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Out of place.

I have been challenged by the fact that one can live a whole lifetime in a shadow of the latter’s expectations. Self-abuse is one chronic disease the 21st century came with. Rules, schools and bullies haunting petal like souls out of place. Weak enough to be stumbled upon and strong enough to give in to these tales.

Invisible, his only emotion. Nothing he did was ever remembered or remarked. He sat in that locker room and watched everything like a classic play on a broken TV set. Score after score, he disappeared from his own records. Stopped counting and started searching blindly waving his hands in the air as if drowning from the nets he was choked with trying to be a pleaser of anyone but himself.

To be a man, do this do that. Sport and muscle. Be tough and arrogant. No one saw what a soft layer lay beneath his sweat, his love for touching lives and dreams to décor life in parallel dimensions. It was like suddenly everything went dark, he stuck out really bad.

Like a ram accidentally waking up in a lion’s den, in the dominion of fear. Not to be butchered, but to live in a shadow of everything he could be if he was nurtured by his own kind. I don’t know where the story ends, has it ended, but a ram lion it is. Out of place.

 

 

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Anonymous letter to a person I am jealous of.

Before you, I was a goddess. After you, I became a mere peasant. You took away everything I ever lived for. You took my happy hours, my solitude and my entire breathing consoles me refueling my loneliness. Your childish laugh and burning light skin made them all fall for you, your dreamy eyes make them crave looking at you every ticking of time.

Every little thing you say is taken so seriously. Too precious to not be heard. And here I am shouting my thoughts, writing them over and over again, with no hope of ever being slapped even a slight no. I push so hard to be noticed but they forgot about me. I myself can’t hear my own voice. I am so used to putting yours first.

You’re prettier, smarter and much younger than I. It’s beautiful how you have a sparkle in your eyes when you talk about things you love. I can only sadly ask myself what I could have possibly done to be you, but I already know that damning truth. I can’t stop looking for chances to look at how you take over my world, it soaks my eyes but it is what it is. In my corner of shame, I stance from a perfect view.

Or maybe I am wrong to think so. I could be right too. I miss my crown you took from me, if it were ever mine. Do you ever see it that way? Although we cannot share the crown, I probably don’t deserve it.

 

Anonymous

 

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Shoulda…Woulda…Coulda

Have you ever felt like you were being called for a bigger world?

Have you ever seen everything as though it were preparing you for a tougher and deeper journey?

Has it ever occurred to you to meet people and in just as a short time as a blink you knew it was or wasn’t the right people to take you to that journey?

Has your inner voice ever told you to hold on and fight a little harder for something for you knew so well– that was where you really wanted to be?

Have you ever heard stories that you related to with every single word and anecdote? Did it make your heart smile knowing that there are people living your dream story?

Have you ever pictured yourself, from a dream picture to a real picture? Did it feel as though you were dreaming or you actually started to act as though it was real?

Have you ever swollen at heart from running away from yourself? Have you noticed that what soothes your heart is the same things you run away from all the time?

Have you ever whispered to your soul,” I wish I was…or did…or had…or I don’t wish for nothing like that”?

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Stranger to this freedom

I am a stranger to this freedom, a ghost to my desire

He’s new and smells so bland, like a new fire

His flames burn my eyes, his light twists my sight

I can’t breathe its heavy lots for me, I can’t hide

That I am a stranger to this freedom.

Every morning he hides so far away under my bed,

So that he brings me to my knees, and face him

Earn him, on my four limbs, bent neck and held out hands.

He is a moment of truth, that knocks on my soul’s door

And says sweetheart, turn up the fire, get up, get up!

Marvel is his best friend.

Legend is his nickname. Cheers is his favorite music.

I can’t hide that I am a stranger to this freedom

On the spotlight, I can be whoever I want to be

I deserve you freedom, and you deserve me.

 

The HandPain

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State of my Year

Earlier this year, I vowed with myself that this year has to make me nervous, excited, grown, challenged, and outlive the shell I have always curled myself in. I needed to feel my own life thrilling me the way I want it. I said I want to live like I matter, my happiness and sorrow depend on me way too much to be living in a shadow of expectations of the latter.

I took measures, and strictly posted sticky notes in my own handwriting all over my room wall so that it haunts me if I go out to the world and treat myself so ordinarily. They were constant reminders that my time line is short lived and time is my only enemy.

Six months, I have never lived a day without feeling special. I live in love, failure, cliffs of deadly fear, echelons of pride that smell like success every morning I wake up. The goals I have reached, mountains I have climbed, my year is not going to leave me the same. And so are the next years, I have embraced the fire I have in  my mouth, my gift and special character.

State of my Year, The HandPain

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A friend in need

You do this awkward touch with fingers to tell me my face is dirty, it’s pretty embarrassing but I do just the same thing, we cozily admit, we just covered each other’s butt. I hate to say you want everything I have and I want to smell and own your bottle of perfume. I want your messed up hair, and girl you can’t get your touchy hands out of my closet. You want my whispering voice just as much as I want your base, giggles moaned in every vowel, and how everything wraps up in my mind telling me I love you.

You say you hate me in person, you make me think I am such a bore. You are my worst lecturer and I know I really am to you too. It’s too much how you excite me and have all these mind blowing ideas in your cunning words that convince me trying one or two of them won’t hurt at all. You tell me this is the last time we collect that memory in the jar, we keep out of reach, but we go back to fill up, sometimes in tears and rarely in golden and joyful smiles and always in lessons we greedily keep so close to our hearts.

Oddly entertaining in all your squeaky sounds of a 3-year-old you jump up and down, pleading, if we don’t do this when we’re young what are we going to ever tell our kids were the major adventures we had? You transition me into a crazy journalist left to unveil stories, and inner thoughts of fantasies and I take liberty to add a few juicy tales to “our” ideas now. We hike through all of them, Lord knows I try to hide them from my self-image, but you friend, unlock my right to freedom.

Strangers, boyfriends, drama and the world, happen. I lose you. Ruthless truths take over. Thrills I don’t understand in their version, nightmares of a scary future happen. My new friends in need don’t remind me of the other time we owned the stars and the moon, how we dreamt of life at Pluto or Mars and made ourselves reach there recklessly in no aircraft and didn’t stop from there, and how about hell together? I dropped out of the lake of ideas the time I gave your awkward touch a look of disgust, in the eyes of a few fellas, who don’t understand the silence and pauses I give them when I am aching.

I am haunted, your perfume is a scent of a rainbow in my never ending mess. Yeah, cause maybe there in my closet you want me just as much. A tee shirt, a pink dress would pull me in closer to you just as much as I would with no utter of a word. You get it, you get in my mind, you read the words on my mouth when you wear my lipstick, the way I tell you I am sorry. I can’t cry but it helps me think more when I see you in the seasons I don’t want to be seen.

A friend in need? We don’t know how much we need or don’t need but I want to tell you, that if we can’t offer it to each other how others do, I really want to live on Mars with you now. I need that touch every now and then. I need to give shots at whatever you wanna lecture me about, I will be excitedly bored but, you remind me my innocence matches your winning idea.  Your predictable unpredictability, a natural way I understood us dancing every day is impossible, and just like that, when we get drowned in the perfection disease out there, I need you to inject me with your rather harmless sickness of your ugly beauty.

I don’t need a heartache to try out the deadly and never-heard-of recipes and remedies you sprinkle to my life, I need to try them right here, right now and forever. I need to feel laughter and sorrow, to get them married the way me and you can’t live without each and both of them. I need your magic to push me to see light when our numbered days are not yet numberless. A friend in need, is a friend indeed. And indeed, I have a nervous ball knotted in my belly, it just doesn’t feel right, if I don’t find you, when I need you that much.

 

The HandPain

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Back to School

If I had to go back to school and master a subject, it would be Geography. I didn’t pretty much care to know how the earth is formed and every other boring things like lakes and rivers all over the world. But now that I understand how things work, unfold and all create a beauty never seen before, I want to take a break from my life and go back to school to master Geography. There is nothing more beautiful than art of the earth, its mountains and valleys and everything that comes in between them. It’s pretty much how we roll too. Painful, happy, sophisticated events from and transform us to the best version we were created to become.