I wrote this a while back. It really was a silly little idea that I decided to embellish on.
Here goes:
What’s it like to be in love? To have the tunnel vision, where all that matters is that one person, whoever it may be. When words sound strange and foreign from anyone’s lips but theirs. What’s it like to love someone unconditionally and for him or her to love you back? I only ask these questions because I’ve only witnessed love from the outside. I’ve only heard people tell their tales behind a pane of glass, and I’m torn over whether love is worth what it brings. More often than not I see people who destroy themselves for love, lose their essence, get worn down by it. Some people spend years of their lives at the bottom of a sea being eroded by an unforgivable tide. Love hurts people and reduces them to their worst.
There is another side though.
Love can bring out the best in people. I’ve seen people walk in here smiling, laughing, almost glowing. That is the love, if any, I would wish to possess. The love that endures and makes you feel like you can fly.
I only rehash the old clichés of course because they are words from other people’s lips. Not mine. How would I know? How could I know? I’ve spent this life (would you call it that?) observing the human race from the outside. Listening to them, their confessions. I am not a priest. They aren’t looking for forgiveness. It is their duty to offload. Healthy minds are essential and if people didn’t come to me they wouldn’t have anyone else and then what? They would go crazy. I made the sacrifice to help everyone else.
I hear people’s confessions from behind a glass wall. The physical barrier stops me from feeling their emotion, from comforting them. You cannot get too close and you cannot talk back. Only listen. Sometimes, I feel like I might go crazy sitting here. Everyday I wake up in the same clinical room that I call home. The walls are so white that it’s almost blinding when I wake up, the sun shines on one solitary point and I just lie there and wonder what it is like to feel that golden mist envelop you. Of course, I know it’s warm, but there are questions. What is it like to lie in the sun for hours and get sun burnt? Can you get lost in the beauty of it all? I sometimes feel that if I were to escape from here I would get lost in the flurry of colours and the promise of freedom. I like to imagine the world outside. I like to imagine what it would be like to be friends with the people who come and see me and I like to fill in the blanks about them, the things that they don’t tell me. I make that part the happiest, because a lot of the time their lives aren’t as good as they should be. So today is like any other except that I am reflective. Since I am not allowed any direct human contact other than to listen I am often left with my own thoughts and feelings. I don’t have any problems of my own, only what everyone tells me. There is no way to have your own dilemmas and trivialities when you live within four walls day in and day out. Other people’s problems become my own. I worry about what they will do about their lovers and their friends.
Ciao.
xoxox
Friday 30 January 2009
Thursday 29 January 2009
There's something that I can't quite explain.
Have you ever felt sad for no reason at all?
I'm kind of feeling like this at the moment. It's like someone has tied a weight to my ankle and asked me to wade through custard. I feel slow, almost to the point that I feel lost.
Shall I tell you about my day? Moreover, do you want to hear about it?
Well, if you do I will tell you.
I woke up at 7:38am. This is late for me. An hour later to be precise. My alarm was due to go off at 7:40am but I snoozed after it went off til 7:50am. I'm quite a precise person. I like to know when I'm getting up, roughly what time I will be out of the shower and what time I will be dressed and ready to leave the house. I hate being late for things; it makes me anxious.
I got to college about 9:30am. I couldn't get a computer until 10am, which sucked but I went to the JCR and bought some polos and a drink.
How dull is this? I'll just cut it short here.
Basically now I am back home watching Terry Wogan's Perfect Recall (which no-one ever wins) and wanting so much to go out and have a couple of drinks. My friend called me on the way to the gym and asked if I wanted to go out but I didn't get the message until a while later and I have tried calling her and got nothing back. Pah, who cares?
I've been thinking about the scary prospect of university. I am pretty much set on going to Hull University and having my second choice as Plymouth. I really want to get away from Wolverhampton. I want to leave nearer to the sea. I want to meet new people.
You know, I have rambled on for so long and not actually said anything. Something that went right today; I got my bus pass back, which means now I can get around for free instead of paying £3.30 for a day saver, which I think is horribly extortionate.
Anyhow, I shall be back.
Ciao.
xoxox
I'm kind of feeling like this at the moment. It's like someone has tied a weight to my ankle and asked me to wade through custard. I feel slow, almost to the point that I feel lost.
Shall I tell you about my day? Moreover, do you want to hear about it?
Well, if you do I will tell you.
I woke up at 7:38am. This is late for me. An hour later to be precise. My alarm was due to go off at 7:40am but I snoozed after it went off til 7:50am. I'm quite a precise person. I like to know when I'm getting up, roughly what time I will be out of the shower and what time I will be dressed and ready to leave the house. I hate being late for things; it makes me anxious.
I got to college about 9:30am. I couldn't get a computer until 10am, which sucked but I went to the JCR and bought some polos and a drink.
How dull is this? I'll just cut it short here.
Basically now I am back home watching Terry Wogan's Perfect Recall (which no-one ever wins) and wanting so much to go out and have a couple of drinks. My friend called me on the way to the gym and asked if I wanted to go out but I didn't get the message until a while later and I have tried calling her and got nothing back. Pah, who cares?
I've been thinking about the scary prospect of university. I am pretty much set on going to Hull University and having my second choice as Plymouth. I really want to get away from Wolverhampton. I want to leave nearer to the sea. I want to meet new people.
You know, I have rambled on for so long and not actually said anything. Something that went right today; I got my bus pass back, which means now I can get around for free instead of paying £3.30 for a day saver, which I think is horribly extortionate.
Anyhow, I shall be back.
Ciao.
xoxox
Tuesday 27 January 2009
I am currently sitting in my room, freezing half to death. I'm convinced I caught a chill this afternoon. Nevertheless, it was a nice afternoon.
I should go to bed. It's half past eleven and I was grumpy all day today through tiredness. I guess I will never learn.
At this current moment I am feeling quite flattered. I like it when people express an interest in my work, it makes me feel that it's not all for nothing. Sometimes I get attacks of low self esteem - who doesn't? - I'm not going to be whiny about it. For a change though I feel positive for once.
I wrote a piece today out of my grumpyness. Enjoy. x
The feeling is like a wave, unstoppable and unrelenting. I close my eyes against it, in an attempt to subdue it, or at least soften the blow.
Where is God when you need him?
He’s probably drinking tea with the Mad Hatter; today is his unbirthday. In my head he wears a sparkly party hat. It squats on the top of his head at a jaunty angle. It reaches for the sky as they sing Happy Birthday, pointed.
I wish he would come home.
My stomach feels like it’s going to eradicate itself through twisting and heaving. The thought of eating makes my stomach do flips and threaten to crawl out of my throat; slimy, limp and purple pulling itself across the desk only to die mid-step.
I am in a bad mood. I know this. I can’t shake it off, it clings to me like the smell of cigarettes. I’ve run out of money to pay for my prayers, so now I’m just kneeling here, hands together, practically begging for forgiveness.
Smile. Flash. And relax.
They like to keep records of my shame for future reference. I don’t think it is standard procedure, but it keeps them smiling if they can grasp the glossy photographs in greasy fingers and believe I am there too, smiling with them.
The breathing is agitating me. Each breath is like being forced to the ground and held there. I’m suffocating
And yet I breathe just as easily as them all. The bastards. My itchy feet signal the need to run.
To burn would be a wonderful thing.
I wrote this on the fly in English, mostly out of boredom. It's not refined exactly, I just wrote it and then typed it up. I have edited bits out but nothing has really been put in.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy it.
I am off to get some well earned rest!
Ciao.
xoxo
I should go to bed. It's half past eleven and I was grumpy all day today through tiredness. I guess I will never learn.
At this current moment I am feeling quite flattered. I like it when people express an interest in my work, it makes me feel that it's not all for nothing. Sometimes I get attacks of low self esteem - who doesn't? - I'm not going to be whiny about it. For a change though I feel positive for once.
I wrote a piece today out of my grumpyness. Enjoy. x
The feeling is like a wave, unstoppable and unrelenting. I close my eyes against it, in an attempt to subdue it, or at least soften the blow.
Where is God when you need him?
He’s probably drinking tea with the Mad Hatter; today is his unbirthday. In my head he wears a sparkly party hat. It squats on the top of his head at a jaunty angle. It reaches for the sky as they sing Happy Birthday, pointed.
I wish he would come home.
My stomach feels like it’s going to eradicate itself through twisting and heaving. The thought of eating makes my stomach do flips and threaten to crawl out of my throat; slimy, limp and purple pulling itself across the desk only to die mid-step.
I am in a bad mood. I know this. I can’t shake it off, it clings to me like the smell of cigarettes. I’ve run out of money to pay for my prayers, so now I’m just kneeling here, hands together, practically begging for forgiveness.
Smile. Flash. And relax.
They like to keep records of my shame for future reference. I don’t think it is standard procedure, but it keeps them smiling if they can grasp the glossy photographs in greasy fingers and believe I am there too, smiling with them.
The breathing is agitating me. Each breath is like being forced to the ground and held there. I’m suffocating
And yet I breathe just as easily as them all. The bastards. My itchy feet signal the need to run.
To burn would be a wonderful thing.
I wrote this on the fly in English, mostly out of boredom. It's not refined exactly, I just wrote it and then typed it up. I have edited bits out but nothing has really been put in.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy it.
I am off to get some well earned rest!
Ciao.
xoxo
Saturday 24 January 2009
I can't get my head around it. I can't get my head around why. That is always what I am searching for.
Why?
It's such an ambiguous, such an elusive answer. Nobody really knows why really, do they? The sad fact is that it just is.
I'm sitting in my living room thinking all this. I'm just waiting for QI to come on. We've spent the day milling around each other, speaking occasionally and then just eating dinner. Repeatedly she told us to be quiet whilst she watched Casualty. I could tell that she had gone already. Gone was mum and in her place was her own personal Hyde.
It's the only way I can describe it. The only way I can make someone realise just what it is like. At one moment she is my mother: coherant, tolerant, beautiful. Then she switches. Her features sink into her face, her mouth turns down and tenses in a clowns frown. Her chin seems to sink into her neck. Her voice becomes slurred. Her walking becomes staggered.
Alcoholic.
Even the word sounds like someone drinking gin straight from a bottle.
Why?
It's such an ambiguous, such an elusive answer. Nobody really knows why really, do they? The sad fact is that it just is.
I'm sitting in my living room thinking all this. I'm just waiting for QI to come on. We've spent the day milling around each other, speaking occasionally and then just eating dinner. Repeatedly she told us to be quiet whilst she watched Casualty. I could tell that she had gone already. Gone was mum and in her place was her own personal Hyde.
It's the only way I can describe it. The only way I can make someone realise just what it is like. At one moment she is my mother: coherant, tolerant, beautiful. Then she switches. Her features sink into her face, her mouth turns down and tenses in a clowns frown. Her chin seems to sink into her neck. Her voice becomes slurred. Her walking becomes staggered.
Alcoholic.
Even the word sounds like someone drinking gin straight from a bottle.
Be safe.
I felt like writing something last night. Actually really, truly writing. I got a pencil and a pad and I wrote something. I don't normally do this. I normally type out whatever pops into my head. I hardly ever get the urge to write something.
It felt really good to see the words on the paper, coming from my hands. From my brain. And I've sat and read it back over and over again, and only in little bits does it become stale and over-used. I'm going to type it out for you to read. Not for praise, not for anything. Just for you to read.
I imagine folding in on myself. I lie on the cream leather sofa, limbs sprawled out as if I am sunbathing. I imagine my fingers and toes bending the wrong way, being pressed against my wrists and ankles. I see myself curling into myself. I imagine I am becoming compressed. Depressed.
I lie there and wish I could fold up neatly. Become a pile of clothing, hair and flesh that can be tucked away into a corner and saved until later.
I wish to be inanimate.
I'm lost in my wishing. Different images visit me on my beach of leather and pillows. In one I am a sheet of skin, stretched taught and pale, hanging from a washing line. I see an underground map of veins, arteries, capillaries. The tunnels of me that lead to my heart, exposed and vulnerable. Impossibly the blood is still flowing; I still live as I hang there, crucifed, for no ones cause but my own.
I feel guilty at this. I refocus on the ceiling; whitewashed but punctuated with birthmarks of tea-coloured damp. I try to make shapes. I watch as the stains tremble before my eyes, and as I blink they become clear images, like an optical illusion.
A man in a bowler hat, a flower half open, a knife, a cloud. The exercise is exciting, refreshing in a way. But after a while I keep coming back to the same shapes.
If that isn't a good analogy to real life, I don't know what is.
I know it doesn't make all the sense in the world. Mostly I was just exploring my descriptive side. Trying to become more of an artist in the sense of painting with words. I don't know if I succeeded. I just hope you enjoyed it.
x
It felt really good to see the words on the paper, coming from my hands. From my brain. And I've sat and read it back over and over again, and only in little bits does it become stale and over-used. I'm going to type it out for you to read. Not for praise, not for anything. Just for you to read.
I imagine folding in on myself. I lie on the cream leather sofa, limbs sprawled out as if I am sunbathing. I imagine my fingers and toes bending the wrong way, being pressed against my wrists and ankles. I see myself curling into myself. I imagine I am becoming compressed. Depressed.
I lie there and wish I could fold up neatly. Become a pile of clothing, hair and flesh that can be tucked away into a corner and saved until later.
I wish to be inanimate.
I'm lost in my wishing. Different images visit me on my beach of leather and pillows. In one I am a sheet of skin, stretched taught and pale, hanging from a washing line. I see an underground map of veins, arteries, capillaries. The tunnels of me that lead to my heart, exposed and vulnerable. Impossibly the blood is still flowing; I still live as I hang there, crucifed, for no ones cause but my own.
I feel guilty at this. I refocus on the ceiling; whitewashed but punctuated with birthmarks of tea-coloured damp. I try to make shapes. I watch as the stains tremble before my eyes, and as I blink they become clear images, like an optical illusion.
A man in a bowler hat, a flower half open, a knife, a cloud. The exercise is exciting, refreshing in a way. But after a while I keep coming back to the same shapes.
If that isn't a good analogy to real life, I don't know what is.
I know it doesn't make all the sense in the world. Mostly I was just exploring my descriptive side. Trying to become more of an artist in the sense of painting with words. I don't know if I succeeded. I just hope you enjoyed it.
x
Wednesday 21 January 2009
You're the line in the sand when I go too far
I am not elegant. Most of the times I walk into things, trip over things, trip over myself and knock things over.
I used to have an image of myself where I was a woman of elegance. I would wear fancy ball gowns and be hanging off the arm of a man wearing a tuxedo and looking suspiciously like Tom Hanks in Big.
Now I can't help but thinking that I've deviated away from that vision. I don't know if that's a bad thing or not, I don't even know if I will become that in the future. Just because I have a tattoo doesn't mean I'm inelegant, but somehow I feel I have changed. Not just because of the tattoo. The way I dress is far from lady-like, the way I talk is not at all elegant, but it is me. And isn't that the most important thing at the end of the day?
I still hold views on romance that will never be wavered. I want the Tom Hanks look-a-like who looks so good in a suit you can't wait to get him out of it. I want a man to kiss my hand, tell me that I look gorgeous. I want a man who will do something extravagant and tell me he loves me every day of his life.
I'd hate to think that I was a hopeless romantic, doomed to spend my life lamenting over lost loves and what ifs.
That is why I'm making this decision.
I'd rather regret things that happened rather than regret something I never did. I'd rather say those three words and get knocked back, because at some point the world has to give me something. I live in hope that one day the one for me will turn around and confess his undying love for me and we will walk into the sunset into our 'happily ever after'.
My best friend told me today that there isn't enough hope in the world. I agree, but you make your own hope, don't you? I will not change who I am to conform to something. I won't be the girl who dotes and falls over herself for a man who doesn't want her. I will be the calm, elegant and poised woman, who holds her head up and don't take no shit from no man.
And I will be that woman wearing jeans and a band t-shirt, because, damn, this is me and I can't run from her.
By the end of this year I will fall in love. My life will be an explosion of colour and sound. Music that I've never heard before and colours I don't know the name of but will wear everyday of my life because they look good on me.
The future is bright. We all have to believe that.
I used to have an image of myself where I was a woman of elegance. I would wear fancy ball gowns and be hanging off the arm of a man wearing a tuxedo and looking suspiciously like Tom Hanks in Big.
Now I can't help but thinking that I've deviated away from that vision. I don't know if that's a bad thing or not, I don't even know if I will become that in the future. Just because I have a tattoo doesn't mean I'm inelegant, but somehow I feel I have changed. Not just because of the tattoo. The way I dress is far from lady-like, the way I talk is not at all elegant, but it is me. And isn't that the most important thing at the end of the day?
I still hold views on romance that will never be wavered. I want the Tom Hanks look-a-like who looks so good in a suit you can't wait to get him out of it. I want a man to kiss my hand, tell me that I look gorgeous. I want a man who will do something extravagant and tell me he loves me every day of his life.
I'd hate to think that I was a hopeless romantic, doomed to spend my life lamenting over lost loves and what ifs.
That is why I'm making this decision.
I'd rather regret things that happened rather than regret something I never did. I'd rather say those three words and get knocked back, because at some point the world has to give me something. I live in hope that one day the one for me will turn around and confess his undying love for me and we will walk into the sunset into our 'happily ever after'.
My best friend told me today that there isn't enough hope in the world. I agree, but you make your own hope, don't you? I will not change who I am to conform to something. I won't be the girl who dotes and falls over herself for a man who doesn't want her. I will be the calm, elegant and poised woman, who holds her head up and don't take no shit from no man.
And I will be that woman wearing jeans and a band t-shirt, because, damn, this is me and I can't run from her.
By the end of this year I will fall in love. My life will be an explosion of colour and sound. Music that I've never heard before and colours I don't know the name of but will wear everyday of my life because they look good on me.
The future is bright. We all have to believe that.
Thursday 8 January 2009
When I caught myself, I had to stop myself.
I am well and truly out of my depth.
I was waiting for him to come back after our row, my eyes watering periodically and tears streaming down my cheeks in unpredictable downpours.
I'd sat there staring into his green eyes and he pleaded with me to tell him the truth. There was no other way, I had to tell him.
"You're dying."
The words fell out of my mouth and hung in the air. For a moment I thought it would be okay but then they came crashing down like lead weights. He didn't believe me. He screamed at me, pacing up and down the room.
"You're scared. You've never gotten this close to anyone before and you're trying to push me away." I wanted to shake him; make him see that no I wasn't trying to push him away. I was trying to tell the truth.
"No, it's true. I can see it."
And with that he'd stormed out. His timer slowly ticking down, taking all his precious seconds with him and leaving me with what seemed like eternity.
I was waiting for him to come back after our row, my eyes watering periodically and tears streaming down my cheeks in unpredictable downpours.
I'd sat there staring into his green eyes and he pleaded with me to tell him the truth. There was no other way, I had to tell him.
"You're dying."
The words fell out of my mouth and hung in the air. For a moment I thought it would be okay but then they came crashing down like lead weights. He didn't believe me. He screamed at me, pacing up and down the room.
"You're scared. You've never gotten this close to anyone before and you're trying to push me away." I wanted to shake him; make him see that no I wasn't trying to push him away. I was trying to tell the truth.
"No, it's true. I can see it."
And with that he'd stormed out. His timer slowly ticking down, taking all his precious seconds with him and leaving me with what seemed like eternity.
Wednesday 7 January 2009
I was looking for beauty...
I wrote a new poem and wasn't sure where to share it. I wasn't sure who to share it with. So I guess I'll put it here so I can share it with everyone/anyone.
If you're reading this: enjoy.
I saw God in mitosis,
he told me that it’s not
always as it seems.
The boats on the ocean floor are
full of mermaids. Starfish eyes on Broadway
and coral perms.
He laughed –
It sounded like waves against a rock.
Dangerous.
It's not supposed to be a serious piece. Just something from the crazed recesses that exist in my mind.
If you're reading this: enjoy.
I saw God in mitosis,
he told me that it’s not
always as it seems.
The boats on the ocean floor are
full of mermaids. Starfish eyes on Broadway
and coral perms.
He laughed –
It sounded like waves against a rock.
Dangerous.
It's not supposed to be a serious piece. Just something from the crazed recesses that exist in my mind.
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