Anxiety, Coping System, Descriptive, Emotion, Late Night, Life, Pain, PenPractice, Poem, Shorts, Sleepy time, Thoughts, thoughts, writing

Responsible.

Responsibility is light.
Responsibility is heavy.

Responsibility is as light as a feather,
The spring in your step propelling you further till you fly,
It becomes the wings on your back,
Lifting you past the clouds till you’re up on high…
It is the cool shades you wear when you step into a function,
It draws the eyes of admiration on you.
For you,
It blots out the stars till you’re the only star shining.
The brightness lighting up the dark sky so intensely,
It only made sense for everyone else to shield their eyes.

Responsibility is the twinkle in your eye.
The confidence in your actions that make everyone want to stand behind you.
The winning smile that lets you past the doors that once kept you.
It is the strength you never knew you had or wanted,
Equipped to lift the burden of others.
It is the hope of tomorrow,
The sunrise on another day.
The assurance that you are in a better place than you once were.

It is freedom.

And it makes you cry.

Tears of joy, yes,
But not without merit.

After all those years of waiting, you’ve finally gotten here,
And it is everything you’ve wanted.

Responsibility is heavy.

It drags you off the edge of a cliff,
And lets you hit the waters with no mask.
So you gasp for air but the lack thereof doesn’t kill you.
You just suspend in viscous space,
As the liquid sears your lungs and makes you cry out for relief.

It is the bags beneath your eyes because you haven’t been sleeping.
How can you?
When it is knocking on your walls,
Questioning every decision you’ve made and
berating you for the ones you didn’t make.
So it renames you as “Negligent”

“You thought you had the right stuff but you don’t” It says.

Responsibility is a duty.

It commands. Never requests.
It punishes when you fail to reach the criteria it sets before you,
Even if the rule-book to your actions have been hidden from you.
It demands the entirety of your being,
Gifting you a burden that you can’t give to anyone else.

It gives you the option to ignore it,
Of which it incrues an interesting amount of interest on it.
So that when you return,
You will find your responsibility ripe with profits that you really don’t want.

Responsibility is not kind.
It is not cruel nor is it wicked.
It doesn’t love you and won’t give itself to hate.

It simple requires your best “you”.

And sometimes, that’s not enough.

Anxiety, Coping System, Descriptive, Emotion, Late Night, Life, Love, Pain, PenPractice, Poem, Prose, Shorts, Sleepy time, thoughts, Uncategorized, writing

Sleepless

The room is cold. Harsh. Unforgiving.

But it’s safe here.

It’s home here.

Everything freezes in here. Left to hang in the air like unsaid words and unresolved emotions. It’s much better in the long run.

It’s better than the fires outside that are licking the frame of the door, begging that I open up so that they can engulf me in their responsibility.

In their warmth. In their potential for great things spanning countries and changing lives around the globe.

Their fire for making everyone around happy and content that I’m not a popsicle like the rest of them, but the rest of them are here and I can tell they are cool.

But this is better. Much better than playing with a natural energy source and watching it consume me. Why would I risk being burnt alive? What’s the endgame there?

Success or cremation? And they think I would risk it all for that?

So yeah, this is fine.

This is fine.

I agree my fingers might be numbing off from inactivity and the general lack of engagement for it’s better this way.

It means I won’t be able to carry anything after a while.

That said…

It is very cold…

Descriptive, Emotion, IG Prompts, Life, Love, Pain, PenPractice, Poem, Thoughts, writing

IG Prompt: We Are Who We Are

We are who we are

We are the children of the Earth,
the pride of the Motherland,
the beautiful melanated hue of human origin,
the inhabitants of the spectrum between light and dark tones,
comforted at the truth that at our core,
we know who we are…

We are the men seen as lesser men,
by lesser men who had gotten it in their heads,
that we were lesser than them.
So they tied, beat and tortured us,
moved us over the sea in an effort to own us,
and if they couldn’t cull us,
would relegate us to Poseidon’s waters
where we would watch the surface drift farther away,
as our shackles dragged us to the bottom.

And even then,
amongst the creatures at the depths of the world,
they still couldn’t break us.

We are the 5am Nurturers and Gatherers,
toiling through the field for produce
just so that we can feed our young and ensure they see a better tomorrow,
because today just feels a little harder than it should.
We watered the earth with our tears,
and reaped our sown seeds with sweat and death,
even as they tried to break us,
but they only succeeded in making us stronger.

We are the families with one less member in the family.
So Mummy’s out there working two jobs and a late shift,
just to keep a warm bed to cuddle into at night.
Because Daddy’s not coming.
Because Daddy went shopping with Uncle Timmy for some flour.
but Uncle Timmy can still walk the streets,
while Daddy’s under a strict curfew and stricter visiting hours.

We are the marchers and the protesters,
clicking our fingers to the mental replay of Martin’s speech,
so we light the metaphorical candle in our hands,
as we sway from side to side,
humming a consistent song,
“Free at last”, or so it would have gone,
as we realise that they still haven’t managed to break us.

So they switched formation.

Drycleaned the white robes, got into politics.
Burnt all their crosses, and made laws instead.
Decade long feature movies of their hit novel
“How to Oppress from behind the Curtain”
Made strides at conversation with us,
out of the mouth of a metal barrel.
They wanted compliance,
with a medical dose of a bullet per prescription

And yet,

We are still who we are.

We are the entreprenuers of a new age,
with new dreams that have no shackles on.
We are the executives and the cooks, the businessmen and women,
the lawyers, engineers and high school student with 83 college acceptances

We are the trendsetters, the music moguls,
the ” Who Run The World” ladies with unstoppable energy

We are excellence itself.

We are the Kings and Queens of civilisation,
the rulers of ancient lands over the waters,
descendants of the birthplace of life itself.

We are the mothers and fathers,
brothers, sisters and uncles,
that stand side by side with those we call our own.

We are black.

We are proud.

Descriptive, Fiction, IG Prompts, Love, PenPractice, Shorts, writing

IG Prompt: A Man and His Dog

“I remember when I spoke about Kevin to my work colleagues for 30 minutes straight before they understood I was talking about my dog.

And yes. My current companion is Kevin, and he’s an adorable german shepherd. A” good boy”, if you will.

And Kevin is wonderfully intelligent. I mean, He’s far more intelligent than I give him credit for. It could explain why I sometimes talk to him like he can talk to me back. On some days, I wish he can. But dreams are dreams for a reason.”

I recline back on the lawn chair and watch him run back and forth in the backyard, chasing a harmless butterfly. He keeps yelping and leaping rather enthusiastically, I’m inclined to believe he’s putting on a show for me. It’s almost ethereal.

It makes me laugh.

I call out to him and he comes trotting towards me, almost matter-of-factly, like I had just interrupted his day’s work but the manner in which his tail wagged told me he was happy. I was happy too. I had spent enough time not being happy so this…this is nice.

“This is essential. Without Kevin, I would probably have made a bad choice down the line. Sarah’s death took a lot out of me. More than I even knew I had. The days got shorter, the nights got longer. I remember the vivid hours I spent just drinking and crying and then drinking some more before dragging myself to work.

Heck, I think I drank enough to ruin my liver, but I don’t think I’m going to the doctor’s just yet. No reason to chase bad news. If I have, I will find out eventually if it becomes a thing.

At the moment though, I’m okay with Kevin.

I did say he was intelligent, didn’t I? There was this one time, right… I was rushing out of the house, still fresh from Sarah’s death, but feeling much better. Kevin had only been around the house then, like… say… 5 months. Not enough time to be able to get what I mean, you know.

See I got moments, when I’m so comfortable with him, I sometimes call out Sarah’s name before I remember that it’s just me and him.

Anyway, so I’m rushing out of the house now, searching for my house and car keys, and it’s doing my head in, you see. I was already running late, so I was getting kind of desperate. On instinct, I call out to “Sarah” to help me find my keys. I hear his paws as they padded its way up the stairs but I don’t register it.

A few moments later, as I sat on the couch, I hear a woof and I see him, wagging his tail, my keys at his feet. He woofs again, bending to carry the keys in his mouth as he moved to drop it in my open palm. It was then I knew, that He was much more than I give him credit for.

I think it’s the quiet way he just seems to understand what I’m thinking or what I need.”

He nuzzles my open hand and I move to rub his head. He was a good boy.

“Sir… This is what we mean when we say it would be best, if you came to the Home with us. For moments like this. There’s no Kevin in the garden”, I hear the attendant in the white dress next to me.

I can hear the pen as it scribbles on the pad she’s carrying. Probably a stooge from the council to get me to sell my house and move into a home. I laugh quietly. Kevin woofs by my side.

“Of course, there’s no Kevin in the garden. Had to take him to the vet last year…” I clear my throat before continuing…

“…So yeah… I know he’s not in the garden. And yet, he’s next to me wondering why you’re bothering me.”

The attendant remains a straight face and I can’t resist the wide smile that forms on my lips. They will keep sending these guys till I bite a proposal. But I’m in no rush.

Kevin is here. I am content.

Anxiety, Coping System, Descriptive, Emotion, Late Night, Life, Pain, PenPractice, Poem, Shorts, Sleepy time, thoughts, writing

Sleepless

I am tired

From the moment I decided to wake up from whatever dream I was having

Tired because of how long the previous day had me feeling

Tired because of the hours spent overnight thinking

Tired because the thoughts in my head prevent my resting

So I wake up tired.

Headache banging, my impromptu alarm clock with no snooze button

Mouth dry and clammy as my body has redirected the liquid to its exit by my eyelids

Exhaustion caused by the mental alchemy of turning depression into physical defects

The shot glass remains ever empty, but I can’t deny the impulse.

The thought of the brief release as it wrecks my nerves.

The bitter aftertaste as the burn travels down my throat

So I look up, past the clouds, with a sincere hope that my Creator is looking back at me.

“I’m here… I’m lost… When you can please holler back at me…

Because the days are getting shorter and the nights are getting longer and I’m not coping properly…

And I’m using all I have, to do all I can, but things are not as it should be…

I know I’m not the best, I don’t think I measure up to the rest, but please turn your gaze back to me…

Because I’m tired…

…oh so tired…

I’m getting tired of being me”

Anxiety, Descriptive, Emotion, Late Night, Life, Pain, Poem, Prose, Sleepy time, Thoughts, thoughts, writing

Shot Glass.

Adrenaline and emotional pain, poured into a shot glass for your heart to drink.

You’d call it poison, I’d call it life.

Life, like the pound notes entering your pocket, but bleeding through the hole at the bottom as you try to pay the debtor for “one more day”.

Like the great staircase leading upwards, whose only requirement is that you step on the head and bodies of others to ensure there’s enough space for you to claim as yours.

You’d call it deplorable. Some would say “Competition”.

Competition as basic as who gets into work the earliest to bask in some sweet brownie points of being “ever ready” to get to work. Or is it the excellence in one’s field as they struggle to show that their work is worth taking notice off above others?

Or maybe it’s the “trying-to-1-up-you-by-showing-you-how-much-I-can-provide-for-you-when-contrasted-with-how-much-you-can-provide-for-me-” sort of battle, as couples hug in public as they joust in their individual mental landscapes.

Some would say its healthy.

Others would liken it to alcohol.

But after the first couple shots, the burning feeling in your chest dissipates as your body temperature rises from the pot of emotions bubbling underneath.

Words start to slur as words decide to stop lying on your behalf. Memories merge into an amalgamation of horror and fancy as you play the “What If?” game with yourself.

Then the world spins, and you taste the exotic dish of hard granite and dirt on your lips to pass the night.

And for a moment,
however brief,
It
all
just
stops

And then you awake.

 

Coping System, Descriptive, Emotion, Life, Pain, Thoughts, writing

Insignificant Spec of Worry

For a long time, I’ve always thought Adulthood got clearer as one navigated through the madness it entailed. I figured, one would encounter a rough map or a vague set of guidelines which would make the whole experience more streamlined…

I guess…

As usual, however, I’m proven wrong and my thought process is seen as naive.

It’s been a long time since I’ve written anything, longer still since I’ve cried out of anger and hurt but even those tears have failed to convey the message across.

That I’m tired.

I’m tired of everything.

Everyone seems to have an idea on how everyone else needs to behave. Always. And it’s become so deeply pervasive in society that opinions and impressions are enough to ruin your future prospects without even missing a beat.

And life would eat you up as everyone else walked over your dead corpse, without so much as batting an eye at your lifeless figure. The only record of you being a statistic.

But it’s society, right? Society molding you into the average human needed to turn the work wheel into another day, earning the pisspoor paycheck that companies reluctantly give due to their contractual obligation to the government.

It… It hurts worse from family though. Because it’s usually from a place of love, as they try to advice and protect you from the evils they’ve seen of the world outside.

The evils you can see with your own eyes.

The madness you’ve decided to tolerate in your own fashion because you deem it suitable enough to not give you a bother but the family can’t allow that.

You figure that you can just slip into their shoes and do as society does but family and society forcibly remind you that you’re different from them, so you have to act different from them. That you must adhere to rules you don’t understand and tradition you find issues with.

The young wide eyed boy suddenly dull to the environment around him as he wonders why he should even care.

I used to think that when I grew up, I’d be very much myself, with my own quirks, working alongside everyone else with the only difference being our names but I’ve been proven wrong.

Repeatedly.

They say my identity won’t have to change, I just have to change how I do stuff, even when said stuff are not the things that I would want to do on a normal day. Having to conform because it assures my future progresses as smoothly as they hope it can.

I’ve stopped blaming them. Long ago. After all it’s not their fault. We were all unfortunate enough to be born with a darker shade of skin that would set us back in more ways than one.

The deep and dark realisation that no matter how hard you try to forget, you get reminded that you’re still not an equal.

You’re just a diversity statistic.

Maybe this is what it means to be depressed.

Either way…

I am tired.

Descriptive, Emotion, Late Night, Life, Love, Pain, PenPractice, Shorts, Sleepy time, Thoughts, writing

Sleepless… 

What I saw was the “could-be” version of her.

Not the “current”.

I fell for the demo version of her, because she was worried her reality would make me turn away.

I can’t blame her. Maybe I would have run. Maybe I would have stayed, and helped put back her broken frame, piece by piece, till she resembled the perfection that my Creator made her to be.

Either way.  I did stay.

Here.

In love with the reality in front of me.

Looking at her naked self, as she strives to preserve what little shell she has left, because her last companion left her with the damages and walked out of her life.

Either way.
I’m here.

So I roll my sleeves up, retrieving some glue and some sandpaper in hopes that I could assist in making her whole again.

But she doesn’t want me.

So I’m here.

And I don’t know what to do.

Anxiety, Descriptive, Emotion, Life, Pain, PenPractice, Poem, Prose, Shorts, Sleepy time, thoughts, writing

[Sleepless]

I have to remember to release my breath.

I don’t want to die, I just want to sleep.

But the grip around my heart just tightens, as my chest heaves up and down. My palms are sweaty, and I find myself staring down the ceiling.

The once-white ceiling, now transformed into an artistic piece of daily worries, superimposed upon my inner insecurities. Fear being the curator, I’m seated at the exhibition and treated to a nightmarish tour.

I have to remember to breathe.

I don’t want to die, I just want to sleep

Forget my today’s worries and rest within the bosom of nothingness for the few hours I have between today and ‘tomorrow’

I just have to remember to breathe

I just want to sleep