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I am Jealous

I can never admit it to myself, that I am jealous of the dead and gone;

How you are happy without me, how many new friends have you made in a less traumatizing environment?

How you took so many pieces of me and left me with nothing but pictures of you,

How you are adoring and adventuring heaven without me!

You rest in the arms of the almighty as I hustle to see my next day through,

I am jealous of the halo on your head, you’re always in my head in a blinding white garment.

I look for you in the people who shared you with me, I see your smile on theirs, your hands and crooked teeth,

Sometimes a complete stranger has a similar physique as yours that makes me love them just for that,

I am jealous of how you’re not obliged to remember me every time I stumble upon funny things and I need someone to laugh with.

Where are you? Do you miss me at all? 

I am constantly depressed but you must be in higher spirits than you had always had,

I am consumed with pain, I have hysteria, and overthinking is my new habit.

Why would you do this to me?

I am jealous of having never heard you speak to me of your last wish,

Your dreams, and fears, are they all gone now? Or am I wrong to think you’re better off that way!

I get mad, and sorry to yell but what were you thinking?

You left me in the open jaws of the wicked world, I am all alone!

When the sun goes up and I am not with you, will you understand I needed you beside me?

Up there where you are, can you read? 

I am jealous of screaming all these words and you probably speak in tongues I can’t comprehend,

You don’t need to make anyone happy now, 

But me. 

Who will fight for me?

My heart’s walls crumble at the thought of your love!

Maybe or maybe not, you watch over me!

I am jealous, I should’ve been the one to go.

 I would send these letters to you. I am jealous you too would feel this way but you don’t now….

Every new day kisses me with thoughts of you, the whole universe has conspired to never rub you off my memory,

I think I have moved on, but this is proof you are never going to be a scar

You’re a wound, fresh, new and deep.

I am jealous of this slow motion 

You come in and out of our lives, you play with our minds.

You sip on this taste of agony, but I am jealous for having to drink all of it over and over again!

You still smell so pure, every cloth of you reminds me of it, I am jealous you don’t go through those sessions. 

Time doesn’t heal anything, I am jealous it works for you

Time is never on my side, time betrays me

Till the day I see you again, I am jealous I have to wait for a time I don’t know.

Crazy ideas run through my mind, I would do anything to shorten this wait…

But I have come to live to make you proud, you would do the same I am sure

I am jealous your prayers are direct now, so pray I hang in here!

Before my time runs out.

I am jealous of everything about you!

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Ballerina shoes

 

Ballerina shoes

Flat and tidy. Sweet and swift. Simple and full of glam. Knots on top, sometimes feathers, or another craft. Polished in black, or gold, or cheetah… red or beige, these shoes are magic to my legs. They speak to my body in a type of way, I feel down to earth but can still conquer the world.

In any shape, open toes or not, I appeal classy and casual. Wild combination of princess attire and maiden simplicity. I can wear them on absolutely anything and still look flashy. The flesh on my legs is toned up by the careful edges drawn geometrically to show off their beauty.

I love them most on short dresses and skirts with buggy bottoms. A chance to look like ballet dancers. Feeling all comfy and exquisite. No girl wants to look they have spent the entire week looking for something to wear. Some love looking expensive and never going to admit it. I love my ballerina shoes because if I choose them right, you will fall for my taste as soon as you see how perfect they make me feel.

My need to look simple and relaxed, ballerina shoes know it most. I don’t want to have a long day and have to switch them with anything. Work, play, and dates, they work anywhere.

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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