Sunday, February 28, 2010

I am a lover. A lover with a painful love.

It doesn't take much to touch a life, but when a life is touched, it's the touch that means more than life itself. The touch of a hand, the touch of an expression, the touch of a look. That's all it really took - a look - to know the destiny of two hearts, that first look into each others eyes to finally find where eternity lies.

When first asked to be a lover, you accept the status, the level, in which you are stepping into in the relationship. When two souls collide with such energy, they know it means only one thing. But, it's the "one thing" which keeps the lover at that level because that "one thing", both know, may not be realized. It's that "one thing" that keeps them from being everything they could be. They could take town by storm. They could make a difference wherever they went. They could be so good together, but that "one thing" is always there. Both wanting it. Both knowing it may not become that, because, after all, one was only asked to be a lover.

It's not easy being a lover. No one could ever pretend that it is. But certain things are accepted when you become a lover. It's accepted that the other goes "home" each night and wakes each morning, in the comfort zone that the other has come to know over the years. It's accepted that the amount of time shared together is limited, at best. A minute here, a few moments there. And the lover takes in and stores in the heart each minute, everything shared, because each minute, every moment, everything shared, the lover knows could be the last. This is accepted by the lover because the lover knows and has seen where eternity lies. That's what a lover does.

A lover loves or they couldn't be called a lover. A lover loves with every  breath, every heartbeat, every word. It's hard to twist a lover's love because a lover's love is true. A lover's love is complex, yet simple. Complex because of the circumstances that arise and/or surround such a relationship; complex because of the situation that a lover accepts; complex because of the stigma and stereotype placed on the situation a lover accepts, complex because of the push and pull of these same forces. A lover's love is simple because when the lover says, "I LOVE YOU," it's YOU the lover loves; it's YOU the lover cares about. Simple because when you take away all the circumstances, all the situations, all the stigma, what's left for the lover is love in its eternal form because the lover has seen and knows where eternity lies.

A lover's love is like no other, for in saying, "I LOVE YOU," there is only YOU and no other. NOTHING can ever change this for the lover because a lover's love is loyal. A lover's love knows the dilemmas and fears the other faces with this kind of relationship, and a lover's love, for the sake of the other, will allow the other what is right for the other's heart. Because of the level a lover takes, a lover's love is always ready, always willing, always loving, to do what's best for the other, no matter how long the other takes, because a lover's love knows no time for it has seen and knows where eternity lies.

When a lover says, "I LOVE YOU," it is "I" who has, and always will, love "YOU." No matter where "YOU' go, no matter what "YOU" do, no matter what "YOU" say, no matter -- it is "I" who loves "YOU."

It's a lover's love, that having seen eternity, having touched it and felt it, having held it even for a moment, knowing where eternity lies and that it may never come around again, it is a lover's love that will go on for the other.

That's the way of a lover.

Saturday, February 27, 2010

Beauty's Suicide.


Beauty is an interesting thing. The way it is portrayed, seen, understood, perceived...It is, unfortunately, one of the many drugs that contaminate the mind, affect it in ways that sometimes are unshakeable. Beauty is a dangerous weapon, sometimes used with the wrong intentions, and sometimes not known how to use at all. 

I don't understand why people choose to undermine their true self with thousands of pounds of make-up, degrading clothes, degrading mannerism in which they incorporate their "beauty." But that is not true beauty. That is a false impression of what life will be like for every woman around us if something is not done. If something does not change. I cannot be one to judge though, because yes, I have been the victim of this choice...this decision to apply the powder first, the swift flick of a wrist, then the eyes...eyeliner first, then the mascara, eye-shadow...moving on the emphasizing the cheekbones -blush, and ending with lip gloss. I have made the decision to put on the tight skinned shirt, and short skirt. And come to think of it now, I cannot find a valuable reasoning behind my decision and that shakes something within me. 

This "beauty" that we women subject to, it's suicide. It's the slow decay of the free-expression in our mind. Whatever happened to 15 freckles spread across cheekbones, to beauty marks on various parts of the face and body, to gapped teeth, to big noses and big lips. To eyes that are too big, too far apart. Whatever happened to the rawness that people seem to scream with their faces, these portraits that have been given to us and we do not know why...but something we need to understand is that there is a reason for everything. There is a reason why this face was given to us, why it is chosen to be reflected in mirrors, why it is chosen to look back at you in a polaroid, photograph. Usually, a man or woman will notice your undeniable flaw that is marked upon your face, and they will fall irresistibly, and irrevocably, in love with you.

I am waiting for this day. For the day someone will see my flaw, and tell me they think I am the most beautiful creature that has roamed the earth.

Not because I need to hear it, not because I am vain...

But because I want someone to NOTICE.
To care enough to want to stay and stick around with this flaw.

I want to be beautiful, on the ugliest days. I want to whisper beauty even when I am screaming ugly. I want the world to stop picking on people's insecurities because they do not realise they are just adding on to it. I want people to step back, really look at the portrait that is lain before them, and STOP laughing at the surface, and appreciate the core.

I AM BEAUTIFUL ON THE UGLIEST DAYS.
I AM BEAUTIFUL ON THE UGLIEST DAYS.
I AM BEAUTIFUL ON THE..
I AM BEAUTIFUL.


Sunday, February 21, 2010

Words.

I've been pensive today. Thoughts rushing in and out of my mind, and I keep finding myself trying to hold on to something to make the spinning stop. I have a lot on my mind. Life..VALUES, feelings, and all the great themes that aspiring authors seem to think about - love, hate, hope, betrayal, deceit, disappointment, all this melancholy and for what? To have a story that is supposed to end with a happy ending?

It is always said that our life is our very own book, and we are the narrators, filling up the pages as the days go by. But what happens when there is nothing to write? Writer's block...nothing important, nothing life-changing. Nothing.

Words scripted together to tell a story that no one really wants to hear. For a world that is to be filled with free will, never have I felt that my own THOUGHTS, my own words...are being ripped away from me. Are being labeled as "clingy, needy, desperate."

When was it NOT okay to express how you feel? About someone else, about an opinion, about a dream.. When was it not okay to hear a story and fall in love with the captivating words that have been chosen...When was it not okay to love?

A LOT of things have been taken away from me, but I simply cannot allow my very own words to be taken from my mind, from this tongue, from these lips. They are the only things I have left to hold on to, the only thing that can help me with my mixed emotions and troubling dreams. My words will save my story...which ever it may be.

If I choose the word "love," don't judge me.
If I choose the word "hate," don't patronize me.
If I choose the word "broken," don't try to figure me out.

My words are my saviour. My escape. The only thing I have left to keep me from going insane,

They are my BURSTS OF FREEDOM. 

Friday, February 19, 2010

You ruined me.

My skin itches to know you
My voice screams to feel you
My words escape these sinful lips
And fall, so deep into the core of the misunderstanding we created
This mutual physical connection we had
But yet lacking so much emotion
Drained of love..hope..hate
Every last drop of sentiment squeezed right out
My heart aches for you
Where ever it may reside
Sometimes i feel like i am so close to feeling it
Heartbeat pounding inches away from my fingertips
But as quickly as I come close to it
I lose you
In the rumble & tumble of our bodies in the sheets
I lose the person I've been yearning to know
I could've given you everything you deserve and more
You're WORTH it in my book
But i'm running out of pages for these excuses
These sentences scripted to push me away
To dismiss me
These words, weighted on your tongue
Have burdened me
I walk
Back crooked from the rejection heavy on my shoulders
Disappointment rushes through my veins and straight into my heart
With every text you choose not to send
With every phone call never placed
Every thought, feeling, action never processed
I begin to lose myself as well
These cold sheets that shelter body heat
The fire, burning in the pit of my stomach
The feeling coarsing down between my thighs
As you touch me there
My soul
My heart
Cries
These evaporated tears that you will never taste as you brush your lips upon my skin
All of what we are
is a MYTH
Will forever be remembered, but NEVER believed
or RETOLD
just remembered...
as a distant truth
a distant...heartbreak
I have sheltered myself from your pain as long as I can
But soon
Wounds are RE-OPENED
and this feeling
BLEEDS.

Saturday, February 13, 2010

Valentine's Nightmare.

Disgusting, it's Valentine's Day. Who would have known my first post was gonna be on a day I detest the most.

Seriously, this day is just an excuse for society to waste money on bears, and chocolate, and stupid little cute valentine's day cards.

Maybe I'm just pessimistic. Or haven't had a Valentine's in 3 years. Whatever.

A poem...sort of a tribute to the one person I wish would have been here on this day...

You are like a Rubik's cube
Bright colors vibrating off of you
Quickly the eye is attracted, it is curious
But although you are appealing to the eyesight
You are so puzzling to the mind
Only to be stuck with a frustrating array of pigments that speak a language I cannot recognize
A language that whispers secrets of broken pasts and misguided hearts
A language...that is so sweet to the ear you forget it is the devil speaking to you
Trying to lure you in but I am so much stronger than that
The angels have bestowed this great honor of force inside my heart...my mind...and I will not let those sweet whispers creep in and
know my screts
known my thoughts
know my soul
Do you know my soul?
Everytime I try to show you, you pull away
My trust and judgement is tainted with every step you take back
With every word you choose not to say
With every breathe you second guess
I wish was there in all the moment you second guessed yourself
So I can twist and turn those fragments into a new array of pigments
Hopefully resulting in a language that is so much sweeter than the posion that is injected in me everytime I try to get in your head
The posion that seeps through my pores and into my bloodstream
Allowing me to feel the pain you never wish to show me.
I wish I was there in all the moments you wondered if you're not good enough
So I can rearrange the squares in your mind into a box that can hold all the great moments in your life
But that isn't enough
Let me build you a room to hold all the memories you will make
With the one that knows your heart
The one that knows your soul
Let me make you a castle, big enough to hold all the great loves your heart will someday hold
The many heartbreaks you will someday overcome
And create
I wish you could disappear during all the moments I dreamed of you
Because being with you is an illusion compared to the reality of my dreams
The brutality of my dreams
The raw truth my dreams always seem to scream
I always try so hard to open my eyes before it gets too much and my heart is pounding
But always you seem to keep me captivated and strung on during these lucid images that always seem to be on replay
Images of you wanting more, bringing me in, and then...pulling away
This pain is too much for me to bear sometimes
Sometimes...my nightmares seem so childish next to these deams..