i hung up the phone and spun my head in a clockwise manner, lifting my hand to my forehead, so i could scope you out from the floating bodies chilling on the streets of paris. my pulse kicked loudly against my skin while my heart tried to break free from the walls confining it to the cavity over my left breast.
my thoughts are competing with one another in a race to see which of the more irrational ones can make it to the finish line first and convince me that the gaping black hole inside my chest is out to engulf me and trap me in the darkness for the rest of my life.
the air reeks of pubescent, teenage hormones and i’m a total outsider because the prefix “teen-” is no longer a part of my vocabulary. sometimes i wonder if i got ahead of myself and what i got myself into, thinking that this was a bigger deal than it actually is. but
back to the room.
seeing these smiling young faces, hopeful with dreams and ambitions about college makes me reminisce about the times i spent in this building last year: all the struggles i went through, the classes i took and how much i took for granted what was handed to me. i realize now that
i want to relive the past, that
i’m stuck and pushing myself back to
a place i don’t belong—somewhere i shouldn’t be. it’s time for
real ”grown-up” things now, not the things i considered to be adult at the age of 15. but what can i do if i feel like i’m not ready? it’s already a miracle that i pushed myself this far, but now
there’s no more time for games and recess. all of that stopped
the day i got my diploma.
(a/n: that’s my creative brain. the person on the bottom is a therapist — probably the voice in my head — asking me to “tell me about your problems…” and the thing that looks like a sheep/ovaries is my brain spilling its contents/my emotions out onto pieces of paper, that become poems.)
sometimes i feel like i’m never going to get over you.
it’s kind of funny, you know. it’s almost too easy to figure out what you’re up to, nowadays, with the help of certain other tools and what not… and yet, our proximity, the fact that we were practically—no, barely minutes away from one another in
the past, over and over again, made it even easier for you to
avoid me in every way.
how i wish i could say that, baby. portray you as the villain and make you look like the bad guy; that’s
all i want, is to frame you and make you see what i felt for you and if only,
if only you could return these feelings too.
does absence really make the heart grow fonder after so long? is that why
you stuck around and decided to go along with the emotional toys you decided to use, how you moved me underneath your fingers—just like the strings from all the instruments you play. except
you confused my heart for another 47-heart musical device. i guess
i should have known better.
you know, i guess what they say is true:
you are your harshest critic
but what can one say when the meanest words are nothing but
the truth? crammed into your head over and over again, spat from the sharpest tongue around, the only one to
trigger the bullet that is emotion from the gun that is your mouth and the mastermind behind the actions and decisions you make intentionally leading up to
murder of the heart, the soul—replace feelings and emotions with stoicism and ice-cold words sputtered from a frozen heart even
the most powerful, high-voltage radiator could not thaw.
look into empty eyes and see the void you created, the never-ending black hole with no
danger! signs posted and “dead end” warnings are nowhere to be found; it’s only a matter of time before
the skies were grey and clouds hung high above her head, but the misty fog made her feel taller than she already was, her six-foot frame stretched to make her feel like one of the gods above people so adamantly believed in.
the artificial peach-flavored high-fructose caffeine drink she found herself addicted to in her junior year had lost its initial taste, but it was the sugar that flew in her bloodstream that kept her wrapped around the marketers’ fingers as a consumer. the gold, bourbon-soaked cigarettes she once appreciated because of their high nicotine and tar levels meant nothing but nice dizzy spells that left her teetering on the edge of consciousness after chain-smoking a minimum amount of four cancer sticks. the concept of alcohol and getting wasted was almost passé after discovering new ways to get buzzed that involved rolled-up dollar bills or cut-up straws.
she slithered her way around, always making sure never to leave any traces or hints behind; one would look at her mismatched outfits, tattered clothes and the electric, shapeless form that were the remainders of her hair and immediately conceive the notion that this girl—was she actually a girl? they asked themselves, and she damn knew that they weren’t sure because of the ambiguity—this person obviously must be homeless. or just doesn’t have any sense of family values. god forbid she actually went to school; what kind of person who has a college education purposefully dresses down for the sake of putting others on the spot, proving her theory right that everyone indeed was nothing more than a judgmental asshole? no, i promise i’m not a bad person, i just assumed that you didn’t really have a family or something, because your outfits just…
"they don’t go together. you look like you just stepped out of a shelter."
thank you for proving my point, jackass. the voice in her head wanted to betray her, had the desire to let them know the stoicism and “I don’t give a flying fuck about what you think” attitude was beyond farcical. but she couldn’t do that, oh no; broken souls aren’t supposed to have feelings anymore! if they could see the stitches, krazy glue and heavy duty tape that held this creature together, all that would be left is the never-ending pitiful looks, with the right words that were supposed to be reassuring to follow:
"you’re a smart girl, don’t worry about what others think of you. just keep doing well in school and you’re going to make it very far in life."
bitch, were you NOT just judging me the first time you looked at me?
everywhere she went, people always spoke to her about the work she did and what it means to be successful. as they droned on, all she could do was nod her head yes or shake her head no whenever they did, fooling them into thinking she actually paid attention to the meaningless words coming out of her mouth.
and she hated it.
it was the easy way out; she hated contradicting people because the idea of looking like a jackass while the other party smiled smugly with a look that she knew, the one she recognized so well: “i can see through your bullshit, and now i know your weaknesses.”
no, no, getting into an argument that could last hours and disprove her theory really made her paranoid. no one was allowed to see her crumble, at her worst, when she was most vulnerable and really needed a crutch; she would shrug it off, claiming independence and that “i don’t need any help, i’m going to be fine. everything’s going to be okay.”
yes, yes, it was much easier to give people what they wanted. she hated it, but it was routine—old habits die hard, after all.
she carefully crafted herself in front of others, building walls that are damn near impossible to knock down at every corner of the maze that led to her true being. tangled webs composed her personality, purposefully misleading and blinding those who dare interact with her, or even get close to her. no, no, that wasn’t allowed—the mask was not to come off in public at any time, or in private for that matter. it only took, what, 8 years of vulnerability, angst, emotional torment and turmoil?
most of it was self-inflicted, though.
of course no one had any idea about the guilty conscience. the rationality of her thoughts. the overwhelming feelings of worthlessness and the expectations to live up to the sticker labels everyone placed on her forehead since the beginning:
you’re a smart girl
you’re going to get far in life
just keep excelling in school
you’re the best friend anyone could have
i don’t know what i’d do without you
didn’t these people know that life goes on? apparently, human interaction is the most essential part of creating bonds, relationships with other beings—are they not all replaceable in the end? don’t friends “come and go” even though family stays with you forever? but what do you do when your friends are your family?
no one knew about the internal conflict between her heart and her mind. her eternal struggle to remain independent and avoid co-dependency on others even though they were her only driving force at this point. her social life was another façade that hid the lack of motivation, the push she needed to force herself to be productive in life.
no one knew about the battle between her logic and intuition, her gut instinct to follow her dreams consistently shut down by opposing forces who really just wanted to see her crash and burn.