Monday, 25 November 2013

A Funny Thing Happens When You Begin to Find Yourself in a New Place

A funny thing happens when you start finding yourself in a new place. This haze that you existed within turns into a new hue. Crazy as it was, it continues to be, but you find yourself floating blissfully there. Words remain just that - words. You take them in, hearing and sometimes listening as the syllables roll off of the tongues of these individuals making the shapings you'd imagine the farmland's "rolling hills" would, as they say. They say - Life becomes a lot of that. Yet, your haze is wholly consuming and none of it matters anymore. All the mistakes you've made, pain you've felt and things you've lost.. They turn into this mirage of a life that is completely separate from who you are. And you used to think they made you; they defined you.
Oh child, were you wrong. Your erotically driven thoughts of love and life and love have been put to rest because you are consumed by this new existence. You inhale and exhale and the way the air loops in your lungs seems different than it did three months ago... You realize you're gone. The entire world as you knew it changed; it has been changing. But you were too wrapped up in your petty unfortunities of day to day life, leaving breadcrumbs to take you back to your sorrow once in awhile and make the action justified.
But a new fire has been ignited. You no longer linger on those. The breadcrumbs are slowing folding into the land upon which they lay, leaving no evidence of what had been your life before the new hue in this haze. Everything is loudly silent. Playing second fiddle and the backdrop to the bigger picture at hand - you.
Moving in and out of cities, these living organisms that we try to understand but that are much more complex than we can fathom, you find yourself. A lonely, singular being, happily content and whole in her alone. People moving by, breathing in and out, depleting the oxygen of the world, killing you slowly, softly. Forgetting the ones starving in deserts afar, sand smacking dead centre into their iris, making them blind to what's ahead, both then and in time.
A funny thing happens when you begin to find yourself in a new place....and the funniest part is that now, child, you're finally smiling inside.

Monday, 18 November 2013


There's only one thing that hurts more
Than knowing they don't love you.
The only thing that hurts more,
Is that he's going to bed with thoughts,
Without you.

Sunday, 10 November 2013

Reservation for the Reserved

The word resonated in my head to the point that it's pronunciation was altered. You know that feeling, when you say a word one too many times and it simply stops sounding like itself? That's what it felt like.
Reserved. Reserved. r e s e r v e d.

There was nothing wrong with the word or with what it connotates, but somehow, when used in relation to me, it was offensive. Not, '____________ist' offensive, but offensive none the less, and I just couldn't figure out why. I didn't understand why my conscious mind was rejecting something that was directed as an observation and somewhat of a compliment. I don't know why I felt uncomfortable in that. Reserved. It was synonymous with shy, a description I put on my own character when I described myself to strangers, or rather people who weren't fully acquainted with me. Reserved. It wasn't a bad description of me. If anything, it came rather close to accurate. I was reserved and I did keep to myself, always in some sort of reflection.. I was reserved. I am reserved. Am I reserved?

I came to realize that the problem was not the word itself, or the manner in which it was meant to describe my personality, but rather that it was a reminder of something I tried to run, or maybe hide from. Reserved shouted WEAK. DEPENDENT. INCAPABLE. SOFT. VULNERABLE. BRITTLE. RESERVED. It screamed all these things, but denoted none of them. Yet, it brutally attacked me with them and the memories that came along. It made the 12-year old version of me come out and go into hiding on my surface....and in that moment I truly was it. Reserved.

The matter of the fact is that the single utterance of the word made me realize that I am still on a long, winding and relatively endless journey. At 16, having reached the lowest point of my life thus far, I realized that I needed to get up from the misery I laid in, and ascend the steep hill that laid ahead, despite the amounts of times I rolled over backwards and started right where I had begun. Once I reached level land, something that felt stable and assured me that I would not find myself face first in a ditch of everything that left burn marks in my skin, I set up camp, and became the happy camper that was deluded into believing she had reached the top of the mountain; the end of her journey. But I was mistaken, and here I find myself again.

When it comes down to it, I needed a knock on the head to bring myself back to reality. I needed to realize that I was, in fact, mistaken about everything I thought I knew.

.....and that's all thanks to my being 'reserved'.

Wednesday, 6 November 2013

Popping Slang, Poppin' Mollies

I can't help but to LOL
(Smiley Face)
When you say my name.
And beeteedubs,
You're the main.
You deserve all my love.
So, FYI, I can't let you go,
That's a loss on my part,
But I'm SMH
because I can't let you know.
So I'll BRB when my courage's up,
and I can tell you what's on my mind.
...OMG, just hold on,
I shouldn't take too long.