Tag: feelings

hindsight

29. 04. 19 (prompt: meditate on a past emotional event)

In hindsight, I loved you.

In hindsight, every time I looked away from work towards a screen that gleamed your name at me,
I became an iron man athlete drenching herself to wash the day’s sweat away.

Every time we wrote words we wish we could speak talking ’bout acts we said we’d get to when we’d meet,
I felt myself rise into the sky and onto a ship on board of which resided just yourself and mine.

We wrote. That was the problematic start of it all; we wrote.

When you tell a writer that she needs to spread a quilt upon the heart of somebody
she tells herself she is in love with,

the words become impersonal; the words are what she thinks the words would be if characters she makes up left crumbs within the woods to lead each other piece by piece unto happily ever after.

The words are not mine anymore. The words belong to Sam or Ann or whomever I’ve made up.

I’ve made somebody up because I cannot keep telling myself I love you any more. I’ve made somebody up to now project what I should feel and how I wish that were enough.

I’ve made somebody up because I could.

Hindsight is twenty-twenty on a test that carries forty marks. You only let yourself remember the easy parts. When nights feel like lengths of highway I want to speed upon, I tell myself you were the ride I could not make things work with.

When guilt comes crawling into stones that want to crack I tell myself we’re better off alone.

Hindsight is twenty-twenty. We split the past into two tales; we tell the one when scenes recall, with half the clarity, for twenty on the other side serves a different mistress.

In hindsight, I loved you.

In hindsight, I did not.

The sight that seems to make most sense when both views collide inside my mind is flashing signs that do declare, “not enough information available.”

Like a trick math question on some test, our love did not carry the rest of all the details we needed to know. Words and photographs can only tell the truth when those that write and click want them to.

You and I?

You and I only wanted love. We did not want the truth.

In hindsight, I loved you.

spontaneous disintegration

28. 04. 19 (yes I wrote this a while ago, but it’s too beautiful to not share)

Tears are just a symptom
Of an inner agony
Of an emptiness that threatens to fill the days and spill over into the night
Of a vacuum that makes balloons explode and hearts collapse and talks in code
Of photons that transfer nothing and everything
There is so much light around me yet it feels like nothing matters and I am on an infinitely fast moving journey at a stagnant pace
Time doesn’t exist,
I only measure my life by the number of people that have thrown me to the curb trying to pretend they care

They see me a beggar on the streets, meant to pity from afar but not to love
Lest the act harm both the actor and the audience,
All the world is a stage
I stand a straying tree,
Blending into the background
Of monotony,
No character chooses to talk
To me,
No body really wants to get to
Know me,
No one to care or give or take from –
I am a constant and when you differentiate me you get nothing-
The lack of any change in my state vaporises my entire being spontaneously,
I decay
Exponentially, and though reduce fast,
Never quite disappear into the void of non existence,
I am forced to die on amongst the living.

objective listing: a poetic endeavour

25. 04. 19 (in response to a previous prompt related to lists or something)

objects that annoy me:

blank white walls. books on my shelf that I haven’t read and don’t want to read. pages that I cannot remember why I ripped out of notebooks I threw away because I no longer want to remember. polaroids. tickets from an Ed Sheeran concert. the smell of sweat and sound of music. earphones that are only partially functional. pens that leak but not so much that I can trash them with a clear conscience. a broken sharpener. the dirty dust left behind once you sweep pencil shavings into a box you tell yourself you might want while working on some art project. more photographs. ink stains. a sponge you use once in a while to remove the dust that collects because of your own negligence. a device. a breakup text. a memory of a friend telling you she lied when she said she was telling you the truth. pencils wound down to stubs. paperwork. smudges of beauty products you have wiped off your contorted face over the ages. old calendars you cannot bring yourself to discard.

objects that prevent your tears from raining down upon trees and washing all the grime of the past off the backs of leaves-

you think you want a clean slate;

I think I want to begin again,

but it is always just too goddamn late.

drift

13. 04. 19 (really didn’t have the time today – just threw this together tbh – some of the slant rhymes make me physically cringe)

the speed of light is not fast enough for me to forget
the last time you pulled me in, now again
it doesn’t recede quick enough,
the pain-

you say you love me;
you say you care,
but I don’t want to be
just another dare

or kiss of chance
while bottles spin
and pixies dance
in the dead drunkenness
of the night;

the speed of light is too fast–
the sight of you is flung
past my face in ships bound for a place
beyond my love and in disgrace

I ask if you love me;
I ask if you care,
even though I know what you say
(though you swear)

is just a convenient truce
so you can text me
one more night,
make me your vent
for one more fight you have
with the woman you’re supposedly in love with;

so let me drift away;
no speed can be too quick
and yet any path that leads
us apart will seem too swift
so honey, just let me drift.

entropy

29.06.18

currents cross the Atlantic ocean and spill
out onto the folds underneath my eyelids
that buckle and bend like the Himalayan plate
grinding against rock and bone to hoist mountains
atop its shoulders

streams run down broken runways
where shattered glass crowds icy marble floors
like shards of chocolate sprinkled across
honey glazed caramel cake waiting to burst
into a beehive of chaos

rain trickles down the car windshield only to be
swept away by doors slamming themselves
upon rooms hiding within haunted houses
with ghosts that leap like frogs waiting
for their princesses

chaos is not just a mathematical theory
but a direct reflection of the increasingly entropic
universe expanding unto nothingness
unlike a balloon that has the whole world
to catch it if it falls

my mind is a hive of nerve fibers intersecting
like yarn knotting over itself and into tangled hair
that lies sprawled across my self
esteem on the bare wooden floor begging
to be swept up

and away into the stagnancy of dustpans
that are reservoirs of motionless marbles so cold
they draw the life out of dragons and slink
across the infrangible threshold into the warm sanctum
of supreme serenity.

 

string theory

27.04.18 (can’t believe I’ve made my way through nine-tenths of this with just one glitch; I might do a second part to this later dealing with the multidimensional postulate of string theory; this is kinda unpolished oops)

string theory

I am a vibration on a string
shivering up and dancing down,
heart squeezing and releasing
as a function of time,

oxytocin periodically 
depleting, conscious mind
one-third asleeping,
dopamine irregularly secreting

ions ferrying across the fence,
adrenaline streaming for defense,
heart rising with dense hope
spiraling down negative slopes-

I reach up and fall back down,
I rise and sink, come back around:
 
I am a vibration on a string.

if I’m being honest

06.04.18 (kind of slam-y, kind of broken, kind of last-minute, and kind of made up)

If I’m being honest, I didn’t hear what you just said
I nodded along, the way I told you I didn’t know the lyrics, when I just hadn’t heard the song so you wouldn’t scream in wonder and surprise
at my ignorance at the might of this artist I know much worse
than the fact that you asked her out the same way –
I pretended not to know or even care, but if I’m being honest, I haven’t trusted you since that day

It’s funny because when we had just met, I tried to be “chill”, and want to “take it slow”
but if I’m being honest, and I think you might just know, you had my heart from the moment you looked into my eyes
That’s when I knew, though I covered it in lies
“the day I read that poem of yours,”
I say, and don’t feel sad, I say,
I lied to myself too, but if I’m being honest, a little part inside
knew that I was yours and wanted you to be mine
since that day I looked into your dark chocolate eyes

I said it was funny, and this is why:
The first few months, the object of my lies
was the strength of my feelings when you were nigh,
now I try to pretend that nothing’s wrong,
that I don’t feel like you have been dragging me along
in the dust for while, I said I loved that song, but if I’m being honest, I never understood the line
where after they’ve crashed on the couch and cried,
together, he leaves her, jumps on to the side of another sofa, another place to weep,
another girl to ride-
If I’m being honest, I am kind of done.

Done the way I’ve been done with blueberry pie for three years, but smile
when my mom brings some round anyway, if I’m being completely honest,
I’m done with all the lies,
I want a guy with the heart to hold an earthquake,
I don’t mind “taking a break,” but vacation doesn’t mean you never get back to work,
I want a guy with whom I am not afraid
every day
that he will live on a beach in Miami all his life,
constantly a time zone or phone call out of reach,
If I’m being honest, I am done with the strife
of trying to love you.

lonely helium hearts

i. release

I wander
out into the night
across a meadow of fairy lights
and let the wind take its turn
the thread tugs on its marionette,
my heart, yearns one last time,
before the chords crack
and he floats off into oblivion.

“The string slipped,”” I tell myself,
(there’s no other way to let yourself let go)

 

ii. yearn (flashback)

I watch.
Helium floating off to the sun,
where cosmic tons of it blaze and burn,
perhaps my love, you too will flame
to life, perhaps one day I will call you mine
in some time when the suns have caved in on life
and stars like fireworks blown apart,
a little love from you,
a little tipsy from me,
insignificant atoms of who we once were,
perhaps then when galaxies have exploded into parts
and hearts have been broken into cracked porcelain,
perhaps a little bit of me and a little bit of you
will finally intertwine,
perhaps some day,
you and I will meet again.

 

iii. withdraw  (today,)

I stand.
under the ink blue sky –
the same shade as your pen in that letter –
don’t remind me again,
I stand under a sky who’s hue I am scared to compare,
over grass dripping with tears of dew drops,
and tonight,
I reel in my head from the clouds,
Tonight,
I don’t swoon.
I don’t cry.
I don’t love.
I just leave
and let go,
Tonight, I just depart
with a slightly heavier heart.

 

iv. lament

I gaze.
As I am about to step away, one last gaze to the skies,
and for the first time,
there are no shooting stars striking against the night,
carrying wishes blown over birthday cake candles,
there is no glaringly hopeful light,
tonight the great blue doesn’t sparkle and glimmer
as it reflects oceans of love,
tonight, being polished to perfection,
it reflects only silent lonely hearts.

 

v. hurt

I wonder,
as I watch the helium kiss the moon –
he never kissed me that way –
I wonder how I ever thought that nothingness was empty.
The nothing of what we apparently were
was brimming with buckets of my love,
you didn’t see it until it trickled
down the sides of the glass
onto your dirty hands
as I poured in just a little too much
of myself
into the flute,
I suppose champagne just doesn’t suit
someone like you.

 

vi. defy

I march.
I will not sit tonight
on a pillow of windblown grass
the bed next to me too glaringly vacant,
I will not sit tonight
in solitude – I don’t know how poets call it comfort –
I will not sit tonight
a lonely helium heart.
I will float.
fly away with the wind,

I will not sit
in dead silence
tonight.

Love

my best friend lingers on the border between insanity and sleep-
I hold her hand.
That, is a kind of love.

The sun beats down on weather worn sands-
an ice cream truck.
That, feels like love.

Lacrimal glands storm hail onto the dark skin beneath my eyes-
he takes me in his arms.
That, is most certainly love.

“Why did the mathematician go to the forest?”
“To collect logs,” a laugh,
That, is a kind of love.

// why over complicate what is possibly the only simple emotion humans experience? people always get it wrong – they think love is complicated; truth is, it’s all the other stuff that complicates love – jealousy and insecurity and lust; there is nothing inherently complicated about love.

love, can be fascinatingly simple – a moment, a glance, a hug, a woman, a man, a daughter, a dad, a rose, a heart – two hearts – togetherness; that’s all it really is,

so let us love//