i don't know when it was that i started hating my room, i am not sure about the day it became a strong repellent. and no, i don't remember how long it lasted, but i like it again. at least i don't flinch every time i walk in, at least my heart doesn't keep rhythm to the clock. i organize a shelf or a drawer every day. and with every little object that passes through my fingers i realize that i like who i am... against all odds, i am pretty close to being the woman i wanted to become. i might have to sprint for the last remaining 500m, i might have to crawl, it might be the hardest thing i'll have to do, but i'll get it done.
i didn't just grow old it seems, i actually grew up a little bit.
i was such a judgmental little bitch, impatient, self-absorbed, jealous and vindictive. anger fueled me, sarcasm was the only tongue i used. i didn't know how to love, for i was consumed by hate. i am not saying i got rid of all those emotions, some are eternally mine; i am just saying i did a good job of filing the sharpest corners. i probably will always remain sharper than most, but i am glad i can't hold on to anger anymore. it is much more easier to let things be. it is much more rewarding to let the world fuck up.
there was this one sleepless night where i sat in the empty bathtub thinking i would never be able to sleep a natural deep sleep again. drinking and drugging myself to sleep for a lifetime didn't sound so appealing. i was trying to figure out if i would be able to hold on to my sanity if it were to become my reality.
there was this one sleep that shook my existence with the worst nightmares, a chain of unfathomable fears that wouldn't let me wake up. i screamed so loud my lover fell off the bed. i screamed so loud i didn't have any voice to cry with when i woke up. tears and shivers and bitten lips… my lover tried to hold me, i couldn't be sure i've really woken up; i wouldn't let him near me. that was the night i started to wonder if i were doomed to sleep alone till death. how could i impose my nightmares upon a kind soul whose only fault was to love me?
i had many nights of deep sleep since then.
i had many nights of silent bliss.
i know how it feels to be at the end of your rope.
i know what it means to decide never to let go.
death is very close to me; it is death, not joy, that gives me vitality.
shaping your character is messy, but it is fun to choose who you want to be.
2012-02-18
2012-02-15
2012-02-07
bedtime stories: bullshit
"Bullshit"
She kept repeating that word as I kept talking. "Bullshit." We were having a conversation about love, understanding, camaraderie, forgiveness, soul mates... A conversation I’d rather not be having. She knew it, too. That’s why she kept pushing. Every turn I took away from the subject she grabbed me by the hair and brought me back. She sensed my soul retreating back into its hole deep inside my mind. She heard my twisted logic working overtime. She saw me not-giving-a-fuck; so she took a hold of my shoulders and started to shake me silly. She knew this cycle way too well. She knew I would eventually emerge from the deep-freeze state I was putting myself into, but this time she wouldn't have it. She wanted me alive, laughing and loving and forgiving. She loved me when I seized life by the waist and showered her with kisses. She didn't like it when I danced for the darkness; eyes fierce, arms keeping everyone away, crouches and shoulders and a mask for a face. She loved me when I danced out of pure joy; hips, jumps, twirls, smiles and arms reaching out for the others, touching them, inviting them, silently but animatedly loving them.
"You can love without showing it."
"Bullshit."
"I don't believe in soul mates."
"Bullshit."
"Nobody really forgives; I certainly don't."
"Bullshit."
"Having an understanding of human nature, and figuring out the reasons behind an act doesn't necessarily mean you'll forgive it."
"Bullshit."
I was really full of it -it being shit- I was overflowing with it according to her. I didn't say it out loud, yet I thought I smelled just fine.
I wasn't even going to meet with her; I had cancelled our plans to go out drinking. She pulled out one of her favor cards. I owed her many favors, she owed me more. But it was carved in stone that you can't pull out a favor card in retaliation to the one the other pulls. I had to go. My refusal would collapse the tower of cards, and I liked them. I liked knowing I could call her if I have to and demand her to see me at any time. That’s how the system worked. If I refused now, she could refuse later. The cards were a safety net I wouldn't dare burn.
There we were, stuck in a conversation without any loop holes. She was determined to break me; I was determined to exhaust her. She had been manipulated and tricked out of conversations by me so many times that she wouldn't budge. Too frequently I had pretended to agree with her so now she wouldn't be fooled. "You patronizing ass" she said, "how dumb do you take me for?" "Dumb enough to love me," is what I almost said, and then I bit my tongue. She would get started on low self-esteem... That line of thought wouldn't save me from the conversation I wanted so much to flee from; it would just give her a new set of ammo. That’s when she smiled and leaned her shoulder on mine. We have been sitting side by side all this time, having this conversation without eye contact, heads tilted towards one another, darting glances around the bar. Her shoulder touched mine and she whispered. "Loving you is the smartest thing I’ve done my entire life, you idiot. You are the bestest friend anyone could have. You are the cutest little pet anyone could keep. I’ve left you out on the streets way too long, it seems. But we'll get you cleaned up and cuddly in no time." Yes, this is how she addressed my low self-esteem, what she thought was low self-esteem, by comparing me to a lost kitten... All I could manage to say was "it should be illegal to know someone this well." She knew what I didn't say, I knew what she meant. I wondered if she knew I was thinking about cutting her head open just then. I wanted to touch the brain which deciphered my muscle movements; I wondered if I cut it open and squished my fingers around, would I know for sure if this sense of connection was an illusion or not.
She kept saying things like:
"You are not an android."
"Stop denying your heart."
"This is not healthy."
"You have so much love to give."
"How can you even think this?"
"Get a hold of yourself."
"You are trying to avoid getting hurt."
"Be true to your soul."
She wouldn't give up, and anything I said was "bullshit." She wanted to break me alright. Yet it was impossible while she was in denial of my darkness. I was everything she thought I was, but it was as if she could only see certain shades. The deep-freeze state she feared so intensely was a glitch that needed to be taken care of; my eagerness to be frozen was a disease she yearned to cure. I looked at her hands as she tried to explain, one hand was trying to claw a hole through her jeans, the other was holding onto her first glass of beer. I had just ordered my fourth.
"Bullshit." I finally said it. I had always been extra kind with her. I knew she loved me more than she would ever admit. Telling her I didn't believe in soul mates may be a little mean; maybe I rip her heart open every time I tell her I want to be left alone. Holding her when she cried might have been such a little consolation compared to what her body actually desired. Yet I had never made any comments about her feelings for me. Not once did I call her out on her distorted definition of best friends. She always said she admired my honesty. Did she know being totally honest means to be unmerciful mostly? A cuddly, bubbly little creature can't be honest unless it doesn’t mind using its claws.
"Bullshit." I finally said. "When I tell you I don't believe in soul mates, I am talking about the world wide understanding of the term. Of course my soul connects with people, and if that connection is right it endures all things. But the world tells you there is only one of those, and you should try to find that person. You should make sure you found the right one; you should make sure to stay together forever and ever. The world sends you on this wild goose chase after an ideal that is tainted by lust and whim and weak minds. The world pities you if you don't find your soul mate, and belittles you if you call the wrong person that. And if by sheer luck you find that connection, the world presents you with a set of rules that crushes and weakens the souls that were meant to mate. They feed you this illusion that everything will be peachy with your soul mate by your side. Not one soul is completely innocent, not one soul is entirely good. Shouldn’t I find someone who can mate with the evil in me, too? When we mate wouldn’t we be giving birth to some doom and gloom?”
"Bullshit" I finally said. "You keep telling me to be true to my soul, my heart. What about yours? I know you hate bars, I know you hate drinking. But you made yourself believe that I am only truly happy when I drink, so you won't even accept an invitation to go to the movies. You do what you hate to make me happy. There’s selflessness in that maybe, maybe if you do it occasionally it is a loving act; but if this has become the norm, if this is the only way we interact, it can only mean you think I wouldn't love you unless you constantly make me happy. Talk about low self-esteem."
"Bullshit" I finally said. "You think you are in love with me, you think we are soul mates. Yet you rationalize every unkind thing I say, and refuse the malice in me. How can we mate while you won't open your eyes and see me totally?"
Her fingers relaxed, and she put the beer glass on the table. She pulled my face close to hers and looked deep into my eyes.
"You are not frozen anymore. Now we shall dance."
“Who knows, maybe our connection is not an illusion after all.”
“Bullshit.”
She kept repeating that word as I kept talking. "Bullshit." We were having a conversation about love, understanding, camaraderie, forgiveness, soul mates... A conversation I’d rather not be having. She knew it, too. That’s why she kept pushing. Every turn I took away from the subject she grabbed me by the hair and brought me back. She sensed my soul retreating back into its hole deep inside my mind. She heard my twisted logic working overtime. She saw me not-giving-a-fuck; so she took a hold of my shoulders and started to shake me silly. She knew this cycle way too well. She knew I would eventually emerge from the deep-freeze state I was putting myself into, but this time she wouldn't have it. She wanted me alive, laughing and loving and forgiving. She loved me when I seized life by the waist and showered her with kisses. She didn't like it when I danced for the darkness; eyes fierce, arms keeping everyone away, crouches and shoulders and a mask for a face. She loved me when I danced out of pure joy; hips, jumps, twirls, smiles and arms reaching out for the others, touching them, inviting them, silently but animatedly loving them.
"You can love without showing it."
"Bullshit."
"I don't believe in soul mates."
"Bullshit."
"Nobody really forgives; I certainly don't."
"Bullshit."
"Having an understanding of human nature, and figuring out the reasons behind an act doesn't necessarily mean you'll forgive it."
"Bullshit."
I was really full of it -it being shit- I was overflowing with it according to her. I didn't say it out loud, yet I thought I smelled just fine.
I wasn't even going to meet with her; I had cancelled our plans to go out drinking. She pulled out one of her favor cards. I owed her many favors, she owed me more. But it was carved in stone that you can't pull out a favor card in retaliation to the one the other pulls. I had to go. My refusal would collapse the tower of cards, and I liked them. I liked knowing I could call her if I have to and demand her to see me at any time. That’s how the system worked. If I refused now, she could refuse later. The cards were a safety net I wouldn't dare burn.
There we were, stuck in a conversation without any loop holes. She was determined to break me; I was determined to exhaust her. She had been manipulated and tricked out of conversations by me so many times that she wouldn't budge. Too frequently I had pretended to agree with her so now she wouldn't be fooled. "You patronizing ass" she said, "how dumb do you take me for?" "Dumb enough to love me," is what I almost said, and then I bit my tongue. She would get started on low self-esteem... That line of thought wouldn't save me from the conversation I wanted so much to flee from; it would just give her a new set of ammo. That’s when she smiled and leaned her shoulder on mine. We have been sitting side by side all this time, having this conversation without eye contact, heads tilted towards one another, darting glances around the bar. Her shoulder touched mine and she whispered. "Loving you is the smartest thing I’ve done my entire life, you idiot. You are the bestest friend anyone could have. You are the cutest little pet anyone could keep. I’ve left you out on the streets way too long, it seems. But we'll get you cleaned up and cuddly in no time." Yes, this is how she addressed my low self-esteem, what she thought was low self-esteem, by comparing me to a lost kitten... All I could manage to say was "it should be illegal to know someone this well." She knew what I didn't say, I knew what she meant. I wondered if she knew I was thinking about cutting her head open just then. I wanted to touch the brain which deciphered my muscle movements; I wondered if I cut it open and squished my fingers around, would I know for sure if this sense of connection was an illusion or not.
She kept saying things like:
"You are not an android."
"Stop denying your heart."
"This is not healthy."
"You have so much love to give."
"How can you even think this?"
"Get a hold of yourself."
"You are trying to avoid getting hurt."
"Be true to your soul."
She wouldn't give up, and anything I said was "bullshit." She wanted to break me alright. Yet it was impossible while she was in denial of my darkness. I was everything she thought I was, but it was as if she could only see certain shades. The deep-freeze state she feared so intensely was a glitch that needed to be taken care of; my eagerness to be frozen was a disease she yearned to cure. I looked at her hands as she tried to explain, one hand was trying to claw a hole through her jeans, the other was holding onto her first glass of beer. I had just ordered my fourth.
"Bullshit." I finally said it. I had always been extra kind with her. I knew she loved me more than she would ever admit. Telling her I didn't believe in soul mates may be a little mean; maybe I rip her heart open every time I tell her I want to be left alone. Holding her when she cried might have been such a little consolation compared to what her body actually desired. Yet I had never made any comments about her feelings for me. Not once did I call her out on her distorted definition of best friends. She always said she admired my honesty. Did she know being totally honest means to be unmerciful mostly? A cuddly, bubbly little creature can't be honest unless it doesn’t mind using its claws.
"Bullshit." I finally said. "When I tell you I don't believe in soul mates, I am talking about the world wide understanding of the term. Of course my soul connects with people, and if that connection is right it endures all things. But the world tells you there is only one of those, and you should try to find that person. You should make sure you found the right one; you should make sure to stay together forever and ever. The world sends you on this wild goose chase after an ideal that is tainted by lust and whim and weak minds. The world pities you if you don't find your soul mate, and belittles you if you call the wrong person that. And if by sheer luck you find that connection, the world presents you with a set of rules that crushes and weakens the souls that were meant to mate. They feed you this illusion that everything will be peachy with your soul mate by your side. Not one soul is completely innocent, not one soul is entirely good. Shouldn’t I find someone who can mate with the evil in me, too? When we mate wouldn’t we be giving birth to some doom and gloom?”
"Bullshit" I finally said. "You keep telling me to be true to my soul, my heart. What about yours? I know you hate bars, I know you hate drinking. But you made yourself believe that I am only truly happy when I drink, so you won't even accept an invitation to go to the movies. You do what you hate to make me happy. There’s selflessness in that maybe, maybe if you do it occasionally it is a loving act; but if this has become the norm, if this is the only way we interact, it can only mean you think I wouldn't love you unless you constantly make me happy. Talk about low self-esteem."
"Bullshit" I finally said. "You think you are in love with me, you think we are soul mates. Yet you rationalize every unkind thing I say, and refuse the malice in me. How can we mate while you won't open your eyes and see me totally?"
Her fingers relaxed, and she put the beer glass on the table. She pulled my face close to hers and looked deep into my eyes.
"You are not frozen anymore. Now we shall dance."
“Who knows, maybe our connection is not an illusion after all.”
“Bullshit.”
2012-02-02
me no need no poker face
i don't know how to play poker,
but i used to have the perfect poker face,
the one i pulled out of the hat on demand;
i used it to save my ass again and again.
now i can't even bother to mask all those little mimics that swim through. / why should i?
there are only so many possible feelings, yet they grow from a thousand roots.
yes, i am amused; yes, i am pissed; yes, i am feeling rather sad. / my my, do tell me why.
but i used to have the perfect poker face,
the one i pulled out of the hat on demand;
i used it to save my ass again and again.
now i can't even bother to mask all those little mimics that swim through. / why should i?
there are only so many possible feelings, yet they grow from a thousand roots.
yes, i am amused; yes, i am pissed; yes, i am feeling rather sad. / my my, do tell me why.
2012-02-01
writing material
i write on my arms; mother asks if i ran out of paper.
i write on my legs; sister asks if i meant to cut them open.
i write on my lips; boy asks if i missed being kissed.
i tattoo fears on my heart;
nobody asks a goddamn thing.
i write on my legs; sister asks if i meant to cut them open.
i write on my lips; boy asks if i missed being kissed.
i tattoo fears on my heart;
nobody asks a goddamn thing.
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