Honestly, I'm not angry. I don't even think twice about what's happened. I didn't lose my trust in you, so for sure, we're still friends. Sadly, what I did lose for you was respect, and with that went concern, and ultimately, caring. I tried to make the effort to reach out, but I stopped myself and thought.. why should I care so much when you were the one who was willing to just ignore me and not give a damn about what came out of a stupid misunderstanding? It was easily fixable, but the way you thought really irked me. I did not expect that out of you. I did not expect you to stoop that low.
Does this count as a grudge? I'm not sure, but if it is.. I guess I'm damn good at holding grudges.
Saturday 21 April 2012
Wednesday 14 March 2012
Don't Look Back in Anger.
The thought crossed my mind; maybe I'm in love. Though, as suddenly as that thought appeared, is as suddenly the feeling left. I'm not sure why I have no sentiment, despite wanting so much to have someone to care for. I pour my heart out to the few friends I love, but it's overwhelming. The boundaries that keep me from loving wholeheartedly, make me not want to love at all. This is life living in extremes. Moderation is boring.
On another note, I think I'm pretty good at meaning what I say, so I'm not sure why people can still be confused. I don't play games. If I feel something about you, you will probably hear it. If you don't.. then I'm probably not sure. However, if you're gonna play games.. you're just moving my hand to make the decision, and I hate having decisions made for me. Prepare to be hated.
It's only a matter of time, only a matter of time.
On another note, I think I'm pretty good at meaning what I say, so I'm not sure why people can still be confused. I don't play games. If I feel something about you, you will probably hear it. If you don't.. then I'm probably not sure. However, if you're gonna play games.. you're just moving my hand to make the decision, and I hate having decisions made for me. Prepare to be hated.
It's only a matter of time, only a matter of time.
Thursday 23 February 2012
The Matriarchs.
This is a work in progress.
The matriarchs sit at the round marble table in silence, chopsticks clinking against their rice bowls. It's been a long day, it's always a long day. The queen is the breadwinner, the head of the household, her mother is the caretaker and rock, the household is their kingdom. A stifled bark comes from under the table, a soft nudge from a cold wet nose on her foot. She taps the playful boy away, and with a stern "No, not now.", he retreats to his corner in a sulk. He is the queen's most trusted eunuch, though his duties are nothing more than to laze and eat, and love unconditionally. He is the best man the queen could love.
The queen mother gazes intently across the table at the old king. Time took his youth, his hair and teeth, but drink took away his power, his fight, his mind. He spits a chicken bone onto the table and goes greedily for the next one. In disdain the queen mother says, "Even without teeth, you eat the fastest, the most and the best.", but the comment falls on deaf ears. She sighs and looks angrily into her bowl. For years she has given the best of herself to her husband, the countless years of tears and beatings, all for her children and their children. When the wealth was gone, so was the dictator, and despite losing it all, she sighed with relief. Now the old king is nothing but an empty shell of himself, waiting for time to take the only thing he has left. Even now she cannot bear taking the best cuts of chicken, or the leafiest parts of vegetables. She puts down her bowl, suddenly everything is tasteless, overwhelmed by the bitterness and discontentment in her heart. The old king spits out another chicken bone, and goes again for the next.
The queen looks at her mother, seeing the fire burn in her eyes. It is a fire that came when the chains were broken. She quickly overthrew the king and the kingdom was hers at last. The queen looks at her father. He was the walking dead and her heart ached for him. It is her filial duty to watch him, even though he is just another man who fell short of her glory. She sought out kings to replace him, but one by one they failed. Her heart and body hurt from each failure, they took parts of her that they would never return, but it was alright. She is strong, a fortress, and a few stolen bricks will not collapse her. The women she used to call friends speak daggers behind her back, tongues black from the poison they spew to their friends and children. They drink happily and willingly of this poison because it's the only thing that fuels their idle minds. The queen always smiles graciously at them in passing, although she hears all and sees all. I am not so kind, and I say to hell with them. They are merely legally wed prostitutes, waiting to be fucked. I glare at them and wait to spill my own brand of poison and blades, but the queen stops me. "It's not worth it.", she says. The queen has always been an expert at picking her battles. I want to fight them all for her.
"Ba, please eat slowly, there is still plenty.", she says quietly. The old king pauses and looks up at his daughter, he nods and takes a sip from his mug.
I wonder sometimes if the queen is lonely, her children grown and distant. Even as a woman so extraordinary, her life is painfully static. I wonder sometimes if she needs a man to take away her burdens, so that she can finally live the life that she deserves. I wonder sometimes if she is happy, despite the smiles on her lips and the laugh lines on her smooth fair skin, I see the faintest hint of sadness in her eyes. I wonder sometimes if the broken hearts have left her cynical, and that she no longer believes in love, when she deserves so much of it.
No matter what the answer, a queen is still a queen, with or without a king.
Mother, I am not the daughter that you can be the proudest of, and I know that you live in constant fear that I will disappoint you, but I am so proud of you. You are everything that I can ever hope to be in this lifetime and I will consider it an achievement if I can ever live up to you. I love you, and I can only pray to be as strong.
The matriarchs sit at the round marble table in silence, chopsticks clinking against their rice bowls. It's been a long day, it's always a long day. The queen is the breadwinner, the head of the household, her mother is the caretaker and rock, the household is their kingdom. A stifled bark comes from under the table, a soft nudge from a cold wet nose on her foot. She taps the playful boy away, and with a stern "No, not now.", he retreats to his corner in a sulk. He is the queen's most trusted eunuch, though his duties are nothing more than to laze and eat, and love unconditionally. He is the best man the queen could love.
The queen mother gazes intently across the table at the old king. Time took his youth, his hair and teeth, but drink took away his power, his fight, his mind. He spits a chicken bone onto the table and goes greedily for the next one. In disdain the queen mother says, "Even without teeth, you eat the fastest, the most and the best.", but the comment falls on deaf ears. She sighs and looks angrily into her bowl. For years she has given the best of herself to her husband, the countless years of tears and beatings, all for her children and their children. When the wealth was gone, so was the dictator, and despite losing it all, she sighed with relief. Now the old king is nothing but an empty shell of himself, waiting for time to take the only thing he has left. Even now she cannot bear taking the best cuts of chicken, or the leafiest parts of vegetables. She puts down her bowl, suddenly everything is tasteless, overwhelmed by the bitterness and discontentment in her heart. The old king spits out another chicken bone, and goes again for the next.
The queen looks at her mother, seeing the fire burn in her eyes. It is a fire that came when the chains were broken. She quickly overthrew the king and the kingdom was hers at last. The queen looks at her father. He was the walking dead and her heart ached for him. It is her filial duty to watch him, even though he is just another man who fell short of her glory. She sought out kings to replace him, but one by one they failed. Her heart and body hurt from each failure, they took parts of her that they would never return, but it was alright. She is strong, a fortress, and a few stolen bricks will not collapse her. The women she used to call friends speak daggers behind her back, tongues black from the poison they spew to their friends and children. They drink happily and willingly of this poison because it's the only thing that fuels their idle minds. The queen always smiles graciously at them in passing, although she hears all and sees all. I am not so kind, and I say to hell with them. They are merely legally wed prostitutes, waiting to be fucked. I glare at them and wait to spill my own brand of poison and blades, but the queen stops me. "It's not worth it.", she says. The queen has always been an expert at picking her battles. I want to fight them all for her.
"Ba, please eat slowly, there is still plenty.", she says quietly. The old king pauses and looks up at his daughter, he nods and takes a sip from his mug.
I wonder sometimes if the queen is lonely, her children grown and distant. Even as a woman so extraordinary, her life is painfully static. I wonder sometimes if she needs a man to take away her burdens, so that she can finally live the life that she deserves. I wonder sometimes if she is happy, despite the smiles on her lips and the laugh lines on her smooth fair skin, I see the faintest hint of sadness in her eyes. I wonder sometimes if the broken hearts have left her cynical, and that she no longer believes in love, when she deserves so much of it.
No matter what the answer, a queen is still a queen, with or without a king.
Mother, I am not the daughter that you can be the proudest of, and I know that you live in constant fear that I will disappoint you, but I am so proud of you. You are everything that I can ever hope to be in this lifetime and I will consider it an achievement if I can ever live up to you. I love you, and I can only pray to be as strong.
Wednesday 22 February 2012
As If Nothing's Wrong.
Another night that I can tell will be a sleepless one. It's too warm in this bed yet kicking off the covers makes it too damn cold. The "just right" seems to be so god damn elusive. First world problems, huh? I've tried to toss and turn myself to exhaustion for the past hour and a half but to no avail. I still lie awake with my thoughts and fears for company. Miserable companions they are, I must say.
I feel that I should be sedated because these fears I have are completely irrational. I fear my father leaving me behind, but he had already done so a long time ago. I was happy when we met, it felt like a part of myself I had not known, that was hidden in my memory was found again. Alas, like all men in my life, he left again. This time I wasn't too young to not wonder why, this time I didn't have the luxury of not thinking.. "Perhaps I wasn't worth staying around for. Perhaps I'm not the daughter he wanted." I see the photographs of him with my half brother, his girlfriend. They seem happy. He seems happy to embrace someone who is not his own, but what happened when it came to me? The question is rhetoric, because I already know why.
Why am I afraid of things that I already have the answer for, or the things that have already happened? How could the fears of the past translate to the present? I guess haunting is not just for angry spirits or poltergeists, but for your greatest fears and your darkest thoughts. They creep into your psyche and cause your sanity to fester, until once again you're consumed by the dank, the dirty, the deadbeat dad.
I know that when faced, I will just smile and laugh like I have nothing to hide, and I don't, really. I am far from still waters, so nobody really knows how deep these thoughts run. A minute ago, I was thinking of what I wanted to have for lunch tomorrow, so I'm pretty sure I don't either.
This mind has lost itself.
I feel that I should be sedated because these fears I have are completely irrational. I fear my father leaving me behind, but he had already done so a long time ago. I was happy when we met, it felt like a part of myself I had not known, that was hidden in my memory was found again. Alas, like all men in my life, he left again. This time I wasn't too young to not wonder why, this time I didn't have the luxury of not thinking.. "Perhaps I wasn't worth staying around for. Perhaps I'm not the daughter he wanted." I see the photographs of him with my half brother, his girlfriend. They seem happy. He seems happy to embrace someone who is not his own, but what happened when it came to me? The question is rhetoric, because I already know why.
Why am I afraid of things that I already have the answer for, or the things that have already happened? How could the fears of the past translate to the present? I guess haunting is not just for angry spirits or poltergeists, but for your greatest fears and your darkest thoughts. They creep into your psyche and cause your sanity to fester, until once again you're consumed by the dank, the dirty, the deadbeat dad.
I know that when faced, I will just smile and laugh like I have nothing to hide, and I don't, really. I am far from still waters, so nobody really knows how deep these thoughts run. A minute ago, I was thinking of what I wanted to have for lunch tomorrow, so I'm pretty sure I don't either.
This mind has lost itself.
Monday 20 February 2012
Fiction.
A friend once told me that I'm like a puppy, and that I need constant attention or I'd get bored and run off to destroy things. As much as I resented that observation, I couldn't help but agree. I bore easily, and I tire quickly of people. It's not often that I find people that I like talking to and when I do, I feel the need to share all my thoughts with them. Out of the already small pool of people that I choose to turn to, there's even fewer who can keep up with the constant conversation. Where does that leave me? Again, with my own thoughts.
There are days that I just hate being in my own head because it feels like my thoughts are on loop and my brain is forever on repeat. It's like a bullet train on a circular track, zipping so quickly that it's impossible to keep up. The grinding of the train and track screech in my ears and keep me up at night. It's tiring, so tiring. I wish I could just turn my mind off, I wish my personality wasn't so intense. How will anyone keep up if I can't even keep up with myself?
This is the breaking point.
There are days that I just hate being in my own head because it feels like my thoughts are on loop and my brain is forever on repeat. It's like a bullet train on a circular track, zipping so quickly that it's impossible to keep up. The grinding of the train and track screech in my ears and keep me up at night. It's tiring, so tiring. I wish I could just turn my mind off, I wish my personality wasn't so intense. How will anyone keep up if I can't even keep up with myself?
This is the breaking point.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)