look at me now.

Saturday, 28 January 2017

no strings.

I prefer to not get in the way of anyone or anything.
So these days even when I chase, I never do.

I'm only here to leave.


Friday, 27 January 2017

you've mistaken.

"At the end of the day it's how you are".

But I'm not the girl you make yourself believe I am.
I'm no longer the sort of pure you speak of.

So every time you point out any good in me,
as you speak of someone else's bad,
I flinch and cringe on the inside.

When you're still you, just no longer you,
and you do good, just not that sort of good-

You know what I mean?

That I no longer have all that I saved for last.
That I go against all the things I said I couldn't condoned.
That I've lost what you thought you had because you were a bit too late.

I'm never on time anymore.
I'm not the me I know.

this is how you do it.

Don't put your feelings in it,
they're not worth an inch of you.

Talk about it like you mean it,
making them think there's meaning.

Laugh about it if they use it,
because all you've ever said
was never yours to begin with.

Monday, 16 January 2017

less and more.

Stay positive, but my throat is at it again.

I say I need to get better- but there are parts of me left behind, fragments lost in my own body and mind. Everything known except for an exit; a so long goodbye that never comes back to say hello. It's comforting and frightening. Is it wrong to believe that this is a part of me I can't get rid off? For now at least. Each time I start to acknowledge it's absence, it comes rushing back to me. How do you tell people the voices in your head are your own but you don't know which part of your life this comes from? That you wish to be kind but the demon you really are loves you the way you wish you could. That this became the only way you knew how to.


Friday, 13 January 2017

keep your worries.

"It's depressing".

I know. I went through it and still going through it. I have a choice and in my writings are everything or most of the least, of what's in my head. I do not promote self loathing or victimising. It's not wrong to feel. It's unfair to expect me to be alright or to ask me to change my ways over what you read. It's my escapism. It's my coping mechanism. Isn't it enough that I barely talk about it or let it be? I know people can't tell if it wasn't for everything written. So they get surprised each time.

You're this, you're that, you shouldn't-, you should-, well take my shoes if you're eager. This is why I never really talk about it. You immediately respond to what you hear instead of listening through it and learning the ways and reasons of the one going through it. Either way I've always been here for me, whatever I put myself through, I'm responsible for. So whatever that seems to be wrong to you, is how I survive to get through. At the end of the day I'm okay am I not? Because I'm always going to be alright on my own.


Monday, 9 January 2017

same ashes.

Either way the damage's done.

I can't lose myself in the void, I can't be that much aware to notice the wormhole trying to suck me in to the other side. I'd sleep it away but everyone knows I can't anymore. Mentioning "everyone" must be a joke knowing barely anybody knows but me. I haven't done this in awhile; being up and writing. Typing. Perhaps I haven't been feeling this way for awhile, not this exact type of way at least.

I've been meeting, finding, surrounding myself around good company. They say keep it positive right? Though I know I haven't done it enough to cover all negativity. No overthinking until there's feeling. Enlighten but unaware; I always feel like the home I've learned and known misses me more than any potential new place of warmth could. I belong in the cold and as many times as anyone tells me that I deserve to be happy, I wish they knew that I do try but I don't believe it. I still received my fair share of moments and I'm grateful. However there is a shadow figure of what I really am and how my mind is, constantly waiting at the corner of everywhere I go, watching me, letting me know that I cannot run far from where I am bound to be. This thing owns me.

I hate to be told that I haven't tried hard enough when I've gotten this far but it's true that I'm not anymore. Then again everyday is a choice and I still wake up to get through opposed to how I used to. I go through phases that reveals itself as major life events that would soon affect me in the long run whether I'd like to admit or not. No consumption of greens or mind numbing liquid is enough to keep me at bay. I know now that I can no longer explain my situation when there is none. I'm constantly floating around, I've lost my ground. Everyone always comes a bit too late and I'm never on time. I know how my mind works but I've been in denial. 

Curiosity killed the cat but I'm constantly dissecting myself and observing everyone else to learn the things that keep me occupied. My problem would be not knowing where to stop, when to quit or to realise that things are starting to break me. I don't know what rest is despite the leisure it looks like I'm having. Sicker days are all I've ever known so better days always seem to be on hold. I still enjoy every moment I can- but this fire can't always be burned too bright without burning me out and the light in me keeps blowing off in the midst of joy.

4 years and it's still the same. Any time before it, keeps losing their pieces from my mind. Some days I forget I was ever alive in those years but if I wasn't how could I be here now; it must have been real. It happened. They say it's in the past but it made me who I am. I don't look back to dwell, I look back just to remind myself. Even if I've lost most of that I built, every year is a new beginning of the same things. Every day gets too long and nights too cold but days passes faster than the time I get to digest it all. It's entertaining to me to be so distant yet a bit too close. I can choose what to be, how to act, who to play as today but at the end of the day what it is, is exactly who I am and no one has ever known.

Some days I'd like to think the voices aren't mine. Everybody says it's satan whispering me into delusion but who cares what's true when nothing could be. I know me and this is my head speaking. It could get abusive but I survived on this. The contradiction and battles in my head is draining but I haven't given much thought to it until I woke up in the middle of the night alone again with feelings that take me back to when the dimmed yellow light of my room was the only light I ever wanted to sink in to. The day was my knight in shining armour but the dark is the kind of love I could afford and I honestly can't remember it being any other way. Sad but I don't call the shots, I just get through.

So what if I've never been my own?