I THINK AND FEEL AND LOVE TOO MUCH

But my problem was never that I couldn’t love well enough, it was always the opposite. I would love too much. I suppose it’s strangely idealistic of me. But to love always meant to need. To not want to be alone anymore. I loved to kiss, I loved to kiss everywhere. I loved to hug and to hold ( I’m always here for free hugs and kisses ) I loved to write and be written to. I’d write to him every second of every day if i could. I’d tell him everything. About what I feel about the universe, the colour of the sky, the nails I paint, how my table creeks when I sit, how I fidget with a thing constantly when I’m sad, how much i thought of him.

It’s strange. But to love never meant to rest, it meant to keep trying. To keep working, to put all my energy into loving. I’d make a career of it, i’d call myself the best most passionate lover in the world. I’d make an industry of it if i could. All of us who loved too much could sit in a building and love. The building would begin to reek of roses and tears and laughter and paper and ink. We’d only have red and yellow lights, we’d have so many flowers and we’d have no curtains. In love, there is no hiding.

We’d leave the doors unlocked, we’d have no cubicles, we’d cook for each other and we’d clean each others’ back all the time.

I wish that loving wasn’t something looked down on, I wish to be obsessed didn’t automatically mean to be creepy, to not be ambitious, to not love yourself. It’s strange, but love is the only thing i’m good at. But the world has taught me that to love too much is something to be ashamed of. I’ve learnt that i’m supposed to keep myself distracted, as my mother says. That i’m supposed to do my internships and watch tv and pretend i don’t feel it. But i love a lot, i don’t tire of it. I’ve been hiding it a lot, but i can’t stop feeling it.

I think and feel too much. I love too much.

Why should i stop that?

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I don’t know if I am at all

Often times I find myself repeating the same sentences to myself,

I am angry,

I deserve more than this,

This isn’t fair to me,

I am angry.

In the pretext of this situation, I must proclaim that I do not fully know how to explain myself, and for that reason nobody understands me. Or so I like to believe, to remind myself that I am still special in some way. Whatever way.

Often times I find myself repeating the same sentences. I am not too sure why I do this. I think it’s because everytime I have bothered to let someone into this weird head of mine- it’s lead to complete and absolute chaos. You do not fight darkness with darkness and you do not fight wolves with moonlight.

I hold on to the terrible things.
It’s a bad habit, but it does not leave and I do not make it.

I do not know how communication works

Do I let the thoughts bleed out of me or do I shape them first? Do I apologise for their existence or do I snatch them back once released?

I cannot remember the last time I opened my mouth and meant what I said.
I cannot remember the last time a conversation didn’t end with a ‘why’

This isn’t what I taught me
I cannot go back to who I was and I cannot figure out who I want to be
If there was a metaphor to describe what this is like, I think it would be

I’m a grenade asked to pass through the neck of a milk bottle

A wooden splinter caught between nail and skin

A bullet stuck mid-air

I waver between living and barely breathing

I don’t know if I am at all

Or if

I am,

hardly.

LESSONS (1) LOCUTION 101

You will continue to suffer if you have an emotional reaction to everything that is said to you.

 

True power is sitting back and observing everything with logic.

 

True power is restraint.

 

If words control you that means everyone else can control you.

 

Breathe and allow things to pass.

 

Dear all.

ON NOT BEING ALRIGHT.

Ever since I can remember I have always been an angry person. I snap at my mom for stupid things(to the point where I’m screaming at her for nothing, and I know its wrong when I’m doing it but I do it anyway) and I over analyze EVERYTHING.

If you were to meet me you would think that I didn’t have a care in the world.
I have been called “fun, bubbily, always happy*, adorable* cute” etc.
The only people I actually release all of my anger towards is my mom, sister, and my boyfriend.

When I am not in control of something, I feel extremely anxious and angry.
I am very good at talking to people and I appear to be very confident. However, that is not the case at all. People who know me well would say that I have anger problems.
I am insecure to the point where I am CONSTANTLY thinking bad things about myself (like how I’m insane, or evil).

I have been dating the same guy on and off for 5 years. I am only 19 and I have never been without my boyfriend.

In a way, I almost feel worthless without him. I feel like if I’m not with him then he will move on and be happy and no one else will ever want to be with me because I’m a bad person.

 

 

1999 SERIES

You never raise your voice to me. … know that whatever it is… that you’re trying to tell me, I promise you, I promise I’ll understand But you don’t have to raise your voice to me.

Don’t raise your voice to me.

You already made your decision!

I understand the oeuvre. I understand the basic mise-en-scene of what you’re saying. I really don’t understand anything.

I beg your pardon?

No. No “however”. Just be wrong. Just stand there in your wrongness and be wrong and get used to it.

You keep glancing over like you’re afraid I’m going to steal something.

You know, sometimes, I don’t even know what you’re talking about, do hell with you.

I thank you,

Actually, I came to beg your forgiveness. I offered you the world and at the first.

I’M NOT SURE WHAT TO TITLE THIS

This is unlike anything I have ever written before. This is not going to be me talking about an experience, this isn’t going to be me explaining to you how tragic my life is or how strong I am for getting through it anyway. This is an apology, an acceptance, an ode to my sadness and to the love of my life. 
 I am sorry. I have a tendency to write to people I owe apologies to.
I’ve been stalling writing this because I wasn’t sure I was ready to understand. But now? I am.

I am ready to accept, to understand and then manifest in myself the changes it brings into my life.
I am sorry. Yet again, I don’t think I have ever neglected anything as much as I have neglected you.
You have tried to comfort me, to show me what needs fixing and show me just how soft I can be. After a whole lifetime of living inside of a shell and starting to turn into it- you taught me that I am so incredibly capable of breaking out of it. You have helped me grow, you have taught me kindness, softness, a gentle ruthlessness that has pulled me in and out of the kind of realisations people have just before they are dying. You have been so important, and I am so incredibly apologetic about refusing to see you for what you have been.
There’s a quote in one of my favourite movies- I couldn’t see you when you were here, and now that you are gone, I see you everywhere.
It is unfair on my part to say that I miss you, I have fought so hard to have you leave. But it is even more unfair to not thank you for your stay- thank you for all that you’ve brought to my life, for all the memories I will hold so close to my heart for the simple reason that I couldn’t imagine having them.
I melt at the mere sight of your face because I haven’t known comfort like this before. A place so homely, you hold yourself down to it no matter how toxic you might make it for yourself.

I am listening to you. I have heard you, and I am grateful for having you around while I did.  

Whatever love we have had was maybe only meant to last us as long as it took me to understand that I am enough and always have been. They say stretching out the sadness is like watering a dead flower, and I am thankful about how wise you are, enough to know when to crawl back into whatever shell it is you popped out of.

I love you immensely, and if you come around again- I will be more gentle.

I will listen, I will accept and I will feel you completely.

I owe you that, and I will give it to you happily. Goodbye.

Love, 

Me. 
 

TO BUILD A HOME

As Cinematic Orchestra plays in the background on repeat, I can’t stop thinking about all the times I’ve lived, really lived under the delusion that these memories and moments and times will come back and I’ll live them over and over till every little detail is etched into my mind almost as if I made them.

I speak to you because I don’t know who else to talk to. I’m surrounded by people who claim to love me and act up on it too. But I’ve never wanted to talk about myself as much as I do now.
Back in November, i started working on my right to express and talk about myself and whine when I wanted to. I thought I earned it because of all the time I stayed absolutely silent for. fast forward 8 months, I’m writing to you because I find myself in the same position. Over and over. There are a few things that bother me right now.

Let’s start with this. I’m nineteen . All my life I’ve prided myself on how I’ve been ahead of my years and now I find myself getting repulsed at the very same thought. My personality, when not an absolute goofy waste of existence feels pretentious. Talking about my thoughts and real things isn’t something I’m very proud of. I feel like I should keep my voice low and my opinion or feelings unheard. Like they’re all an excuse to come off as someone I’m not. But that isn’t true at all. I feel guilty for expressing sometimes. Like I’ve committed a sin by not being rock hard and stone cold. Like I’m disappointing people by not being walking sunshine and rainbows. It doesn’t feel too nice.. It isn’t because they aren’t nice or anything, no. The people around me are great. Just not familiar. I’m not too sure if me talking around them is okay. Or if I’m crossing limits by telling them about my life and how it’s been. Or if I’m overwhelming them with all too much all at once. Or if they have things going on their lives and I’m being a burden. I’ve had the best of everything throughout. It’s not that I don’t want to make the skies look blue again, I just don’t know how to.
And then. The constant tracing back to times I’ve loved being in. Something feels so..strange. Like this big part of me got cut off or this huge chunk of life fell into the unknown. I’m not much for nostalgia. I’ve nearly lost everything i had and I’m still loosing, But things somehow manages to find its way to me, sometimes. I’ve traced things back to right where they stemmed from but I haven’t quite figured out what’s missing.

I’ve only ever heard of voids in chests and emptiness before, I feel it now.
I expressed a lot of love, I really did. But I’m not too satisfied. I don’t know if it’s because I’m disappointed in myself or the way that I said it. Or if I said it too early or if I regret saying it because it wasn’t the situation I pictured in my head. There’s always that one thing that just doesn’t feel right. And although everything else does, somehow something keeps bothering me.
Everything seems so..there. And I don’t want it to be. I want it to shatter or shine brighter or look hazy or something just not be so there.

I’ve lost so many people. Some I left on purpose and never looked back. Some were taken from me, and I never said good-bye.
It’s like I’m treading on a broken bridge knowing it’s about to fall but with every step i take, the previous one disappears and I can’t turn because there’s nothing but a solid void I can’t tear my way into or out of.

But afterall I don’t want myself fixed. Infact, nobody wants their lives fixed. Nobody wants their problems solved. Their dramas. their distractions. Their stories resolved. Their messes cleaned up. Because what would they have left? Just the big scary unknown.

‘Maybe loner is too strong a word, but I’ve always enjoyed being on my own.

And for all the people I can’t get myself to say this to,

I love you.

Please don’t forget that.

SKIN

I do not
have delicate
fingers
or
frail
wrists
or pale
palms
with traces
of blue
green
like cross roads
on paper thin
maps
printed
journeys

no

I have bruised
knuckles
scraped
palms
torn wrists
calloused
scarred arms
I wear with pride
marks
stretched along
my forearm
as if I drew them on
a language
they don’t recognise
it reads
I’m a warrior
a knight put in
an armour of skin
flawed
carved
etched with history
look at me