Mostly bitter and angry and full of resentment. A prose poem of three or four different prose poems—I haven't decided yet. To him, and you... always different hims and yous. Unproofread, plenty errors.
- 1 -
I love love.
That same love I embraced like a friend and scorned me and shamed me and made a poet and a writer out of my mother's little lawyer.
That love that turned me into a cynical realist, disgraced and ashamed by the half of me that craved the love that never loved me and mourned the hopeless romantic I was reborn from.
That love that made me want to take the hand of the version of me before love's scorn and tell her that she was beautiful... So that she would not be surprised when she heard it from him, or him or any of the hims that would use it like a bandaid to cover the festering flesh wound they would open with their teeth.
That love that made me a dirty secret. That made me let him fill me with bubbles and other things, but never meet my eyes—but did those other girls know he called me babe and told me how empty he felt when the people around him died?
That love that made my memory sharp like the tongues of those boys who were quick to kiss but slow to care. Made it easy to remember warm hands and sweet words and forget what I deserved.
That love that never loved me back.
- 2 -
I thought I loved you. And you. And maybe even you, sometimes.
I thought I loved you when you called me at two in the morning, said you were dying to hear my voice and asked me to read to you my favourite book. I later learnt you were playing Fifa the whole time.
I thought I loved you when you gently picked up the poem I dramatically threw down a flight of stairs in sheer frustration with myself and how I had scarred the paper with my own madness. You read it once, twice, three times. I counted backwards in my head with my eyes closed as you kept reading. I thought I was falling in love with you.
I thought I loved you, some nights when sleep was far and the air was thick and the heat was high and red was the colour of everything. When your voice, thick like honey and sweet like sugar, lulling me like some low, slow sankey, filtered through the phone.
I thought I loved you when you told me that my jaw ticks when I am angry, and I cover my mouth when I smile, and I never cry where anyone can see.
I thought I loved you when you said you loved me and I figured I should have said it too.
I think I still love you.
I think I always will love you.
So to the boys who I thought I loved, who maybe I actually did, who I thought loved me, who came before, who hurt my friends, who I thought were different, who taught me twice... This is what you made me.
- 3 -
And finally to me, and the others like me.
To my friends who are with guys they are afraid might hurt them. To the girls who are sleeping with guys who don't love them. To girls who have cried themselves to sleep. To girls who are trying to make someone stay. To girls who love love when love doesn't love them back.
On a good day, the thing I like the most about my body is my lips. There is something about the way they're just full enough to balance out my too round face, and how when I smile at my reflection she looks less like a stranger.
I like some of the people these lips have touched, but I also like that these lips stayed closed when they were kissed by the people I didn't like.
I like these lips for the sensitivity they continue to show, even when the rest of me is cold and calloused.
I sometimes like these legs, when they are strong and so am I. I like that though these legs have no mouth of their very own, they tell many stories.
The time I fell off a bike with no training wheels. The burn scar from the hot rubber when I tried to fix a bracelet that I thought would fix a friendship. The healed knee I skinned picking oranges with my grandmother. The tan that tells you that I am a full time student—darkest on the shins, lightest under my socks.
These legs that have carried me like sails carry boats across bodies of water. These legs that will go til they collapse and get back up and go again. These legs whose ache gives me purpose. These legs that will take me across the world.
I occasionally am fond of this hair, though I once thought it was less than worthy because of its texture. It was what I was taught to fear—"too thick, too curly, too hard to comb"—and told to fix. To fix, as if it was broken.
This hair, though, it forgives. It is strong and holds to its texture even when I am unkind. It forgives and reminds me of who I am, even the parts I thought I could change. It is gentle when I try to be patient, but it is resilient when I try to be vicious. It reminds me that it is here to stay. I remind myself that God makes no mistakes and He spent plenty time on me.
The little things I love, part of a whole I appreciate and move towards adoring in its entirety—curves, edges, bumps, lumps and all.
This is why every single culture has a set of values that they teach their daughters and nieces and granddaughters about finding a man gives meaning to your life and it's crap. Like, freshly produced from the rear end of a cow and steaming.
"You haffi go learn to cook or yu nah find a man!"
"Girls who cyaa whine stay single."
"A princess isn't a princess without her prince."
All of this is rubbish.
Look here. I am single. Most of my friends are single. I'm pretty sure only, like, two of my friends are in committed long term relationships. And there is nothing wrong with us. (Okay, maybe there are things wrong with us. But it's not because we're single.)
Firstly, your value is not defined by what someone else values you. A Benz isn't worth fifty dollars just because that's all I have to spend on it. It's still a frigging Benz and I cannot have it just because I want it. I have to frigging be up to its standard. Girls, why can't we believe we're luxury vehicles? Right now, go listen to that Benz Punani song by (I think) Vybz Kartel and pretend he's not just talking about your vagina. Now repeat after me: "I am not an Acura with a Benz sticker. I am a Benz. And you're going to have to earn me." There you go. Some standards.
Secondly, your life does not begin when you have someone to share it with... and this belief is what is keeping you where you are. Assuming that where you are, is stuck. Your life begins when you decide to make investments in your hopes and dreams and passions for yourself. It begins when you decide to live, and this decision doesn't necessarily take place in a relationship. As a matter of fact, it should take place when you're single. When you're single, you have time to be unapologetically self-centred and narcissistic (but just a little bit). It's your time to do things for yourself. And then, when you find someone who you want to share your life with... you'll have a life to share. Taking up a life he brings to you is not sharing a life. Be able to say, I have a love for travel... would you like to see the world with me? (Or so on... whatever's your cup of tea, actually.)
Thirdly, you were born alone and will die alone. You have to learn to be by yourself sometimes. You have to love yourself, nurture yourself, take care of yourself, tolerate yourself, develop yourself and provide for yourself. For the love of God, please do not allow whatever your man brings to the table be all you two have to eat. Go and earn your slice of bread so that, God forbid, he takes the bread out of your mouth, you do not starve to death. Spend time getting a job, building a career, investing in an education, becoming better than you were before. And loving yourself while you go about all of this. It's easier to love someone else and let someone else love you, if you already know how to love yourself.
And finally, I don't know about you and what your beliefs are... but I'm a Christian who believes my God, my Holy Father... is a King. And you know who princesses are? Not the wives of princes, but the daughters of Kings! I am a princess because my father is a King.
There's nothing wrong with being in a relationship... but there is something seriously wrong with believing all your life is good for is being in a relationship. Now go, beautiful princesses, into the world to be wonderful princesses who rescue their idiot princes every now and then.
Everyone just seems to be leaving; to be walking away from you.
I know it's probably an exaggeration so you don't have to fucking tell me, but in the end isn't it just that if you don't leave then you're the one who's always getting left?
It's really just that simple sometimes. Things don't say the same, relationships don't last forever, etc. It really sometimes breaks down to the fact that eventually someone has to leave.
If you're not leaving, then eventually you'll be left.
It just sucks when you're always the one being left, and it's hard leaving all the time.
Currently, I am being left. My friends are moving to new schools, new towns, new countries, new continents. I am telling them all goodbye and waving as they start new chapters and move on with their lives. Day in, day out; I am here. I am saying goodbyes. I am preparing to say goodbyes.
Constant, (noun): A situation or state of affairs that does not change.
As far as the constant that is my life, I am constantly in a state of emotional distress. I am broken, bruised, scared, lonely, pensive, hurt, sad, insecure.
But I refuse to let depression win the fight in a war I wage against myself.
My friends will leave. Boys I like will leave. At the end of the day, I have me... and I need to stop making her my enemy.
I'm gonna call my favourite movie 'Moulin Rouge' for now, considering it's the one that always always comes to mind when I think about favourite movies (plus anything by Nicholas Sparks, but whatever).
The first time I watched Moulin Rouge was many, many years ago. I won't even try and figure out how many years exactly, but I know it's definitely been a while. I was looking for something to watch and flipping through TV channels and it was, just, there.
It was Nicole Kidman in red lipstick swinging to Diamonds Are A Girls Best Friend and then falling, and then it was Ewan McGregor writing about love. It was the innuendo in the scene where he pretends to be the Duke. It was Elephant Love Medley. It was the tango scene. It was... it was everything.
I watched it again, the same day.
And now I just really want to watch it again.
-
Found this list of prompts/challenges on Tumblr. Forty different suggestions of things to talk about. Haven't decided how often to do one, and I'm sure I won't do them all. Some of them are quite personal and I think I might just skip those.
For the love of God, am I to be constantly treated like my brother's understudy?
Tonight, we sat down as a family and went over his report card. First in his class, A average, exceptional grades all around... yadda yadda ya. Far better than I did at his level, with way less effort.
It's just the way the cookie crumbles. I work twice as hard, he does twice as good. It's irrelevant that I came first, tried first. When my parents see my grades, my results... it's a tiny pat on the back - "You could have done better!". By the time my brother steps up to the bar, and his results come around? The whole world cheers for their brilliant boy who makes it all look so damn easy.
It's gonna sound terribly sour and bitter, but I've come to accept that where I stand is on the sidelines. I stand just behind the curtain. Should the star, for any reason, need an understudy to step up and take his place.
I'm obviously not the cute one, the funny one, the good looking one, the smart one.
You see, the terrible, disappointing thing about being in an ambiguous relationship is that some days, you feel like his or her other half. You feel loved, and wanted. Some days what you're doing, what you go through feels worth it. Some days, you're romanced. Some days, you're a lover.
And then some days you're bros and homies and besties. You know you're not anybody's boyfriend or girlfriend. You feel like their friend. It's like you're perpetually being slapped in the face with the slipper of unrequited love. Like you're someone's "just friend".
And then there are dark days. Days when you're neither friend, nor lover. When you don't expect replies to messages. When you don't want to hear their voice and the mention of their name is like a kick to the crotch. Those days, it just hurts. It's being swallowed alive by the insecurity and the instability.
I'm not saying I need to be wifed up by anybody. I'm just not sure how to deal with the constant second guessing and insecurity. Insecurity is always a bad place for me. It's just not fair.
I can deal with avoiding the "So, what are you guys?" and the awkwardness when someone says "You guys would be such a cute couple!" but I dunno how to deal with not knowing what I mean to you.
Recently, I was looking at the image that circulates around the internet of the quote from the Musings: The Tiny Book of Tiny Stories that reads ‘“Well, look who I ran into,” crowed Coincidence. “Please,” flirted Fate, “this was meant to be.”’
I sincerely hope that by turning it into a slightly longer story, I won’t ruin the sheer beauty of it.
-
Coincidence lives a lifetime of serendipity.
He’s twenty three and lives in an apartment with a great view that he got for a steal simply because he bumped into a realtor in the supermarket who gushed about it to him in the line at the grocery store as he paid for his bananas.
He buys two lottery scratch cards on his way home and finds himself $70 richer. Twice. And then he manages to catch the elevator doors the second before they close on their way up to the 72nd floor.
Coincidence really loves his view.
Fate believes in destiny, and isn’t quite sure why she can’t seem to settle down yet.
She’s all about the fortune cookies, and the love at first sight and the kismet. She doesn’t really believe that anything, ever, is an accident.
So she leaves home and heads for work at the nine-to-five she needs to pay the bills, and stumbles into the wrong building out of her own carelessness. They’re holding interviews.
Fate loves her new job.
A club? Coincidence thinks. Well, why not.
Fate really shouldn’t be out this late if she wants to be just-early-enough for her perfect job.
Coincidence doesn’t even like to drink.
Fate is a lightweight.
“Can I have just a Coke please?” Fate tries to say to the bartender, but struggles to be heard over the music. He doesn’t hear her. He shakes his head, and begins to turn to service another, louder, customer.
“Two Cokes,” Coincidence says loudly, his voice perfectly finding a break in the music. The bartender nods and bends to pick two out of the fridge.
Fate runs her finger through the wet ring her glass makes on the wooden counter.
Coincidence dips his head closer, smiling. “Well, look who I ran into,” crowed Coincidence.
“Please,” flirted Fate, “this was meant to be.”
--
I apologise. The continuity in this is so terrible, but I was so bored I had to do something. Even if it is a very bad something. I don’t own the original story. There’s my disclaimer. And my apology.
A special Fathers' Day to the one I love the most, my daddy.
I am a Daddy's Girl by profession (and spoiled rotten), so of course I'm all about that long epistle of a Daddy Appreciation post. (No hard feelings, Mommy, it's just that... well, he's Daddy... and... yeah. I just had to.)
I have very fond childhood memories of Daddy - who let me sit on his shoulders at Disney when I couldn't see the parade, and helped me across the monkey bars and pushed me on swings... but now that parade is called 'life' and he's still the one who helps me to see. Those monkeys bars and those swings? Obstacles that he still helps me across. Things change, but they definitely stay the same.
I have a father who lets me express myself, and loves me because I'm me and that's amazing. A lot of people say they don't truly know who their parents are as people, but I have the pleasure of saying that I know my Daddy as a person. And he's a darn good one.
My Daddy is the best of toughness and the best of softness. He's my rock when I need him to be, but he's also my pillow when I need him to be. I know wherever Daddy is, there's home.
Even when I'm mad at Daddy, I just have to take one good look at him and I'm smiling again. Daddy has an incredible sense of humour (though I don't tell him, because his jokes are really lame sometimes and I'd hate to admit that I'm lame too) and he clearly never grows up, even though he's regretfully getting... old. :(
I'm lucky. No, I'm more than lucky. I'm blessed. I'm so incredibly grateful for the father I have, and I really wish more people could have a father as amazing as mine.
Here's to my Daddy, for being the only man who's ever been my knight in shining armour. For the man who was there before the boys, and will occupy the number one spot even after those boys. For the father who gave me my love of adventure, of expression, of being alive. For the father who stuck around, who taught me that a man could love a woman and build a life with that woman, raise children with that woman; giving me hope that maybe someday somebody could love me like that.
Here's to the hot boy with the big van and the huge hugs.
Here's to the almost eighteen years of love, support, pride and joy.
Disclaimer: This is my preferred method. Results may vary.
Give in to your emotions. If you want to cry? Then you go ahead and cry. If you want to laugh? Throw your head back and cackle. If you want to curl up in bed and listen to depressing music with your curtains drawn? Go for it!
...but don't give in to the urge to gain 30lb. I know the chocolate and icecream will be there for you - trust me, it will always be there for you. On your hips and thighs and your sides and your belly and your flabby arms. I'm not saying don't eat it... but moderation is key. Exercise is also a great way to release anger and feel good. Go for a run. Do some kick boxing. Stretch. Getting moving is part of moving on.
Don't be pathetic. Don't complain to your friends about how your love life sucks, every single day. Eventually the whole supportive friend act will get exhausting and they will gently explain that nobody really gives a rat's ass if he was the love of your life. Life goes on. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and expecting everyone to feel sorry for you. It holds you back.
Delete. Seriously. Delete his number, unfriend him on Facebook, delete every picture of the two of you, get rid of the saved messages. It is very important to get rid of all those pictures of him you taped to the wall above your desk. And don't keep checking his Facebook to see if he's happy or not - just don't. Chances are you've memorized his number, but if he ever shoots you a text? Hit him back with a "Who's this?" Let him know there is no room in your phone for his number. More importantly, let yourself know this.
Stop hating on him with all your friends. Seriously. Don't do this. It slows down the whole moving on process. Plus, your friends don't have any reason to hate him. Chances are neither do you. Accept that whatever happened in your relationship was just as much your fault as his, forgive him and forgive yourself. Stop bitching with your friends. And if, God forbid, you have a friend or friends who won't let it go... cause you gotta get that girlie in line.
Learn to be polite, if not nice or friendly. Don't go trying to best friend him back into your life or anything, but saying 'hi' or giving a little wave never killed anybody. Even if you're being cold shouldered, you can be the bigger person.
Do not find rebound guys. This one is really really really important. Don't use someone to get over someone else; you will hurt their feelings, you will hurt your feelings and you will be very sorry. It's complicated and it's ugly. Before you leap into another relationship, give yourself time. Time to figure out your feelings for old guy, your feelings for new guy, your feelings about you, time to get adjusted to the weight of your baggage.
Your friends are your support group. Remember that good friends are there for you, they want you to be happy, they want you to smile. They're on your side. This is a great time to spend time with them - it'll make you happy, boost your mood. Go see movies, go shopping, go out for lunch, talk on the phone. Keep your friends close.
Be happy. This one might be easier said than done, but it isn't that complicated. Being happy is a choice. You can choose to be happy. It really isn't what happens to you, but how you react to what happens to you. Decide that no matter what happens, you're gonna smile. Smile even if you don't feel like smiling. It's good for your health and better for your happiness.
Now good luck, girlies! We're letting go and it feels good :D
I can't say I know for sure what love is, and I won't pretend I know what love is. Maybe someday I will but this isn't the day. I do, however, have a couple of ideas. And I've gotten some interesting replies. I'll quote those I've collected - giving credit to initialed owners so as to protect my identity through protecting theirs because I'm selfish - and the rest are ones I've been formulating (that are mostly silly, but sometimes serious).
Love is when the length of time is insignificant compared to the depth of time. When it doesn't matter if you've been together for thirty years, or thirty days.
Love is "when you'd crawl over a mile of broken glass, just to hear them fart though a walkie-talkie." J.K.
Love is "when their little quirks make you smile and the little facial expressions they make are recognizable to you and you just always want to see them happy." M.C.
Love is the difference between tolerating someone's flaws and accepting someone's flaws. You tolerate what you can't change and you accept what you wouldn't, if you could. When you can say "this is a flaw, but you wouldn't be you without it and therefore I wouldn't get rid of it", you're in love.
Love is "...when you consider it something of value." T.J.
"Romantic love is merely an idea to me. I do not believe in it." R.N.
Love is when you'd be rolling with them on the bus, just like how you'd be with them rocking in the Rover.
Love is when the butterflies in your tummy have butterflies, and you only just heard their name.
Love is "being afraid to think of your world without someone, (with that in mind then I only really love my family)." Z.G.
Love is finding peace in the midst of chaos.
Love is "being able to submit all your effort into caring for someone and showing them that you care, with constant reminders of course." M.D.
"Love means liking someone even after you've seen them at their worst or some bullsh*t like that. Either way, the meaning is f*cked and the feeling is tiring." J.J.
Love is when they confess to not liking Harry Potter and you choose to keep them around anyways.
Love is "never having to say you're sorry." S.L.
Love is "pizza, ice cream, a warm blanket, a couch and a good movie... but mostly pizza, and bacon." R.W.
Love is "only good in the movies- in real life, it's lame. A little cynical, but it's better to be cynical than delusional." C.G.
"Sometimes it's sharing, but most times not. Other times it's a shoulder to lean on and if it goes both ways all the better. Often times it just makes you weak and vulnerable; an easy target... but it's the sweetest when new, but after? Oh well!" P.G.
Love is when someone sees me for who I am, rather than for what I have to offer... no matter how large, how small, how relevant or how necessary.
Love is "that warm, fuzzy feeling deep inside. When the person farts and you choke out through a cloud of fumes: "is that new perfume?" K.M.J.
Love is "comfort. When you're able to sit with someone and be comfortable, no matter where you are or what you're doing." M.L.
"#sprung - when yu go sleep same time as di smaddy caw yu nuh waan be awake widout dem" "#sprung when yu phone start dead and yu call dem from di nex one widout hang up di fus one caw yu nuh waan go a minute widout dem voice" "#sprung when yu rather cotch pon cold floor wid smaddy dan sleep separately inna unnu individual bed" "#sprung when yu stop wear make up and mek yu hair do wah it like caw dem say dem nuh matter bout dem summn deh" "#sprung when yu just now realise say unnu only talk to one anedda in whispers and widout knowing it unnu always a hold hand" "#sprung when yu a dead fi sleep and a fight it caw di smaddy weh yu deh wid/into still awake" Tweets from @mooremayhem, on Twitter.
Love is when you'd stay up on the phone until three in the morning, mostly listening to them play FIFA with the Mexicans, even though you love to sleep. True story.
Love is when you let them tease you, and trick yourself into thinking it's sweet.
Love is "love, man. Like you legit care about a nigga. You want the nigga to be happy, man, even if you ain't, man. Nah mean? To the moon and back even if it's not your main b*tch. Nah mean? You just care so much bout your b*tch and yo nigga. It's like wow, man. Like wow." F.E.
Love is "when you find that person that makes you feel bubbly through the good times and the bad. That happy feeling that won't seem to go away even when you try hard to reject the idea of being happy with that person." B.B.
Love is "something we've inherited from God himself, and in a way it's the way all of us try to imitate him, even though we've almost completely messed it up. To me though, It's an ever present urge to put someone ahead of yourself whether or not they want you to, which is why it's so draining if it isn't returned in equal measure. Those yearnings (tied with the need for companionship with the object of that love) and a bag of emotions. It surpasses the emotions though, fueled and expressed through action. Without the action it dies. Actions keep at least the embers alight getting through the worst days, and blazes up the passions and emotions on the better ones." M.N.
"I think it's when you have a special feeling about something; no matter what's going on, it's always in the back of your mind just because you care for it so much. Everytime you see it, you get like this weird feeling inside. What love means to me? Love means FIFA." B.M.
"1 If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. 2 If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. 3 If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing. 4 Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5 It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6 Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7 It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. 8 Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. 9 For we know in part and we prophesy in part, 10 but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears. 11 When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me.12 For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known. 13 And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love." The Holy Bible, 1 Corinthians 13 (NIV Version) Fun fact: this is one of my all time favourite Bible verses.
So, it's safe to say that love means something different to everyone - some serious, some deep, some cynical, some ridiculous. That's part of the magic, isn't it? Love has just that many perspectives. I guess (one day, maybe one day soon?) I'll revisit this and explore more of what it means to me than a few little punchlines... but until then... As a little nudge at myself, I'll end with:
Love is when you find yourself wondering "is this love?"
Lovingly yours,
me.
----
Check out Carrie Fletcher's compiled take on what love is!
It was bound to ruin the great thing I had going for me.
I dunno why I can't just shut my mouth and accept that there are people who care about me. And I dunno why it's just that much harder to do when it's someone I'm attracted to.
When people get all emotionally supportive and caring and nice, I get vicious and catty and nasty. I scare them away with my ...me-ness.
I won't say what I did because I am ridiculously ashamed of myself, but it was really bad. I don't know why he would ever speak to me again, because I certainly don't deserve it.
The thing is though, I'm not just good at screwing up romantic type relationships, but casual ones too. Friends that stick around despite by bitch major complex are real friends, and I think I have a handful of them who have seen more that my first layer of nasty and hung around.
So, right here, I would like to give major major major props to my best friend, my better half, the only person who knows I'm mad puss piss crazy and doesn't seem to care. My sour muffin! Girl, you have seen numerous layers of what I'm like when I'm at my worst and my worstest and my worstester and you still seem to like me. I have to thank the Lord for a best friend like you.
And I have a handful of other friends, who, despite not knowing and experiencing nearly as bad a me as my best friend, but certainly a ridiculous degree of me and have hung around and for that you all deserve a shiny gold medal. (And a few who deserve some huge ass trophies, I won't mention your names... but I believe two of you read this blog, so to my Reckless and Relentless, and to my cornbread muffin? Big. ass. gold. trophies. so. heavy. you. can't. LIFT. them. Holla.)
Now, I have to figure out how I'm going to fix all the messes I've made in the last couple of days... I just need to stop being so angry, so scared, so insecure and so ridiculous and TELL THE BOY HOW I FEEL. Like, really.
I need to stop bottling up everything and letting it eat away at me until there's really nothing left to do but to let it all out in one bitch attack that really isn't fair to anybody. Communication is key, and it's a damn shame I'm bad at that too.
I am so bad at communication that I am bad at it on different levels: not just the "take-forever-to-reply" level, but on the "rambling-without-ever-saying-anything-meaningful" level and on the killing the conversation at various degrees level too. I just... suck. True story.
But I can't keep putting off the fixing stage- I have slept for countless hours since Sunday night, eaten every single fruit I can peel, watched too much bad TV, made my baby brother sick of me and flipped through all the social media I participate in... there isn't much left to do to put this-... Ooh, look! Carrie Diaries Season One finished torrenting :/
..No! Bad, me! Bad! Fix this. Fix this now. Ughh. Or later? Since he has an exam? Right. Later. I will fix this later.
(I challenged myself to write something that explored what I liked about myself, and this is what I came up with... Kinda rough; expected from someone who's been neglecting poetry.)
---
Curves are the best part about my body—
The upward curve of my eyelashes when I turn my eyes down, their shadows cast against my cheeks
The way my top lip curves at my Cupid's bow, stretched taut and armed with promise
The curve of my jaw when it rests against the curves of your shoulder, your arm, your lap
The simplest curves of my naked shoulder and my bare lower back, sometimes sexy without even trying
The curves of my hips and my waist—"too wide"/"not wide enough", just fine and all mine
The curves of my fingertips and how you somehow don't seem to hate them against your skin
Then proceed to demand what they think I deserve, on my behalf.
Don't get me wrong... I love my close knit, overprotective, sometimes bitchy but usually harmless circle of chicas. But there are certain things that I genuinely don't know how to tolerate, and one of them is when you tell me what I deserve and what I should demand.
I hate to sound like a secretive bitch, but I like to keep stuff to myself. I don't really know how to talk to people about how I feel about the serious stuff, and I like to steal away for time by myself. The introvert in me still struggles to appreciate the tight circle I have.
I don't think there's a single one of my friends who can genuinely say they know everything about me. So when you proceed to exclaim that you "know exactly how I feel", I get frustrated.
But to take it a step further, you want to tell me that this boy most certainly isn't worth my time and doesn't deserve me. I deserve better.
You don't know what I deserve at all. Neither do I. And you can't tell me what is or isn't worth my time - the fact that I'm willing to give this thing, whatever it is, a try means that I do indeed find it valuable enough to be worth my time.
Support me, as my friends. Or know that your opinion has been filed away into "thanks, but no thanks" piles to be disregarded at a later date. I love you, but you can't tell me who to invest my time and energy into.
You can't complain about what doesn't even bother you. How does that make sense? If it's affecting me, and I don't complain then how do you look on from the outside and complain? It just doesn't seem right.
I appreciate that you think that you should let this bother you, because it should and even might be bothering me... but you don't have to attack anybody. You calmly state your side and then sit your ass down and be a friend. Whatever that means. I'm sorry you're hurting because you think I'm hurting, but I haven't asked you to take up my cross and carry. I haven't asked you to absorb my hurts, my feelings. That's ridiculous.
I just don't know how to allow myself to be happy. I'm so scared of someone breaking me, that I don't realize I'm breaking myself. The only person who is hurting me, is me. When I push away every single person who gets close enough to give a fuck about me.
I think I've chewed off an entire layer of my bottom lip and listened to every single song on the Paradise album and I spent two hours buried in bed trying to shake out enough crap out of my head that I could get some sleep.
Words, unfortunately, are failing me. Not just expressing myself here and now, but today's just been ridiculous. I seem to possess only two extremes. I'm either really bad or really good. I bounce from babble and giggle and sing and twirl to distant and solemn and silent and absent, and right back again. I'm all bounced out and I still can't find a balance.
My happy feels fake. My sad feels dramatic.
I feel like I exist in a simple state - like a switch. I can only ever be on or off. Every child has tried to balance a switch between on and off, but it isn't possible. There's no middle state. It's on. Or off.
I was talking to a friend today, about how much I just can't stand touch lately. I don't think it's ever been this bad. I just... don't like when people hug me, or hold my hand, or even stand close enough to brush against me, when they lean against me, when they rest on me. It's not that I hate it, but lately it's been making me jumpy. I cringe away from people. I shudder. I grimace.
So now, I'm not just afraid of emotional proximity. I'm afraid of physical proximity too.
But the scariest part, is that I want him to hug me. I want him to hold me, and tell me silly bullshit about how I'm being ridiculous and I'm making mountains out of molehills and I need to calm down, sleep at night, eat decent meals and stop beating up on myself. I want him everywhere.
It's frigging terrifying.
Yours with words failing,
me.
(This hasn't even been double checked for errors. Apologies in advance. I don't know where my ability to express myself has gone. Maybe it's time to get back into poetry.)
I can feel the whiterumorangadetropicanabluegatorade sloshing around in my tummy, and this is so very bad. So so so very bad.
I'm a good girl, a smart girl, a strong girl.
I know when to stop.
But I'm not okay, and I'm tired of being not okay. How did I dive so hard, get so far and fall so fast? When did I tell myself that it was okay to be bare, be naked, in front of someone else? Since when did trusting someone come so easily? My human instinct of self preservation is telling me I've screwed up.
I really really really like this boy, and it feels right but I know it's wrong.
Because I'm a smart girl. I'm a strong girl. I'm a good girl. I know better. I don't need anybody who thinks I'm funny, and wants to stay up with me all night talking about absolutely nothing. I don't need someone to listen to my stupid childhood stories, and share their favourite songs with me (Ode to a Dream by the Internet is still a really weird song but you get fifty billion cool points for loving Lana del Rey). I most certainly don't need someone I can spend all day talking to. I don't need someone to make plans around, someone I want to be with me when I go out. I don't need someone I choose over doing work. I don't need someone.
But I really like you. (And I'm tempted to use the other L word, but I don't play with that and feelings aren't a joke, so I'm not quite sure what's happening but it isn't safe.) I like how you try to be too cool to be phased by anything (trust me though, that's a hard facade to keep up). I like how you smile. I like how you insist on leaning on me, even though we both almost end up tumbling. I like how you call me nicknames like it's natural, like you've been doing it forever. I like our stupid lame broadback, pink liver inside jokes. I like how you send me to bed when it's getting too late, and how you say goodnight. I like how you're not scared to joke around with me; how you force me to take a joke, how you force me to like myself more. I like you don't take me very seriously at all.
Most of all, I like how you don't seem to resent the speed we've moving at. The only speed I know how.
I really like you, and that scares me.
Most terrified and infatuated and quite possibly sorta intoxicated (by you),
me.
How do you learn to love again? Learn to trust again?
I feel like I need to address my issues with whatever's holding me back from trying again - from making more mistakes, better mistakes, wiser mistakes, so I can move forward from where I am now. Bitter.
It's as good a time as ever, considering I have this huge crush on this guy who is incredible and is my best friend and is just downright amazing. It's like deja-vu; a feeling I remember, but it's hard to tell if it's imagined or experienced.
It's laughing at midnight because I can't bring myself to say goodnight and all his jokes are so lame and silly and I just can't help but finding them funny. It's singing and dancing and air-guitaring at school because I'm just so happy and I don't want to tell anybody why. It's seeing him and getting the flutters in my tummy. It's talking about anything and everything and just having the best conversation of the whole day.
It's falling for someone again.
And that is scary.
I can see myself racing towards the cliff that I'm bound to happily tumble right off and free fall from but I just can't turn the vehicle around. At this rate, I'm going to laugh myself right off the edge and laugh and laugh and laugh until I hit the ground. Silly old me.
Watch me invest so much of my time, my heart, my hope into another guy.
I'm not trying to be a pessimist... It just, kinda, happens?
I just don't know how to let go of the past and step bravely into the future.
I started looking into teenage relationships. (Because this is part of the topic of my IA. I should really be doing said IA. But y'know, if inspiration comes a-knocking and you send her away, you have to wait for her to return.) I started thinking about my own views on teenage relationships, which I'm not even sure are valid because I am a teenager.
It's sorta like "Should cows eat grass?" by a cow.
Okay, maybe not. Bear with me. Huge cup of coffee with lots and lots of sugar to make the taste of blackness go away. I'm a fan of coffee, but I'm not always a fan of the taste of coffee. It's weird.
Anyways. Off tangent. Back to the topic. Teenage relationships.
What do kids know about relationships and love and making a relationship last?
Probably nothing.
But what do adults?
What does anyone?
It's not fair to base our ability to love another person on our age or our maturity levels. What's the relationship between age/maturity and being with another person anyways?
As far as experience goes, I have very little. I've only ever had one committed relationship. Before that there were crushes, and then after that there was a stupid stint with a boy who was as bad for me as mixing my pills and now there's... this.
Whatever this is.
I don't know how to define this. I don't even know how to feel about this. But I'm not going to overthink this, yet. I'm just... gonna give it the chance to be what it wants to be. One of my art teachers once said to me, "The mark of the great sculptor is a great listener. You have to let it tell you what it is; it's not for you to decide." I'm going to look at this as a piece of art - something beautiful, something delicate, something fragile and something full of possibility.
I could break it, or I could listen to it and feel it out and then let it tell me what it is.
So I'm listening.
What I like about teenage relationships, though, is that they're so much while still being so very little. They aren't permanent but still they inspire change and growth and help to make two individuals better. That is, if they'll let it. (Sometimes they reject 'better' and be 'bitter' - I know this, I was and still am a little bit bitter. But I'm working on being better.)
My first relationship taught me an infinite amount of things. If I started to think about them, they'd flow from my fingertips and I'd be here for a long time. I promise one day to think about all those things and tap them out and free them from my mind, but not now.
My flirtationship taught me some very valid lessons too. One of the greatest things I learnt from that is that you can't forget the climb, no matter how great or how terrible the view from the top is. (No matter how much the end product sucks, you just can't erase how much you invested and how long it took. You just have to let it pull you up.) I also learnt the importance of having someone to talk to. Even if just for a little while, every day. Even if they weren't really yours to own. Just someone who cared enough to listen helped ease a burden.
And now... I'm learning the importance of being a good friend before being a great lover. (If ever a great lover.) At least if I fail at being a great lover, I took the time to be a good friend first. This boy sure is something else though. I can't tell the last time I had someone I felt so comfortable around. Not just being close to, but sharing myself with. It's certainly very nice.
Teenage relationships offer a challenge. Teenage relationships leave room for growth. Teenage relationships inspire. Teenage relationships experience.
Most importantly, teenage relationships are the things we reflect on and think "Damn. Those sure were the days."
I hope I'm creating a chapter of love I'll be happy to reread when I'm old.
