Tuesday, June 24, 2014

Our Last Sunset

I see the sun set in your eyes,
Silencing the flame that was burning blue for so long, now.
I taste your sweet poison one last time,
Stepping back, taking a bow.

This goodbye isn’t sad, it’s just another one,
One of many we’ve said over the aeons that we’ve lived together.
Though, it’s different this time, we both know it is,
This time it’s for, and only, forever.

Time stands still now, if only for me,
‘Cause I see you moving on, unhurt, unfrozen.
I want to turn away, but I want to stay,
Even though it isn’t I whom you’ve chosen.

Anyone else’s touch just wouldn’t be you,
I’d still feel your warmth around me, while I lay next to just another cold soul.
Forgetting you, but remembering everything we shared,
Everything that now, you just stole.

I need this, I want this, though it’s eating me away from inside,
Letting you go was always going to be hard, taking my all.
I knew it the second I saw you for the first time,
I knew you would be my downfall.

If forcing you to stay made me happy, we both know that’d be a lie,
To live with you would be perfect imperfection.
If letting you go brought me peace, we both know that’d be a lie, too,
To die without you, would be imperfect perfection.

torbakhopper | Flickr

Thursday, May 1, 2014

Bitching Out

Slit #1

This one is for you, nameless classmate.

Yeah, you. The one. The only.

I don’t think anyone else at school ever called me a dweeb as many time as you did: 3,074 times. Yes, I counted. What, is that something a dweeb, as you like to refer to me as, would do? Count the number of times he was bullied in school? The number of times he was called a colorful variety of words, some he didn’t even know existed (ass-tard?) instead of his name? Count the number of times he was kicked in the groin (56) just because he was walking towards you, with his head down hoping you wouldn’t notice him in the hallways?

Slit #2

This one is for you, nameless teacher.

Thank you for calling me out for not completing my homework. I was unable to solve those “simple” math equations you wouldn’t be able to solve yourself if it weren’t for the cheat-guide you’d bought from the book depot down the road from where I live (you didn’t know that, did you—PSYCH) because my drunken dad made me clean up his puke when he got home after “working late with a colleague” with lipstick on his collar (and trousers), while my mum just sat and stared out the window, the same thing she’s been doing for the past two years, ever since her own dad died, because now she didn’t have anyone to talk to about her adulterous husband.

Slit #3

This one is for you, nameless school headmaster.

I was standing outside of class because I hadn’t completed my homework. Not because I had verbally abuse someone (the way you verbally abused me). Not because I had slapped someone so hard, his lip started bleeding (the way you slapped me). Not because I had reached for the nearest wooden cane and beat the shit out of a little kid so bad, he couldn’t do let out a cry of pain because even that hurt him just as much as every blow with the cane (the way you beat the shit out of me).

Slit #4

This one is for you, nameless parent.

It’s not your fault. You deserved a better son. I’m sorry.

Ted Van Pelt | Flickr

Wednesday, April 23, 2014

The Heavenly Blue

I’ve been holding on for way too long,
Onto something that should never have been mine.
I keep singing all those cheesy songs,
Wishing I could steal you out of my mind.

I tried to say no, said I couldn’t take it anymore,
Wishing you were with me every night.
But you came right back, though I threw you out the door,
I was blinded by you; loving you gave me sight.

Just a whiff of your scent left me craving for the rest,
But even that was enough to have me wrapped around your finger.
And now that you’re gone, I still think it’s just a test,
Your memories will always linger.

These feelings are real; they have to be, I know it,
Why else would this hurt so much?
My heart feels like it’s been thrown into a fiery pit,
For, my soul, you had managed to touch.

It’s been a while since we’ve spoken, or seen each other face to face,
But I guess I can’t blame you for the things that happened.
Though, I still long for your warm embrace,
That lit up my world when it was blackened.

You had to leave, even as you promised to stay,
And I’m not going to hold that against you.
But just know that I’ll never forget that day,
When I look up at you, and see your smile in the heavenly blue.

jenny downing | Flickr

Tuesday, April 1, 2014

You will be the death of meh

Love it? Worship it.

Hate it? Trash it.

There is no meh.

Not anymore, at least.

The culture of not having any kind of reaction to an occurrence, being, or object, does not exist anymore.

I cannot say, “I don’t care about this,” anymore.

“What did you think of her? Isn’t this the coolest? Why can’t you see, this is just SO wrong! OMG, what he did is SO amazing.”

I haven’t the faintest idea what you all are talking about. And I like it that way.

I don’t care who said what to whom, or what that person said in response to said person.

I don’t care why he’s doing what he’s doing as long as he’s doing it way over there in his corner of the world where he’s all alone and by himself.

I don’t care if she’s not doing anything about what he’s doing as long as she’s not doing her thing anywhere around where anyone else might be bothered about her thing.

Stop making me respond to things that doesn’t need any more attention than it’s already had so far from the rest of the world.

The struggle to find the medium between fanaticism and being passionless isn’t that hard. There’s hot/warm/cold. Hot is only good for when things get too cold. Cold is only good for when things get too hot. Where’s warm? Right where I’m standing.

I feel a lot of things, but I don’t feel passionate enough about any of them to shove it down your throat.

I don’t feel a lot of things, but I’m not dispassionate about something so much that I’d literally tear down anything and everything to do with it.

Stop hyping things that don’t need to be hyped. Stop demeaning things that deserve a chance. There is a place for everything.

Feeling meh is good. Feeling meh gives you a balanced perspective. Feeling meh doesn’t fuck with your brain to choose sides over a pointless battle that’ll eventually just lead to hate, war, and destruction.

Meh is good. Meh is the shit.

Find the medium.

Find meh.