Girlfriend
So I was dating this human once and they were like pretty cool and they became my muse or whatever, but then they like broke my heart and ever since then, it's just been like blah, you know? Woop! Look at the time. "You might think life would be a breeze."
Then this other time, this other human was stalking me, right? I mean, there's a couple of those, but this one was doing it so silently that I didn't know they were around when this happened and so then, when they finally worked up to saying something to me, they thought everything I was saying was about them and I was like, "Oh, honey."
We have to figure out whether things really are what we think they are or if we're twisting them some sort of way based on our own past experiences and traumas and let me tell you something: Imma get this down. "Gimme just a second and I'll be alright."
Future Me
In case you have no idea where this is going, an attempt at reciprocating sentiments is in the works. And if you need it broken down, well, just hope there are puzzle pieces laying around. And if there are, hope you put the right ones together. And if you do, it'll all be clear as day. I'm so wordy today.
Rudimentary
To those who study the sky and the stars:
Why are some nights darker than others? Is it my eyes adjusting poorly? I don't think so. It's a massive difference. Tonight, although the sky isn't visible because of the smog or clouds or whatever that haze is, it's bright out. I can see outside without a light. Clearly.
Some nights like this one, where the haze isn't obstructing, the brightness doesn't seem to affect the view of the stars. In fact, that brightness seems to come from the stars themselves.
Some nights, haze or easy star gazing is irrelevant, but it's pitch black out, so dark that even a bright light seems to get lost in so much darkness. One foot in front of the other is too large a step to take when that type of darkness overtakes.
Is there a scientific reason?
I could ask google, but then I couldn't smell my own farts with the satisfaction of someone who looks at the world with endless wonder and ignorance. Could I ever come to terms with calling myself a writer if I'm not some kind of pretentious? So you see, I have an image to uphold. I didn't say it was a good one, but an image nonetheless. You are excused. <3
Stop Calling
Am I depressed or am I rude?
It depends who you ask
I would say I'm emotionally constipated.
That's a thing now, have you heard of it?
So what if I rant
So what if I'm unfiltered
It wouldn't be the first publicized diary, would it?
Maybe it's the world that's wrong
and full of snobs
or "crashing bores" for anyone who catches the reference
Google fixes everything
Except emotional constipation
So what is emotional constipation?
Well, I'm best at explaining through examples.
I used to come on here and pour my heart out in a way.
I always saw writing as a way to express or act through words
it worked for me because I didn't want to speak or act or do much existing "in real life"
Real life is paralyzing.
I remember my mom calling me a mummy when I was very young because I would sit very still, hardly moving to the point where it was a hindrance
It's funny, really. I think it's hilarious
But the world doesn't see my emotional paralysis the same way I do
I guess I wouldn't see it that way if I were them either.
Anyway, I was fine with all that until the emotional paralysis, or "constipation" as it's being called, affected my ability to regurgitate words in a grammatically acceptable pattern.
So I live in my head with stories playing out, some darker than I'd like and some so "sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows" that even I gag. Maybe someday something in between will dare to see the light of day.
Until then, crickets, enjoy this while it's up.
I've broken many hearts in my attempts to recreate myself
One might have been yours and since I'm never satisfied with me
I'll warn you now that you don't stand a chance, baby
Come, sing siren songs with me
Hear the melody?
Sing the harmony
Hum it, if you please
And gently
now
release
What is love? Baby, don’t burden, don’t burden no more.
Someone told me once that people are puzzle pieces
I was angry when I responded that sometimes you have extra pieces that don't fit into your puzzle
Yeah, I know I messed up. That was 20 years ago, though. I'm sure they forgot about it already, but I didn't.
I didn't forget because today, I finally realized what that meant.
I realized that there are some things that I only want to share with certain people around.
What I mean is: I will share Thing A if Person A is around and I'll share this thing with everyone, not just them. BUT. if Person A is not around, I don't want to share Thing A with anyone. It just feels flat, unnatural, phony. As if the only reason I wanted to share at all was to share with Person A.
And it's not just one thing or one person, no.
It's multiple things and multiple people and so I find myself crammed up inside myself, unable, unwilling, and uninspired to share things that I would be over the moon about sharing if people A-Z were around.
It just seems to lose meaning. Is that love? It doesn't feel like love. It feels like burden.
Sleep on It
Stress
The very thing that causes many, many things.
I wonder how people experience stress because, for me, it just feels like I never sleep.
I fall asleep and I'm welcomed into an alternate life where I also have responsibilities and tasks and I wake up to find that was the dream.
A panic soon ensues, a pressure that cannot be imposed on everything. Sometimes pressure will make diamonds but I'm not made of rock. Rocks will be made of me, but that's different. That's different.
The thing is: it's hard to understand what you've never experienced. You can try. You can do your very best. You can even shadow someone going through the experience and you still just wouldn't know, would you?
You could dive into their deepest thoughts and never truly understand the feeling. That's ok. In a way, aren't we all alone? Maybe not.
We are alone for as long as they don't know the other exists. The rest are not alone because they share an experience and a feeling and they can back each other up, but for those with multiple lives, how could we ever explain that our souls never rest and our bodies can't keep up?
Déjà vu
I've...
Well.
I have been here before
Yes.
Only
last time I was here,
I vomited
I know, I know.
I did, though.
I did.
And where everyone saw the most repulsive, pungent, steaming heap of waste, I saw --
Well,
I saw something different
I saw a perfectly blanched almond
I saw caramelized onion and cake
I saw an espresso martini that made me chuckle and more Midori sours than a table could accommodate
I saw dancing and lights
I heard music
I saw the smiles of my friends and I felt the touch of my lovers
I saw the bowl of cinnamon oatmeal and the promising brightness of the day outside
I saw ways be made through clandestine paths
I saw dirt and blood
I saw my heart's every desire
I saw deception
I've been here before.