sunday Again

you share and share 

and share
bits and pieces of
your Mind
your Heart
your Body
your Soul
your Self

they take and take
and take
a handful and a pinch of
Whatever you have to Offer
Whatever else they can Find
Whatever they think they Need
Whatever they think they're Entitled to
Whatever they think they Want

you wish and hope
and pray
for a bit and a half of
their Ideas
their Thoughts
their Feelings
their Stirrings
their Truths

they hide and leave
and apologize
for the entirety and some of
their Rash Judgement
their Unintentional Mistakes
their Impulsiveness
their Stupidity
their Lies

.

and they're supposed to be the genuine ones

.

Relapse No. 6

Like a faucet

Turned on

Very similar to the facet of this fact

That needs exploration,

Explanation,

Action.

Did it matter then that it happened

Once upon a time, 

Upon some slithering snakes

Dancing to see who

The real charmer is?

Like a disease

Spreading

Almost the same as a pair of limbs

Accepting and praying

Quickly closing,

Now running.

Does it matter now that a pair ponders

Over bones set into play,

Whilst roaring in delight, disgust

Fighting to see who

The real winner is?

Like a home

Haunted

As her eyes, his touch, their faces

Look confused,

Bruised,

Used.

Will it matter that they have set

The rules, perchance to break,

The stage where a poor soul stands

Waiting to see who

The real man is?

***

______'s block

So you stare at that cursor
that continuously blinks.
Blink. Blink.
Blink.
Blink.

Your eyes blink with it in unison.
Or maybe your brain, too,
as it tries to think.
But comes up with nothing.

Your fists unclench as well.
And maybe your fingers twitch
as they grasp for the words you want to say.
But frustratingly ends up with nothing.

Your feet tap to the beat.
Or they might go against it
as you try to digest what that song means.
But you hear nothing.

Funny, isn't it, how
while your legs shake to the beat (or not)
and your digits remain uncooperative
and your mind.
Is.
Blank,

as the screen in front of you,

Your heart is so full and heavy, you can
Actually just bleed and bleed and bleed 
All over your page
Or your blog-slash-account
Or hers, or his, or theirs
And let them know everything
you've masked and protected and saved for nobody
but yourself.


So you stare at that corner
as you continuously blink.
Blink. Blink.
Blink.
Blink.

But don't let the first one fall.

Rainy Days and Sundays

I said I’ll be blogging more often but I end up breaking that promise I made to myself. Ha. It’s so me, it’s…annoying.

So, here I am two months after my first post. With nothing but one (one!) write-up on…writing. Amazing. As in, amazingly lazy. I have been amazingly lazy. :))

I asked my younger sister what I should write about today. She said I should write about the weather, about the rain. And so, I shall.

You know how the story goes. Clouds absorb water vapor, condense this vapor and, when they forget that they’re made of water, too, and feel like they’ve had too much, they – well – spit them back to the ground (sort of like when you drink too many orange-flavored cocktails…but, that’s a different story). 

We’re all like clouds sometimes. We absorb these bits and pieces of problems other people have around us. We analyze them and we think of what to do with them. We try to help them because we love them or we care for them or we have no choice…whatever, we have our reasons. At times, we forget that we, too, have problems. We feel like we are carrying too much load on our shoulders and so we cry. Or mope. Others do their own version of spitting and spit nails, shouting their anger out.

It’s not fair to be angry with the world but you can’t help it sometimes. You feel injustice, yet there is no one to blame. You feel injustice because there is no one to blame. You know that, in a way, everyone is just a victim of his or her own cruel fate. Yet, for some weird twisted reason, you blame the world. You shout and are angry because of the small things when you want to be angry for the bigger, more complex things. You are angry because your dreams didn’t come true, because you don’t have enough money or because he didn’t love you enough to stay. You’re angry because you screwed up. You’re angry because you didn’t want to screw up, but you did. You’re angry because you’ve never felt this angry before and it just keeps on flowing out – you keep on spitting it out – like there’s no tomorrow.   

And, when you have finally spit it all out, people will react differently. Some will marvel at the beauty of how intense you can feel and draw inspiration from it. They will write, paint, burst out singing because of it. But these are people who probably see things from afar; people who are protected by their roofs during the thunderstorm, wrapped in thick blankets and looking out their windows, observing how much more water the rain can produce. Some, the ones in the same situation as those who felt inspired by your ranting, will yawn and sleep. Some will get really shocked then really mad; those who, without umbrellas or raincoats, got wet and inconvenienced because they didn’t expect that such downpour could happen without much notice. Of course, there will always be those who would shrug, get their umbrellas from their bags, open them and walk away.

I think you should walk away, too. We should walk away, too. Walk away from all the pain and the anger and the hurt, especially if the rain is gone. Instead, look for your rainbow (if there is one. They’re very rare nowadays, rainbows) and be thankful. You’ve survived the storm.

On this day of your life, [we believe] God wants you to know that faith in yourself will see you through. You are strong and can deal with anything that life throws at you. Take a deep breath and be filled with the knowledge that you can deal with all things.