

I walk back and forth,
And climbing ladders  
             - up and down,
       an unchanging routine
    draining the life-force
         of my pretend smile.
Sluggishly the plot-holes
       starts to appear
   messing the careful laid-out script
                 I master to act.
Barriers starts to crack, little by little
I gather the courage
   to put the imaginary duck-tape
   to hold them together
       a little while longer
until the final choice, is made sure
without fear and hesitation.

The intermittent, distant rumbling in the skies was suggestive of chronic flatulence. The sun struggled in futility to shine – like a crying child who had been forced to smile. Lightning flashed in quick successions, momentarily throwing brilliant streaks of white light across the room. The angry growl of thunder that followed was enough to send a troop of Howler monkeys scampering for safety.

The lights flickered as though unable to make up their minds to stay or not to. But apparently, the wind had zero tolerance for such petty indecisiveness. And like an enraged, stimulated, demented animal, it gusted through the windows and doors, hauling loose papers, light bulbs in every direction, shattering the bulbs to smithereens, as if to punish them for being so fickle. The lights died.

Thick black blankets eerily stretched across the skies with gusto, menacingly extinguishing whatever was left of the sun’s brilliance. More rumbles and flashes followed in royal herald of the impending storm. And in no time, slick sheets of rain torrentially came pouring down, cascading the roofs to form puddles almost as soon as they hit the ground.

​I looked in horror, fervently praying that whoever God had appointed to build the ark in our time had not diverted the funds. I was trapped in the office, and I knew exactly what this meant…flood, scarcity of buses, hiked transport fares, heavy taffic and very likely, at least one month of blackout.
It would be another three hours of steady downpour before the rain eventually stopped, as gracefully as it had been ushered in.
I picked up my bag, rolled up my trousers in earnest anticipation of the inevitable flood, and made my way home.

​To my utter bewilderment, there were no floods! The lights from the street lamps cast a soft golden glow on the slick roads, seemingly creating mirages of pools of water from afar off. But they were mere illusions. The gurgling sound coming from the underground drainage was proof of where all the water had gone. It was a strange sight. Like some alien cyborg from space had been fiddling with a time machine that had accidentally propelled us twenty years into the future.

My new world was a three-fold utopian dream. So surreal!
I could see beautiful, high-rise, state of the art edifices with mind-blowing architectural designs that blatantly seemed to defy the laws of gravity. I could see world-class hospitals that admitted ailing dignitaries from around the world and top-notch schools that offered scholarships to deserving indigenous and international students.
Sure enough, this was Nigeria! The Nigeria we all dreamed of.

And there was light…electricity! - In myriad of colours that seemed to have been dispersed from several colossal disco ***** via *“wireless fidelity” technology. I strained to hear the noise from generators, but I was disappointed. I couldn’t even hear the all too familiar cacophony of horns blaring, conductors shouting, loud discordant music, rattling vehicle engines etc. It was like everyone and everything had taken a crash course on orderliness.

I saw a vibrant transportation system that included high speed railway lines, paved road networks that looked like a child’s doodles, first-class air strips and efficient sea transportation.
I saw a working government - one that had provided the critical infrastructure for her people.

I saw a nation with a large industrialized economy, where the dividends of democracy had been delivered to the people by their government. One consciously founded on equity and honesty of purpose, and courageously sustained by unfaltering faithfulness and unwavering patriotism.      
A nation whose economic boost did not come solely from crude oil exploration and production, but also from crude oil refining, agriculture, manufacturing, infrastructure, food, services, tourism, automobiles, transportation, education etc.
A nation that thronged with international investors from all walks of life, who were not in the least afraid to invest in her.

And then, I saw her people. A people proud of their citizenship.
A people proud to be called NIGERIANS.
A people who were not given to religious, political, or tribal bigotry.
A people who individually and collectively, gallantly bore the torch of the vision of their heroes past.
A people who earnestly and persistently worked to see only goods “Made in Nigeria” sold in their markets.

Where there was once despair, I saw hope. Where there was once fear, i saw security. Where there was once disgruntlement, I saw satisfaction. Where there was once poverty, I saw wealth opportunities and where there was unemployment, I saw jobs. Death had given way to life and life to hope.

I started, as I felt something cold and wet trickle down my forehead. It was droplets of rain from a leak in the roof just above my head. I was still in my office, I never left. The rain had lulled me to sleep. Even more sadly, I realized it had all been a dream.
Slowly and regretfully, I packed my things and left for home. It was pitch black outside as I carefully waded through the polluted waters, jauntily holding my bag, more because I was afraid to lose it in the flood than in a hopeless bid to dignify the situation.

Two hours later, I crawled into bed. I did not have to turn the lights off…the electric poles had gone for a swim. A very long one.


© ONUGHA EBELE VICTORIA

My head is confused
By the actions of my heart
Indecisiveness
Nothing is certain anymore
Chase two balloons and lose both

The elephant in the room
has taken a liking to the indecisiveness
of its patronage

Unsure words
to match unsure feelings
Fear of what lies ahead
blurred by whats behind
Uncomfortable experiences, they're new to me
You want someone, but cant be sure
if its worth the risk
So you hide behind a veil of indecisiveness
waiting, hoping, for them to open you up
with the key to your heart
but you never gave it
so they leave
and all your left with
is sobbing what ifs
and whys

All your left with now
is what was buried underneath the lies
you fed yourself

Indecisiveness kills

~
She stands on the roof of the world, a ship in a bottle. She likes to wave at passing boats, inviting 120 volts to raise their sails.

Words unbosomed -- her attempt of blotting out the sun and those bloodletting habits.

Her eyelids say, "Only the disquieting muses have time for me." So she writes like an umbrella, shading reality; remembering pluck and luck stories about bumblebees, lovingly wrapped in Tiffany-blue ribbon and paper.

Father used to solve her every contemplation. Now indecisiveness in what she asks. Now indecisiveness in arbitrary tasks.

And she and her negative capability are the last two awake at a slumber party, giving commonplace words the allure of secrecy.

You see, she is only harmless when she sleeps.
~

All that was left was fog
Which made the mundane task
Of looking down
To see your foot print in the soil
An arduous task
And it was all too frustrating
Such a simple task made to be impossible
Without vision
There was nothing
How do you step forward
When the ground beneath you
Cannot be seen
And the fog never ceases to roll in
Forever making the world
A blurry mystery
And mystery can be good
When taken in small doses
While following the exact instructions
Written out for you on the bottle
But not when it becomes all you know
Where is the sliver of truth
You can cling to
As an anchor
When everything starts
Spinning around
There is no solace
In indecisiveness
This coming from the girl
Who never even had
A fantasy future job
As a child
To  be a princess or a lawyer
Because making any finite decision
Was too much
So yes,
I know
I understand more than I hope to.

For all of the things I know,
there are billions I don't.
So when I say I don't know,
whether I want to be with you,
always know,
the indecisiveness is deafening.

window leaning on an old book the cold winter air
spilling into the room like it has been waiting for years
for this moment, starless sky and illuminated hands
colored blotches speaking in the hushed tone of
unobtrusive shades
there is a single cigarette packed away in the stories
and trinkets, it is whispering sweet nothings
in my ear

and you
you have been lurking in the hallways
your hands, thumbprints, lips
etched into the window glass
so every time i look to see the world
you will be there

Your bittersweet presence
brushes chalk dust across my skin
because i desire you here
but i think that is all

The night approaches swiftly, like a tiger on the prowl,
As the night moves forward you can hear the hoots of Great Horned Owl.

The hours pass by and the clock keeps on ticking,
And here I lay on the couch just thinking.

In my time of relaxation I pondered and I thought,
Is the path that I’m on a wise one or not?

Hour after hour I begin to feel sleepy.
So I rush to my bed, relaxed, until I feel something beneath me.

In a rage the room turns pitch black, with flashes of red and yellow.
And in a panic I jump off my bed and run like a crazed fellow.

The door slams shut and my panic becomes deeper,
Until I hear the voice of a mysterious twisted creature.

“He says be wise with decisions that are made with haste,
You would never want a fortunate opportunity to go to waste.

Never feel forced to be on time with what you choose,
Because it will not be the respect of others, in which you lose.

Indecisiveness is wisdom, which with time will bloom,
So from here on out do not spend your days in gloom.

If these words are not followed, a different life you shall live.
A life in which you are selfish and refuse to charitably give.

One that is chronological and filled with bland affairs,
A life that is careless and lacking in truths or dares.

In the blink of an eye light pours in from spontaneous lightening,
And in a matter of seconds this all feels more frightening.

I turn to open the door, but the door will not open,
Scared for my life, I scream “This isn't the path I have chosen.”

As I lift my head up and turn around, the monster in no longer there,
At last my room is filled with light, it was all just an insightful nightmare.

buried by my thoughts
yours came to visit again
the warmth of your chest
the deepness of your breath
all came back to me
like a crashing wave so strong
I'm drowning below the surface

down here
I want to trace your hands
whisper in your ears
and put it all behind us
hear the gentle strokes of your mind
painting the love you bear for me
curl up into the depths of your soul
so you can always protect me

why is it when I say your name
it pierces my ears
and I feel pain through my whole body
why is it that despite rationality
this doesn't seem rational
and indecisiveness takes over me

I can't seem to articulate this feeling
but I haven't forgotten
and I never will
and with a heavy heart
a heavy mind
and soul
I'm so sorry baby,
but we must have unfinished business

a.s.

I can't define you,
As you are more than just a word to me,
You picked me up when I was down,
And turned my life around,
I don't what you are to me,
I don't think I ever will,
So I guess I'm just indecisive about you.

Heart torn between two,
I have both and neither now.
My soul can't decide.

So, why is it that life seems to go on without me? It seems like I miss the bus because I hesitate with almost every decision I make. I always try to calculate every possible angle before making a choice, and I take so long to do it, that whatever opportunity I might've had disappears. Or, I make the wrong decision and pine over it like a dog licking its wounds.


When it comes to things I should think about before I jump into them, that's when I don't think. I just do it. I think that route is more risky, but I can't get past square one with the first option of thinking it all out. On the other hand, my decision-making process doesn't have to be dichotomistic either. There are more than two ways to think things through. I think it's just been really hard for me to find a balance because I tend to go back and analyze the results of my actions regardless.

Needless to say, I second-guess a lot. and third and fourth guess. Indecisiveness is one of my weaknesses. And yet, if you take me shopping I can be in and out of 10 stores in an hour and come out with exactly, and only what I went in for.

sigh

Emotional/life decisions are where I have problems. People can't help make those for you, and you have to deal with the consequences because you're the one who chose to put yourself through it. Maybe that'll be one of the things I'll get better at when I move off to college.

So many shifting tiles under my feet that I'm not sure where to step. If I second guess, the tile under me may shift and I'll fall. But then the one that I jump onto may also move before I step onto it.

Swinging on a pendulum
back and forth and again and again
Forever wandering in the hallways of monotony
Paralysed by my own indecisiveness
perhaps I should pause
before I dive in.....
Into the wilderness of reality

You know what you want deep down
there are just too many thoughts
clouding your vision
and you end up stumbling
over your choices
falling
into a state of discontented confusion
desperately grasping
at threads of coherent plans
it's all so overwhelming
when it's shoved inside your head
but if you have to write out a list
of pros and cons
it's probably not really what you wanted
anyway

Neither an optimist nor a pessimist
What an inner indecisiveness
I am reminded of the ocean
Flowing
Never fixed
A bottle is no place for the sea
You were not meant to be contained
Craving the freedom of your salty home

“pinky promise you’ll be there for my play?”

i don’t do pinky promises.

“why not?”

I don’t make promises that i can’t keep. because a broken promise is just about as bad as a broken tequila bottle shoved into the soft spot just below your ribs.

“…what?”

speaking of tequila, let me tell you why i don’t do pinky promises.
it was a few falls ago, three if you really want to get technical.
i’d come down to visit you on a weekend instead of staying home to study like i should’ve been.
it was eleven to eleven. 

drunk. dear gods we were drunk. we’d just stumbled out of the greasiest mexican restaurant i’d ever eaten in. 
but hey. the margaritas were cheap, and more importantly, they were the only place in the area that would serve to minors. They even included a free shot of tequila when you asked for your check, that went down with similar smoothness to the way my debit card slid through the reader and emptied my bank account a little more.


but yes. you and i were drunk. and as we strolled down fifth avenue i-

“me?”

No, i mean her. not you.

“who is ‘her?’”

that’s not important. do you want me to tell the story or not?

“whatever…”

anyways. as we strolled down sixth avenue i-

“i thought it was fifth avenue?”

Can you not?

“sorry….”

as we strolled down whatever the **** avenue it was, i couldn’t tell my feet from the concrete because the street lamps tinged everything an odd warm shade of brownish orange.
to stop myself from falling i reached out and wrapped my arm around your shoulder. 

I can still feel the fur from your coat brushing on my cheek.
you didn’t protest, and i sure as hell wasn’t going to stop.
we were drunk. and talking. 
talking about nonsense, about school, about our grades, about boys… 
it’s funny that if we talked for long enough, without a doubt, our conversation would drift to the subject of love.

You knew that I liked you. back then i thought you just liked to torture me. 

we stopped at the burning open palm of the street light before us. 
i stopped you mid-sentence. 
‘i could love you better’.

after those five words left my lips i suddenly wasn’t very drunk anymore.
 
silence. 

there was no turning back now,  so i had to just roll with it. 

‘you waste all of this time on these boys who do nothing but hurt you…. but i’ve loved you for years now. you and i both know that you deserve better. that i would be better. every single time you come up in conversation with my old friends or my parents they ask whether or not we’ve finally gotten together or not. what’s stopping us?’

You stared at me for a long time, saying nothing, but it didn’t take a psychic to see the indecisiveness and longing and anxiety and fear swirling inside of you like your unmentionables in your Maytag.


“I guess i don’t really have a good reason. it’s just…. awkward, you know?” 

She paused. I tried not to betray any emotion with my face. 

"I'll cut you a deal. if in two years, we aren't seeing anybody... we'll give 'us' a shot." 

Not quite the answer I was looking for, but it was better than a flat out 'No'. little did I know at the time that they were essentially the same thing. 

I stuck out my pinky finger.

'Pinky promise?'
"Pinky promise”, she replied.

We locked eyes, locked pinkies in an embrace, and seconds later the ghostly white of the pedestrian walk signal shone down on us. 

We broke our gaze and walked off into the night.

That was three years ago, and it’s probably safe to say that we won’t be taking that shot.
I don’t hold it against her. But i learned through three years of waiting not to make promises that you can’t or don’t intend to keep.

I was never your protector, you abused my stoic nature
Madcap ****** for days on end, and copious substances, abused
The blaring music, disturbing the peace, rattling windows
and you dismantled my structure, and yours alongside it
I am just a house

I was never the crutch you needed, nor was I a friend
Remember those long nights on the town with raving girls
and you were irate when I fell to the floor; rich man's art piece
Now you snivel and scratch because you flushed me in haste
I am just *******

Pair me up with old white friends in speedball imprudence
Meticulous measurements in early days but you grew reckless
Now your ghastly macabre silhouette on back alley walls
Is all that remains in this dead town that you still saunter in
I am just ******

You put too much emphasis on me, to defend the sentient
and you stare me down on the kitchen table, questioning
You hold me close and I feel your brow, indecisiveness
and now I'm caressing your temple; bemoaning barrel
I am just a gun

You sit and attribute voices to the voiceless and inanimate
because for years you have repressed your depression
When you should have asked for help and not escapism
and today you end it all, alone and weeping for something you know not what
I am just your psyche

I was born into chaos, lived through chaos, and later on, sometimes openly welcomed chaos into my life.
Call me the anti-freud, but I don't blame my parents.
They left me locked by key in my own bedroom long enough to know my decisions from then on, and the implications would all be my own.
I was the pioneer for my own future, a regular Matilda.
I learnt to pick locks at eight years old. I got myself in and out of bad situations. Even if it meant hiding for a prolonged period of time afterwards.
Hiding isn't always the cowards way, waiting out situations with a large bag of dolly mixtures and Pokémon cards in the woods has gotten me out of a lot of ****. Hiding long enough to be reported missing to the police, and having people realise they'd rather have me alive and hyper as ******* e-numbers, than hate me for hiding from negative consequences for too long.
I've always been a **** bag. An absolute **** bag.
I ran away from home more times than i'd had hot dinners accompanied by prayers there.
I made no attachments, I had this inner indecisiveness, the ability to choose what was worst for me, on a complete whim.
It's scary, being so impulsive at a young age. One minute i'd be sat on the school bus on the top deck, minding my own business, and the next, I would look down and my ******* would be stuck up at the school teacher making sure we didn't break our own ribs trying to get on it.
Then i'd give a false name.
I had a foul mind. So much that I used to have to write down curse words, and throw the incriminating pieces of paper behind my wardrobe. My mum eventually found them, she knew just how much 'passionate' a child she'd bore after that.
I got used to the taste of soap thereafter, let's put it that way.
I'd always hated the idea of marriage before my parents even divorced, I dismantled my mother's eternity ring some years before, pushing the remaining contents down the sink. Little did they know their marriage would follow it shortly after.
There's things that happened in that house I will never speak of. Like saying the name Voldemort, or Beetlejuice. Far worse childhood nightmares would come from that, realisation.
I used to have this overwhelming urge to see other people's genitals, like it was the window to their soul or something. Looking into their eyes told me nothing, but once i'd gotten into their pants, that was a different story. The unveiling could happen anywhere. Even in aircraft toilets on the way to Disney Land, Florida. I was pushy.
Being a highly sexed child that never spoke, felt completely abnormal. Especially when the only thing I truly found attractive were eyelashes. Which ruled out any gender differences completely. As long as they had good eyelashes, I would follow them anywhere.
Barbie please forgive me for the things I made you do to Ken. I was too young to know.
Being born into this world with nothing but these two people and a couple of generations before them, their job is to guide you. They might not have even wanted you, or later regretted it. But by blood, they're stuck with you for the rest of your life.
They can't send you back to the store for being a defect model, or a little *******. Or else they lose much of their own life to a cell. There's no changing your mind when it comes to family.
But you can choose the five people you meet in heaven.

I could never get a straight answer from her, the words didn’t turn crooked at the edges of her mouth. They just didn’t come out… Her forehead would wrinkle, creating a fold at the delta of her brow and nose. She would close her eyes and occasionally flash those electric blues in my direction. I could not help but admire how beautiful she looked trapped in her own indecisiveness. This woman would be the death of me, but **** it, I loved her, I loved her so much that my unanswered questions would never be enough until she confessed to me, she was in love.

thanks to the basketful of maybe's
i collected
when we were one
it would seem
i'd be well equipped to deal
with the next one's indecisiveness

oh well.

I should apologize for the days I am withdrawn. This is not what you signed up for. I should apologize for when I don't want to speak or communicate with touch or when I want to be without you but also do not. My indecisiveness is appalling: and I should apologize for that. But today I do not want words. I do not want to be felt because I feel you grabbing and pulling instead of caressing and comforting. You have not done anything wrong. I am just mean. I am just inside myself today and when you want to know what is up I want you to accept that I say the sky instead of pressing for more. My thoughts are poison right now. You shake me like a magic eight ball and I keep thinking try again later but saying not likely. I have the capacity to be kind but my words are pinpricks in your chest and every time I claw you with my numbness I inwardly cringe because I don't mean it, I am sorry, and I should apologize. But I can't. I can not bring myself to vocalize that I am not okay because you'll want to help and I don't want to be okay. Not yet. I want to hide in my closet and cry without company. I want time to myself today. But I don't want to hurt you. I am sorry. You are no burden. I am withdrawing. Not from you, but from me. I don't want to be kind, or resilient, or strong today. I just want to fold into myself, I want to be small and insignificant. I am tired of being fun and happy, it's tiring work. I need time to be low without an interrogation. I just want to be empty for a moment. And I should apologize.

I feel like a dying soul,
day by day growing old.
a heart that's shaken,
a heart that can never be taken.
Wavering doubts and fears,
from my eyes you can see tears.
I try imagine a future where there is success,
i try imagine a future where i exceed the rest.
but a future like that can only stay in my imagination,
a future like that eases my frustration.
Indecisiveness takes over my mind,
indecisiveness makes me blind.
what is a future? what is a dream?
are things really what they seem...

There are many things I cannot speak aloud, but writing about my fears, anxiety, and sadness seem to bring me closer to them. Seeing them on paper somehow makes them more real. I don't know why that is. When something troubles me, I seem to bury my words in a hole and cover them. My emotions are too strong and highly strung for me to word them sufficiently at a moment’s notice. My brain is not equipped to process the instantaneous rawness I feel. Wonder what is wrong with me and I will be unable to tell you, my mouth will remain silent. Even though my mind is screaming at me, my tongue will cease to work. I'm unable to voice my thoughts, unsure of the purpose. But writing, seeing my thoughts on paper, allows me to voice my opinions and insecurities with confidence and with purpose.

I have always been private about my grief and my feelings because I did not want to show I was weak. It is a force of habit to keep secrets, a habit I developed long, long ago. I was never one to trust easily, I never let my guard down. I was not always silent, but no one heard me. There was a time when I was a child crying and needing my mother's attention, but I never had the courage to ask for it. I never got to the point where I felt I had the right to ask. The same holds true of me now.

But through my writing I can guide through the rooms of my past. And I can allow you to see the shame and embarrassment on my face as we step around the images of the memories best forgotten. I can pick up the harsh old photo albums full of black and white pictures, faces you have yet to see, words you have yet to hear, memories I have yet to remember. I need help prying open the leather bound covers, seizing together stubbornly, trapping the faces of people and the images of times I try to forget. The photos reveal my family, everyday achievements, insane images that make me recoil, morbid times that fill my eyes with tears.

And as I continue to write my thoughts, I hover at the shrine of those in my life, their own set of memory albums and images project through me. I recount their loss, their story, and salty tears swim down my cheeks. Tears of sorrow and rejection tears of pain and suffering. I sometimes feel my hands tense, my muscles go rigid, I sob in self-pity but then smile remembering that they are just that- memories, never to be relived. At times the air is thick with raw emotion, vulnerability on the highest level.

I don't count myself lucky for all that I have lived and seen. At times I feel all rationality and normalcy slip through my fingers like sand pouring through each digit; the air thick with uncertainty and indecisiveness. And yet, the grass still grows, and the sky is still blue. My words still have meaning and beauty still exists. But my silence overwhelms me, forming words no longer achievable. I should be able to walk away, but the fear of not knowing what may be waiting for me is too much.

As I walk along this road, curves and crossroads slow me down and thoughts of past experiences flash before me, panic settling into my chest. I try to live for today but what about tomorrow? How can I stand tall enough to see the future when the barricades of yesterday haunt me into submission? I step forward, my mind temporarily strong, until the point when the nightmares of the past wash me in dread and nauseating self-doubts. The past creeps up behind me, its cold breathe breathing down my neck, paralyzing me. Occasionally I feel someone grab me and guide me, the grip of their fingers giving me strength and certainty. And spirits are lifted to see beyond my past, and I know where my road leads.

Someone once told me life is about faith and second chances. I believe that. And so I try to keep my eyes focused on the sky so I can see the sun when the clouds separate. Then the torrential rain of my inner turmoil will stop and it will cease to drench me in pain, and I will be dried in a towel of contentment.

Someday......

Where I’m From

I am from mosquito lotion
From Burt’s Bees and soft jazz.
I am from dancing with my grandfather on the wooden floor
(My feet, bare, pink with tiny toes
Stepping on his shiny shoes as we twirled.)
I am from the rainy mornings
The hiding places
Where no one thinks to look,
And I sit and wait - alone but not lonely.

I am from the indecisiveness and good humour
From the boy who owned only wooden shoes and the lady with the diamonds
I’m from forget me nots,
And the kiss me goodnights.
I’m from the hurt knees and Starry Starry Nights
With a special dedication to you
And I’ll believe in what I want to, thank you very much.

I am from the middle seat to the left of the dinner table,
Second-is-best and Jollibee.
From the comfortable silence
To the “authentic” family ghost stories.
The childhood my father gave up to be able to grow up
And support his family.

I am from the crumbly track,
Fastening sharp spikes on the bottom of my shoes,
The jumpy nerves as I approach my starting block.
From the thump of my heart, my shoes slapping the ground in a rhythm I know so well.
From the rush, the thrill of crossing that finish line.
Watching the day surrender to night, my team stands beside me.
And still I am running

On my shelf I keep a blank notebook
Waiting to be filled with secret fears, adventures and bigger-than-life dreams.
No one knows it exists.
If they find it, they’ll know I want to escape.
I am from these fitful nights,
The toss and turn but don’t wake me ups.
The wanting to be a dream catcher, not just a dream passerby.
In dreams I find no one molding me for a legacy, for a perfect GPA, for a successful future;
Complete control.

I sit on top of my rooftop
eating honey and smelling flowers
wishing on the stars and the
cracks in the pavement
for a chance to become a bee
if you want to give up, go ahead
I'll try to pick up the
pieces as best I can
but just know I'll
always put myself first
besides of course
when I put you before everything else
which will happen fairly often
if not always
but other than that
it's about me
I know you are sick of my
indecisiveness and irritability
and I know nobody thinks that I
notice when I start to spin out
but I really can feel the difference
in the same way
I can tell what color a rose
is by the way it smells
and the gender of the
bee by the way it stings
on my pessimistic days
I can tell if a rose is dead
by how bad the thorns
make my fingers bleed
there are talents behind
this shaking knee
and inability to sleep
ones you will never see
If you are having a bad day
I can try to help it turn around
but just know once I start
I'll never stop
x

I do not fit
between straight lines
and words that twinge
metallic and cold
as they strike notes
upon my open mind
and upturned palms.

I do not fit between
cities that shriek,
burning inexplicably
and wide open spaces
that stretch repetitively
on past your periphery.

I do not fit between
envelope folds
and crisp little notes,
crying at all the indecisiveness
of my worn edges.

I do not fit between
blue skies that mean nothing,
and a white hot sun
burning holes in it,
overexposing this bleached
and silent landscape.

I do not fit between
tightly packed cubicles
and hungry eyes.

My body moves about
with marionette precision
as the mind screams
with contempt
cool and sharp as glass,
white hot and fleeting,
lustfully arcing
into a shadow of identity.

The crack starts beneath my feet,
weaves down the street,
ends in a shadowed horizon
Bleak
I'm five slips away from some sort of leap
One breath per beat, beat,
beat.
Small steps. Indecisiveness surfaces from the stream. Time trickles.
The river is behind me, I want to jump backwards.
Flip. Finally. Face up, **** up, fall. Fail. Flail. Fight. Faster. Faster.
Whispers echo across rocks.
Whines like sirens

My fingertips are encased in firelight
What have these hands seen?
They dance so freely

Fright in the form of leaden limbs
at the center of a maze
I want the water to take me away


Spinning blindly. Take a risk? Make a bet?
What are the stakes?
Cracks in my bones, fatigued from falling.
What's gonna break?

Eyes are unfocused, the world is a blur, my mind is a haven.
Heaven is a trap.
There is no map.
There is no road.
There are no rivers, no streams, no rocks, no echoes, no moments to take with me as I continue to fall.
Time never stopped.
Time never started.
I never stood still.


Take what you will

16.**
What a small weight for the most important gas,
that is keeping us alive.
I was 16 when I realized that my mom
had forever been my biggest supporter.
I was 16 and I was still holding my fingers crossed behind my back,
hoping that Santa was real.

I'm the hidden meaning behind good reasons
that have paved the way toward bad choices.
For I have realized, sitting silently in the corner,
that we are all forced to realize our
own self destruction.

Like the building and the wrecking ball,
of which I am often both.

I am your overspoken words and unsaid thoughts.

I am not the beautiful bare trees in the winter,
but instead I am your poisonous dinner.

I am the passion behind tears
and the emotion behind screams.

I am the thoughts that keep you up at night,
and your cold, bare feet.

I resemble a constant string of avoidance and indecisiveness.

I am your dewy eyes and groggy voice at 7:30 in the morning.

I am nothing but a blinking statue.

I am 16 years worth of unanswered questions.

Yet in 16 years will all I be is
another 16 years older?

I am the epitome of drowning without water,
and not to spoil the ending for you,
but I still have 16 years worth of faith,
that everything will be okay.