look at me now.

Saturday, 28 February 2015

pitiful morbid soul.

I've written suicide letters each year, since 3 years ago. One from the last 9 years, I kept behind one family photo I no longer bother to take a second glance at.

I'd write so much if I could, all the time like I used to but my mind doesn't work wonders in such a dejecting state the way it was able to. Every year you grow thinking you've gotten weaker, but realising at the end of it, you're only a bit more stronger than the last time. Not for now. Not since the beginning of this year. Not me. I'm helpless, inane. I've become nothing but a parasite.

Maybe the more attention I get or sincere love I receive, the more in touch I am with my emotions. The more alive you get, the more you feel. It never has work quite well for me, being this human. Not for the last 3 and a half years. Cogitating my existence, I sometimes forget why I let myself breathe for another day. Then again, we all know it could never be up to me. I analyse myself, I take note, I observe and notice changes- you'd think it'd be good to know yourself so well. It isn't. It could never be in a gazillion years. No matter how well you do, you're going to act the way you'd rather not at one point or another, sometimes willingly. Some things you can never change. You can be better, but not even an inch a way from who you already were. Not when you're me. I could tell you everything about me in detail, yet still overlook certain crucial information that I couldn't put into words for others to understand even if I were to be the most intelligent being on earth.

Things has become more than less irrepressible, I'm no longer in the right state of mind. I've lost it all in silence, I almost couldn't grasp it myself. I was told to get a grip but my hands are sore from holding on too tight onto what would only screw me over in the end, proving how unavailing my efforts are. I wouldn't blame it on anything or anyone. I've been putting zero efforts as days goes by. I live trying to stay alive. I get anxious, I am restless, I get edgy, I'm everything at once that I'm nothing. I take in all that I can, it takes so much space in me, I no longer own myself. As I subconsciously block everything but what is present, out, and let my body react as if I am aware of all that is happening when in reality, I've been stuck in a never ending journey to nowhere. Like a dog chasing it's on tail. I'm not there, or here.

From then I knew, everyone I'm aware of having all my attentions put towards, would soon be drawn to a nerve wrecking emotional whirlpool. It must have been really inconsiderate of me, to let anyone else in, thinking I could do better. My mistake.


Tuesday, 24 February 2015

(hopefully better).

but I might never be able to,
I can never really love you,
the way she can,


Monday, 23 February 2015

"in a busy room you're all i see."

Not that whom I feel like the only girl
in the world to,
Or him who makes me oblivious
to my surroundings,
Nor is it the one that turns everything else
into nothing but a blur as every focus turns to him,

Yet still he's the only one I see,
noticed, observe,
He's all that matters,

The guy that can't keep his eyes on me.


Thursday, 19 February 2015

my boyfriend-

My boyfriend, he knows more people than I do whether he wants to admit it or not, because unlike me, he takes whoever in. I instead, if not cuts everyone off, I shut them out or better yet prevent them to even get the chance to say more words than I do, which most likely means none. My boyfriend doesn't know that if it was up to me, I'd flaunt him to the whole world if I could and tell everyone of how great of a person he is but I try so hard to restrain myself. I am not scared of being seen as obsessed, I'm afraid to have more eyes on him. I'm not much comfortable with the thought of people wanting him as much as I do, they don't know him and even if they do, I know I might not be able to compete. I am not normal nor am I like most girls he has encounter in life. I don't even mean in a resplendent way.

My boyfriend doesn't think he's good looking. Maybe now, different from a couple years before, he would at least reconsider. If he still wouldn't believe in such, I'm still sure it's true. My boyfriend doesn't notice the stares or glances. I know I'm not the only one. He wouldn't notice girls eyeing on him although I know that he knows too, that there are girls who do and makes it obvious to him. Girls would hit on my boyfriend, I know. Not me, I either intimidate guys and when I don't, I couldn't care less still. Not with him tho, from the first time I met him, I knew there were girls before me that saw him the way I didn't get the chance to first. My boyfriend says no one else wants him, he reassures me that I'm the only person who notices his existence. My boyfriend is bad at lying. I know girls. Even in secrecy.

My boyfriend, he likes curves. I don't have them. He likes skin. I prefer not. He looks at girls. He likes pretty things. He denies it. He believes he doesn't. Unlike me, I just like looking at him. I don't care how he looks like or who passes by, he's the one and only. Other guys don't attract me at all other than my guy. But he doesn't know that, even if I told him. I'm not him. I don't look at other people for the fun of it or because it's there, conveniently.

My boyfriend goes out. He does a lot. He has games, join tournaments. That which I have never yet to go to or see myself. He meets people. He gets to know them, even if it's a one day thing. He makes friends, he keeps in contact even if he doesn't exchange words with them any longer. He cares what they think. He doesn't know it, but he doesn't want to be forgotten. That's where I am beyond words different from him. My boyfriend is basically a reflection of who I was once in life. Now I can barely ever care about losing people I just got to know or even bother making new friends. I just don't go along. I have zero interest whatsoever. I'm unable to focus on creating bonds with anyone new, not that I would if I were able. To me what starts at one point, ends at the same one.

My boyfriend is my only real friend atm, I'm aware of how pathetic it may sound to you and the sympathy you feel for me (which is superfluous) or that I am just lucky to have this person who is faithfully devoted to me, and that of course, it must be a drag to have encounter me in life and have me privilege to be such a big part of it. I'm more than enlighten of how unfortunate it is to be with me. Never have anyone been more hapless. I'm a curse that's been blessed all my life. My boyfriend doesn't think so. He doesn't know how wrong he is. I know how erroneous I am exactly.

My boyfriend has been hurt before just like everybody else. My boyfriend tries so hard to understand why I am the way I am but a million words couldn't help him figure it out. He doesn't get why I get uncomfortable at certain things or why I can't explain the things he does that bothers me and when I do, he tends to omit most. I can't deny how it's my fault for my lack of mastery in communicating squarely and that just like any other guy, he might turn his head for a girl and just because I'm not interested in almost any guy at all, I shouldn't feel nauseous with jealousy just thinking of it. He doesn't see things the way I do and I don't blame him, we came from different backgrounds walking in different directions but somehow, miraculously came across the same path. Which has been amazing nonetheless.

My boyfriend, he doesn't get how much I love him. He thinks he does but he doesn't. He doesn't know how much he means to me or why I'm such a numbskull when with him and how certain inexplicable irrepressible feelings rise in me in rage or how things he could say or do would be able to break me down in a matter of seconds once the thought of it reaches my conscious mind. He doesn't get how petrified I get these days, or how much the past has been repeatedly coming back unwelcoming regularly these days. I get apprehensive and flurried about the littlest things that has never made me felt anything before. It's not just about the girl, a friend, tomorrow, him, or me, it's everything that's been eating me whole once before that I convinced I've blocked, dispose and cured, all getting back at me in one go.

My boyfriend doesn't get how damaged I've become yet I still manage to love him with all of my fucked up crooked incomplete broken pieces of all that I am and that I wouldn't trade it for the world if he'd just realised that. Just take a moment to grasp that.

I think he forgot.


for the day we won't.

I stood there as I watch him go. Kept trying to look forward despite the number of times I failed to and took a glimpse back instead as I hoped for it to be right on time for that when he too, does the same. He did, a smile curve onto my lips. I walked my way. Still stubborn I needed to take one last look. Further away by now, I knew there wasn't a second stare, not another look from him- those seconds and in the number of breaths I wasn't conscious of inhaling, my mind wonders of what's in his. Maintained my pace with my eyes still glued to the back of his head till my vision become of nothing but blurry moving colours.

I always have had the urge to run after him. For every single time. "One last time, just once more" ringing in my head, go I'd say, go but for most times I'd start to, my legs get heavier as if I was tied to an anchor, to be pulled into another direction as it swings to the other side. A word, maybe three, or a hug a kiss anything. One more before you go, when I can never let you go.

I don't want to look back anymore. I'm here for the day when all I have to do is look to my side and he'd be there. He will only ever be there. Not an inch away from me, please. With him, I could hardly bare the distance.


can't get over.

I can't stay mad for long unless I forced myself to. I don't get pleasure for doing so, always discomfort. Anger doesn't rise as quickly in me but it subsides before you even realise it was there. I take myself and throw myself into other people's shoes; I stuff myself in, I try to adapt so it gets better. For their sake and mine, although very rarely is it an advantage for me. It doesn't matter what happens I'm always going to still be there. They know it. I make sure of it, for their own feeling of security. 

That's where I make the wrong move. People, no matter how much they say you're important, they don't give a bloody damn at one point once or twice, maybe almost all the time. They take you for granted. I've always been taken for granted. People use me and manipulate me in my vulnerability and sincerity in order to make me feel guilty over the things I didn't caused or do. Even in those miraculous times where they do admit and realised their faults or mistakes, they would only for that few magical moments. People don't learn from them, they don't want to. Because I'm always going to idiotically still be there and they know it.

There are times where I don't want to let it go. I want to still be mad about it, I want to sulk for days, I want someone to come and get me for once but no one ever does. No one really is afraid to lose me, it has always been that way all my life. Which is why I either don't bother to get mad or go all savage in rage as much as the hell I want to. Everyone believes what they want, even if it's not true. Even if it's only to make them feel better about themselves.


price to pay.

If you needed me to calm down and get back on track, to not weep at petty things the way I do now and toughen up, know that you are asking me to not feel as much I do for you today, to eliminate any worries for you and to drop any depth of pure sincerity there is in everything I feel for you, opposing myself from dejection but woe you in return.


Wednesday, 18 February 2015

another dead end.

Click. Like a flip of a switch. And I feel so low, I would actually go back to the days where I felt nothing at all; when my feelings were written each time as all I did other than to not take anything to heart, or to ever feel it so intensely is to shut myself down throwing everything out as I inhale every bit of tar into my lungs and exhale every little hope I too, no longer own. I'd spend days in bed, shedding tears in the form of air, I had none left in me for such life that devoid of living.

Going back to the things I dread, all that I've been trying to restrain myself from becoming, or to just be better at. However it seems like nothing I do, have or am now is even me anymore. Then who am I now if not anything at all? I've lost it again. I keep on losing myself.


Tuesday, 17 February 2015

some shit in need of deleting

I've been told how lucky I am before,
to get the chance to be with certain people,
or to be treated a certain way.

I know I am. I know how lucky and how blessed my whole life has been. I know the worth of each person I've encountered or got to know better, enough to have been making memories together. It ticks me off sometimes, to be told so. I get the point, but there are moments when the same words or sentence rings into my eardrums, it isn't what is said that I hear.

Like a subtle way to say that I am not fitted for the person, that the person is better than me and out of my league that they would kill to have what I do at the moment or simply just implying in how they say it- that I am not worthy or have done anything as much to be compared to what the person has done for me. As if what I've done before or what I'm doing is swept under the carpet to be left unacknowledged.

Not envy, nor is it pride. This inexplicable feeling of sudden-
I can't even say.

Maybe it's just me getting enraged to how other people's definition of lucky is what they see not knowing how it is beyond that. Wait no, at this point I'm just like fuck this. Why do I even try to explain.

It's just that they don't get it. I'm lucky not for the presents or the post or to be showed off. I'm lucky because a person loves me. Stays. Handles me. Accepts me. I'm lucky because I've gone through things with this person and we get through it. That this person chooses me over and over again and I can say so much about how and why I am lucky to have this person with me. It's never the looks or anything on the outside. It's the efforts and the wrongs we've right together, I sometimes wish it was that people talked about and looked up to, not just what they see and how it seems as if that's all it is. I wish people saw how beautiful this person is. But then maybe, I wish people saw me the same way. So is it all about me? Or maybe I just wish people saw it as a whole. Nobody ever really does. They never see me.

I don't think I know what this is about anymore.
I don't know anything anymore. Everything's just a mess

Friday, 13 February 2015

words just words.

I don't draw. I jot things down. I forget. I can't draw my feelings. Ironically I can't precisely convey them into words either which is why I do so; I write. Never ending letters, overused words, exact same purpose, misleading points but I get there. If I don't I would, in the end. Even if I'm the only one who can comprehend and relate to it.