I do

Hear me out. You need to hear this or read this or just simply, I think you really need to know this. I’ve been a drifter. That’s me, I drift….I was going about my life…drifting… And I would have probably destroyed myself, not felt anything that lasted for more than a few minutes…And then I met someone. I met you. I stopped drifting. It was fucking awesome while it lasted. I felt like I could just stare into your eyes forever and life would take care of itself. Mighty freaking stupid I know. Reality always hits you like a goddamn truck riding at 100 miles an hour. And it hurts like shit when you wake up. But it was just so complete when it was there. And the hardest part is that each time I’m more convinced than the last time that I’m over you, you hit me like a tornado I just fall back into your arms. And I’m peaceful there. You happened to me. I can’t change that. You can’t change that. I don’t know whether I’m supposed to love you or something. But it’s sort of a complete feeling I can’t explain when I’m with you. Our conversations stab like broken glass sometimes. But when you smile, I just see you. And I can’t see the world then. I can’t see any freaking thing else. And maybe someday I’m going to wake up and find you gone, forever. And no one’s going to be there to hold me as I fall. But today’s not that day. And I’m prepared. I’m prepared to carry on somehow. But it won’t be me. I’m weak with you. I’m ugly with you. But I can be. Because I know that you’ll see me as okay. You’ll find something pretty there that I can’t see. And I’ll be happy in that minute. I know you think you’re supposed to make me happy always or most of the time. But it’s okay. I don’t have to be. I know it’s worth the pain to see you smile. Because I’m at peace. I feel beautiful when I can make you smile. I feel beautiful when I can make you laugh. You can look at the TV all you want. You can call me stupid or dumb or ask me to stop writing. I’ll get by. But you’ve happened to me. And whatever this is, whatever you feel and whatever I feel, it makes me empty inside sometimes. I look back and I look ahead. And I know that it’s not all perfect. Things are messed up. And maybe they’ll never get better. Maybe you and I will just be a textbook case of a Romeo Juliet story that never worked out. But maybe… just maybe, there’s a chance. There’s a chance that you and I will be together again. And we’ll smile and laugh and live the most amazing life together, challenging each other, fulfilling each other… I’ll wait for that day. Yes. I will wait for that day. I believe it can happen. I do. 

Inner Peace

I could lift my head above the water, 

But I don’t need to,

The view is just fine from here,

And I’m breathing fast, but it’s okay

I’m not drowning for once, 

Rather floating in peace.

I’m not thinking about what happens next,

In a good way.   

I feel content in this moment

And for once, I don’t care if it lasts.

The chaos has paused,

Even if just for a minute

Po, tell me, is this inner peace? 

Swans vs. Ducks

When I was little, they used to call me beautiful. It’s funny, because isn’t the ugly duckling supposed to become a swan? Well folks, in some cases, the baby swan grows into an ugly duck. That’s me.

Large, pretty button eyes are now surrounded by dark, fluffy pillows. Chubby cheeks no longer matter because my skin’s not fair enough for people to admire. I’m not whining, I’m just saying that all this fake make-up and stampede to look the prettiest is getting to me. After so long, it’s finally getting to me.

My brain’s not a criteria to be loved and my kindness doesn’t merit a special date with someone I like. It’s strange, because I’m not attracted to six-pack abed, steroid guzzling, rabbit-food eating, gyming and Ray Ban-wearing hunks. Someone in simple clothing who can make me smile is all I want, and can’t get.

No one ever told us when we were kids that we better start exercising early, because once you cross over from teenage years, you’ll end up as a blob whom no one will really see as ‘attractive’.

I run away from the mirror, I run away from an idle mind. I love my food, I love my chicken. Hilarious, right? But is that so bad? Torturing my body at the gym, eating tasteless scraps of food and spending hours grooming myself; why do they expect this of me? And then to tolerate some idiotic Barbie yap on about how she’s lost half a kilo and her jeans is lose and how’s she’s so terribly tempted to eat the chocolate cake but she can’t.  Why?

This nonsense about beauty being skin deep seems to me like what ugly ducks tell themselves to feel better, or what those elite swans tell ugly ducks whom they pity. I’m not bitter, may I am a little bitter. I just don’t understand why I’m expected to feel good about myself when people don’t treat me that way. I mean, I’m human, right? If everyday you tell a person he’s stupid, chances are, after a while, he might actually start thinking he’s stupid. It’s true. Try it. Call it weakness, call it whatever you elite people call it. There’s only so much you can battle yourself. You want a break once in a while for heaven’s sake.

I’m tired. I just want some empathy. I don’t want the Dumb and Dumbers of the world drooling over me. I don’t want a thousand admirers or hundreds of friends who like my facebook statuses because they think I’m cute. I definitely don’t want affection from someone who doesn’t really care. No. I’m not that shallow. I just want someone with common sense to see I’m not so bad a person and I need lots of affection. No one understands that loneliness is not physical. The physical feeling is just a manifestation of the internal feeling. The real loneliness is psychological; the feeling that no one understands what we feel and that no one will ever bother to.    

I can claim the word for my own

I can say with pride that I live to tell the tales of when our lips met …And of the sweet devastation of belonging to you…And the helplessness of holding on to waves that crashed upon my shores. I can say with pride that I can love. But waves shall forever return to the sea where they belong.

You’re wise. And I’m stone on barren soils of existence, changing forever, yet staying the same. I’m setting out to write of love: the word I vehemently claim for my own before your critical eye.

I’m sorry I died. I never meant to take you from you, or steal the tender beauty from your eyes. Because once the stranger disappears from within me, the warmth returns and I see the almost smile on your face. In the calm crevices of a still heart, I see the birth of stars that promise life and peace. And in those moments I live a lifetime: a tale of you and me, meant to be. In those moments the poisonous chemicals I call doubt and fear and hatred cannot affect me. But they’re just moments, and what I feel is just a feeling.

If purity were the path to God, what would be the path to you? If only gentle fingertips could heal as the rain heals. If only soft breaths could heal like a cool summer breeze. I feel. But the feeling passes. I cannot hide from my demons. I can only face them when they wage war on me. I could breathe, I could live, and I could sleep, if you rested with me for a while. I wouldn’t leave; I wouldn’t be so empty, if you’d hold on. I’d hold on to you. I wouldn’t be inadequate. I wouldn’t be inappropriate. I would just dissolve into the air around you, and stay with you, and hold on to you.

But you’ll leave again. You will. I’ve lost you. Whatever makes you happy, whatever makes you whole; I bow down. Take my gift. Relish it. I can claim the word for my own before your critical eye. I am proud, but not mighty. You’re in my skin. You make me stronger, and I can kneel weakly before you when my battles are won. But you shall not accept it. Where shall I take this feeling? Will someone accept it?