Tag Archives: emotions

Dear Mama – spoken word

Dear Mama,

You know me best,

sometimes more than I know myself.

After all, it was more than mere serendipity

that bonded us together.

God chose us

because of our strong compatibility,

but despite that Mama,

there are things about me you just do not know.

 

I am a manicured hurricane.

A flurry of:

dreams,

desires,

fears,

insecurities,

pills.

But the storm raging inside is ever so hard to see.

I am all dolled up in a pretty disguise.

The girl to boast about at parties,

sitting ever so politely,

and dressed to the nines.

I sit with pretty hands clasped together,

pretty fingers with pretty french nails laced together,

shifting nervously.

Trying to hide,

the finger which had previously been shoved down my throat.

I sit with the smile that was born onto my face,

as I watched the contents of my stomach,

circle down the gleaming white drain.

 

Dear Mama,

There is so much about me I have yet to confess,

that my grades are only good because I have a system.

I copy my homework off the guy behind me,

and cheat off the tests of the girl beside me.

Because on those “study days”,

I leave to party.

There’s the part of me that doesn’t want too.

I just want to sleep,

to be left to my own peace,

but my social representation,

leader of clique presentation,

demands more and more.

So,

I smoke,

I drink,

I kiss,

I am unravelling.

The later into the AM’s I go,

the more I lose my soul.

 

Dear Mama,

There is so much about me that I hide.

Makeup is my mask,

covering the flaws,

the puffy eyes and dark circles.

Dark circles revealing a glimpse

at the dark being inside.

I hide more often than not,

but I’m always in the spotlight.

Gleaming, pretty, polite me.

All adults swoon.

Hot, fun, party girl.

My peers approve.

But while my bold superiority shows,

the shadow of who I am trails behind.

It’s the me that inhales a whole bottle of pills in a weeks time.

The me that pushes to be:

prettier,

thinner,

better.

Because I, I am broken glass,

a fragmented lens.

My own demise,

hating myself because they say its not okay,

to eat that cupcake,

to laugh that way,

to not care about what you look like,

for just one day.

Dear Mama,

There is so much I wish for,

so much I can’t obtain,

even though it shouldn’t be that hard to grasp happiness,

or even a true love.

So my only solution is clear.

To silence the voices in my head,

demanding more and more,

I must first silence myself.

There is no room in this world for imperfections.

Dear Mama,

I am sorry for everything I’m about to put you through.

 

 

 

3am

 

images

It’s absurd to think about, and the connection would have never once crossed my mind, but once I had seen it, while I scrolled through Facebook- which was already a substantial waste of time- I couldn’t get it out of my mind. The frivolous use of my time had equalled in an even more frivolous use of my thoughts, the quote was a constant memory that resurfaced, and refused to be anything but pondered during the day and contemplated in the evening.  It had read,

“The only people up at 3am are in love, lonely, drunk, or all three.”

Initially I had read it, and promptly dismissed it all in the span of fifteen seconds,but what I didn’t realize, is that the idea that it was true began to take root in my head. After all, it was in a way accurate, because it’s 3am right now, and I’m thinking about you.

It’s the tenth 3am in a row I’ve spent doing this and no, I am not drunk, but I am alone, and it pains me to think this, but I’d be lying to myself if I said I wasn’t in love with you.

It’s like clockwork in away, I fall asleep and I wake up right on schedule. No, my eyes don’t pop open and my mind does not whir to life at exactly at 3am; this isn’t magic, the time does vary, but I do wake up at 2:00 or 2:30, and I always stay awake for the hour. It’s simply a coincidence I know, but still, I can not escape the quote’s words, because it was lead to me to realizing my feelings for you. So now I wake up, alone and in love, and I’ll confess, a few times drunk.

I long for your kiss, your touch, or really any of the varying degrees of human contact. I long not to be laying here alone; to have you to be held by, but instead beside me there is a spot of cold. SoI cling to my covers, in an attempt to stay warm. But the cold is within me.

My emotions are perplexing, I am heartbroken, but at the same time not. I have not been rejected, and I suppose there is a chance he feels the same, after all why should I sell my myself short. In our workplace there is no time for affection, and everything is very strictly professional, I show no hint of my desires, and I know that he would not either, so I suppose it is possible he harbours secret feelings for me. Yet, despite that I am heartbroken because I know it’s absolutely absurd to think there is a chance. My mind is hard wired for science and logic, and the probability that two people out of the 10000+ people they would have encountered in a lifetime both truly loving each other is astronomically impossible. It defies logic, but then again, so does love.

I love you, and that defies logic, because I spent so much time alone, away from the reach of human emotions. You have complicated everything, you make me hit my pillow in absolute frustration, sometimes even cry, even though nothing has gone awry. When you walk by me, my heart beats a millions times faster, and I feel an explosion, a volcanic eruption within me.

Worst of all, I lose sleep over you, I lie there staring at the stucco ceiling above me at 3am wishing you would just take my hand.

 

Source for image: https://www.google.ca/url?sa=i&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=&url=http%3A%2F%2Fluluandlattes.com%2F2014%2F08%2F08%2F3am-august-6%2F&psig=AFQjCNHBMKH8wziBYLHfJqnKOa4ZbPhIZg&ust=1447350746421295

Time

time source:http://njitvector.com/2014/05/the-time-is-rapidly-approaching/

 

Time          heals all, at least that’s what they say. Time is  the cure for hurt souls, the remedy that will always succeed, at least… that’s the theory, but I disagree. I know the truth. The truth, bitter as it may be, is imperative for us to be made aware of, because they lied. Their golden solution is nothing more than a myth.  It is a mere rumour, running rampaged like wildfire. It gave me hope, I put my faith in time, I waited for the ages to come running by, burying my pain so far down it could never come to light, but that is not how works, I came to realize and,

Doesn’t     it hurt, when the only thing being buried is your faith in the potential of  living  a half decent life?  It’s infuriating, when you have minimal control, and your emotions, worse then a plague, become impossible to tame as they crash over you in torrential  waves.

Always,     I am aware of my pain. It seeps down from my bruised heart, travelling through my veins and into my bones, making me ache. This- when my mental  turmoil has become such an immense physical burden- is when I have reached my breaking point. This, is when I begin to tune out all those who would look at me, pity resting thick in their eyes, and tell me time will save me from my hearts demise.

Heal,       I urge myself, determined to find my own solution, but all I could do was wish, as if simply desiring it will chase away the melancholy. However wishing does nothing, and my urging was in vain.

Sometimes,  just for awhile, I feel like my old self. As if I shredded a layer of heavy, old skin, and was suddenly young, light, and full of life. I would find a temporary haven, where, I would find solace in being able to just forget. Grievously enough, this never lasts. All it takes is a simple reminder, and healing wounds open and become fresh again.

 It         is my thoughts that ruin my blissful calm. Fears, insecurities and anxieties fire off in all different directions, crashing against my skull and causing chaos in it’s wake. It’s a chain reaction; there is an incident, and then a flurry of thoughts, followed by an explosion of feelings. Eventually, these things take their toll, chipping away at my humanity, chipping away at my soul, until there is

Just       a little left of me in tact, and I am a new person entirely, and who I was is a foreign memory. This is when time stepped in, but it did not mend my broken soul like they had said, instead it

Numbs,    like an anesthetic during a surgery, keeping you under as you try and repair the damage, but as the anesthesia wears away, you feel a fresh new wave of pain. Other times it doesn’t fade and you feel nothing. You are nothing, and then in your distress you turn to other means to make you feel again. Some turn to a blade, digging deeper and deeper with every cut. Self-inflicted beautiful scars criss cross flesh, permanent reminders of all the battles being faced. Other just break, putting on necklaces of rope, never to feel again.  This is the bleak truth, and I urge you not to just wait, to rely on time, but too take action into your own hands, before your pain can no longer be pushed away.