Friday, April 29, 2011
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Maybe the problem is that we aren't lost enough. After all, you have to be lost to be found.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
I don't know if I can tell you, but I can tell you that I live with that everyday. One force bursts out, taking over, then looping back in on itself, and then either explodes again, or implodes so that another force may take its place. It's almost bipolar, and once people see another side of you they've not seen before, they wonder if you're ok or whether something's wrong. But the truth is, you're just being you, the way you always have, and this is just another one of those facets of your personality, another force which rings through your body.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Monday, April 11, 2011
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Friday, April 8, 2011
How can I explain that no place feels like home? We all feel we have a home, a safe niche in the world where we can relax, unload our problems, and be who we truly are without fear of judgement or hate. But the house I've lived in almost all my life does not feel like home. It's a house which is just a house, and yes, there are memories there, but none happy. I don't laugh here. I get irritated, angry, caged, none of which is healthy.
Out in the world, I feel safer, freer, and yet, that is not home either. There is always a forcefulness and an awkwardness which makes me try to be someone other than who I am. I'd like to say that it makes me want to be better, but it doesn't, and I am not. I feel that I blend into the walls and I try harder to be amusing to compensate for that feeling. Somehow, I think that it makes me look like a fool, not someone who could be admired or liked. Maybe it's because I don't know who I am. Maybe that's because I've never had the security to just be myself, thus having had no opportunity to find out. But I can say one thing: there isn't anybody in the world who would put themselves on the line for me; no one would defend me if I needed defending, and no one would fight for me if I was too tired to lift my head. I feel sometimes that I am dead centre on the stage, but there is no light, no sound, and the only person in the audience is looking somewhere else, totally unaware of my existence. But I know I'm there, and I want to be known, and I want so bad to raise my voice, get the spotlight turned on and then trained on me while I stand there and make a difference to the space, to my life, to that one audience member's life.
So I can't be with people, that much I'll admit. I'm always trying to fill some other skin for them to be able to accept me. But though I'm more comfortable by myself sometimes, I cannot live my life completely on the fringes either. And I know it's an idealistic fantasy to think that I will meet one person who will change all that, yet I cannot help but believe, somewhere in my heart, beneath layers and layers of logic and cynicism that this will happen. This is the point where I've realised yet again that trying to fill some other person's expectations of me isn't enough, and at the same time, being myself when I'm alone isn't enough either. But I can't trust that they won't hurt me, nor that they will accept me for everything I am, nor can I expect to be happy when I sit alone between four walls, starting at a computer screen, or lost in the pages of a book, where everyone has a happy ending, or at least, moments of pure joy.
I've set so much store by the one person I seem to be waiting for, that I actually feel sorry for them for when they do come into my life. I'm going to offload all my problems to them and hope that they can make it better, and I know that's not the right thing to do. They are, in my head, the magical solution to cure my loneliness, my awkwardness, and will help me find myself and my place in the world. And if things happen for a reason, maybe that's the reason this person hasn't happened yet. Maybe I have to learn to be on my own first, and truly appreciate what it is to hold my own without the help of others, and only then will I find the person I've been looking for, because only then will I not take them for granted and tell them all my problems. To be a realist here, things don't happen the way you want them to. Life sucks and the only things we're able to do is make it better or worse for ourselves. I want this unknown person to make it all better, but I know that it's not up to them; it's up to me. But it would be nice to know that someone would be there and love me unconditionally while I go through the transit to find myself, even if they're not there at the end of it. Does such a person even exist? Maybe they'll be that one person in the audience when I finally find my voice, the one person who hears me when I sing. And maybe, after that, after all the struggle, I'll actually be able to find home. That's all I ever wanted anyway.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Monday, April 4, 2011
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Friday, April 1, 2011
You carry this enigma around with you, and you never seem to speak to anyone. Maybe you're just shy and reserved, maybe we're not the type of people you tend to get along with, but whatever the case, it's incredibly attractive. And I want to speak to you, I do; don't think that I am aloof and ignoring you because I don't want to know you - it's because I do want to know you, but have no idea where to start. I'll probably try too hard and come across sounding stupid and over the top, and you'll laugh internally and think "what an idiot," before giving a slight smile and turning your eyes away politely. I'll sit there and silently curse at myself from that time forward, until I make another attempt at humour and the same thing happens.
And you have these big blue eyes which glance around and see everything. And this long hair you're constantly twirling around your fingers. And this beautiful face; I can just imagine running my fingertips along the contour of your jaw line, and pressing my lips to the ones you're so often touching with your pen or brushing your fingers over. And you have hands I can imagine holding, my fingers tracing yours, weaving in and out, in and out, over the lines on your palm and the knobs of your knuckles. And I can almost imagine the way your body would be warm against mine, so thin and tall; the way my arms would go around you. When the dreaming goes too far, I can imagine you coming up and grabbing my hand, flashing me a brilliant, beautiful grin and resting your chin on my shoulder.
I imagine sometimes you look at me the way I look at you, but I doubt it. We don't live in that kind of world. And as often as my eyes are magnetically drawn to you, as often as I try to stop them doing so, is as often as I know that it's an illusion and that I am going to walk away alone again. So while you're here and the rest of the world is out of focus, I have to keep in mind that one day you'll melt into the city lights.
Don't tell me I have to be patient, because I'm tired of hearing it. Don't tell me that it'll just happen - if that's the case, then why hasn't it happened? Don't tell me it's because I'm not truly ready, because goddamn it, I am. If you must say something, then tell me how to find someone. Tell me where to look, tell me who is actually interested; and if no one is, then shoot me and save me the disappointment and the complete shattering of my self esteem. That's probably going to be the most likely case anyway, so why even bother I guess? After all these years of life, and nothing to show for it but scars, and memories; but no one who stayed. No one wanted to stay. No one wanted to take up a permanent position in my life, so the spot is still vacant, waiting for someone; right now, anyone is good enough. They don't have to be perfect. I'm sure that one day I'll find the person who is perfect, for whom that position was specifically carved, the way jigsaw pieces are made to fall together flawlessly. Until then, it's just a matter of filling the gap with anyone who's a close enough fit. I'm beyond caring; I just need someone.
But who would want me? This is the true problem. Who would look at a girl who always wears jeans and a t-shirt? Who stays in the background among groups, and is in the foreground with friends, only to say stupid, over the top things. Who embarrasses herself continually, who tries to be more extroverted to hide low self worth. Who never bothers with her hair, who never touches cosmetics, who never bothers to change her appearance in any way from what is comfortable for her, and yet, is so uncomfortable. Who never feels confident, but feigns it all the time, who isn't really funny, but tries to be all the same. Who isn't entirely kind hearted, but tries to kid herself that she is. Who tries to pretend she doesn't care, but cares more than she dares to admit to anyone, even herself. Who is more lost, more confused and more lonely than a person in a foreign country without a map, with no understanding of the language. Who looks with a diminishing hope to each coming day, thinking"maybe this'll be it". Who cannot express the emotions she feels, who is too afraid to show emotion, who is too afraid to be vulnerable. Who is the most vulnerable person in existence, but tries to pretend that she is strong. Who is the biggest coward who ever lived, but will never admit it. Who wants to be strong, confident, without a care about what other people think, but is too caged within herself to actually be those things. Who is attracted to everything she cannot be, should not be and is caught in a world which borders more on fantasy than reality. Who falls for people without having ever spoken to them, and then tries to be aloof, just to keep the dream alive, whilst killing any chance of it in reality. Who wants to see beauty in everything, but no matter how hard she tries, simply can't. Who wants to be interesting, unusual and unique, but falls into a pattern of just being strange, without any kind of allure, or even worse, average, without even "the girl next door" air about her. Who is lazy, who complains, who has no particular talent. Who has terrible posture, and cannot look people in the eye when speaking, even when not guilty of anything. Who prefers staying inside, brooding, than outside being happy. Who wants to do things on her own because she's too embarrassed to do them with other people. Who wants adventure, but is too afraid to seek it. Who wants chaos and order simultaneously. Who wants to be free and daring and get in trouble with the law. Who gets angry to the point of tears over the smallest things, and who suppresses it all, even if in a murderous rage. Who is awkward and feels like she doesn't even fill our her own skin properly. Who wishes she could be a little more in the spotlight, just so people don't forget she exists. Who is often overlooked and forgotten. Who prefers sitting in the corner than anywhere else in a room. Who gets frustrated in a million ways, but never lets it out. Who loves beautiful and fragile things, but is unable to make them or keep them. Who loves darkness and insanity and wishes she could use them as an excuse for crazy actions, but knows it will never be plausible. Who is morbid. Who wonders who would turn up should she end up in hospital, or who would cry if she died. Who wishes she could go after what she wanted, but is always too afraid. Who more often than not just wants to break down and dissolve. Who is tired of the way life is going for her. Who sees a bleak future on the worst of days, and doesn't try to see the future on the best of them. Who wants to be artistic and creative, but honestly lacks the sensibility to be so, while also lacking the reason to be good at the logical and the people skills to be humanitarian. Who lacks focus and determination and motivation, who hardly ever completes everything. Who is seriously one of the most messed up people alive. Really, who would want that? Would you?.......yeah, didn't think so. Explains why I'm still here. Alone. Like I probably always will be, even though it kills me more and more everyday. I'm just more inclined to sadness than happiness, like that's my allotted lot in life. It's better I recognise that now and learn to deal with it. Maybe the disappointment won't be as bad then later in life.