Emotion, Life, Poem

Scare Tactics

I notice when you creep ahead of me,
Your silent boots,
Not so silent
The dark shadows at the edges,
The creaking floorboards,
The whinging door frames…

I know what you plan,
As sure as you know what my reaction will be.
We’ve played this back and forth relentlessly

You, jumping in front me yelling “Boo”,
Me, debating whether or not I push past the fear and bring the dream to life.

I’ll have to admit to the countless times I turned round and betrayed myself.
Bought into your doubt and told myself I couldn’t make it.
I had watched you take credit for it then, parading the failed carcass of my goals to your colleagues.
I watched ashamed,
honestly,
broken by the realisation that you had blocked my forward movement, and left me with the backwards conveyor belt.

But that was then. This is now.

I can notice you creeping ahead of me,
Your silent boots,
Not so silent,
The creaking floorboards
And your silent whispers

I know what you plan,
As sure as you know what my reaction will be.
As we’ve played this back and forth relentlessly

I’ll be moving ahead this time though…
You’re not killing this light I’m holding in my hands.

I’ll be moving on ahead this time…
We’ll revisit this game,
next time I’m around

Poem, Thoughts

*

I once thought my ears were ineffective.
Physically there, but lacking the the focus to hear…
hear here.
Till my eyes guided me to your face and told me to listen.
Told me to hear underneath the lines,
and the subtle phrases.

So…
Speak.
Let me listen.

———–

I once hoped my words were effective.
To shelter you, guide you and help you see clear…
Clear, here.
Till you rebuffed my advices and showed me you didn’t care.
Showed me you’d rather see for yourself,
and go through the experience.

So I revert back to where I started from.

So,
I reckon,
on that note
Keep Speaking.
I’ll keep listening.

Life, Pain, Poem, Uncategorized

[Lost Pages]

I went through my drafts and found this. So I’m gonna post it. It’s from 3 years ago. Hope you enjoy it. I’m going to start posting any old work of mine that don’t have a particular theme, be it prose, blog post or poetry under [Lost Pages] from here on out.

*

She

is

Locked within herself like a prisoner…
Everyone sees the ‘lady’ but fails to see her…

Innocence chained up by the experiences she’s been through
one can only guess how she’s lived through it…
Forced to ‘grow-up’ against her wishes,
so she compensates with binges of drinks,
white upon her nostrils,
and momentary lapses of ‘faked’ intimacy…

Nightmares still caused by the memories,
leaking eyes – at the thoughts she remembers,
Father’s cold eyes as she falls subject to his ‘dominance’
was this what he meant when he called her, ‘my little princess’

“It’s only for a moment…”
but the moment’s seems to last forever

Maybe this is what her mum meant
when she said she could be ‘whatever’

Alarm goes off, and she knows its time to work,
Mascara and make-up to conceal the hurt,
Back on the streets, about she walks…
Searching for the next pleasure pill to forget it all…
*

Coping System, Emotion, Life, Pain, Poem, Thoughts

Little Miss 21

Hello Ms 21.

Look at you all grown…

It’s funny how, over the years I’ve,
raged, argued and butted heads against your stubbornness.

Because, goodness me, are you difficult.
But I love you, nonetheless.

It’s funny how, you’ve brought me joy and sorrow,
tears and laughter,
fights and fun fights…

I mean, we have had our share of childish antics,
and we’ll probably have more crazy fun,
especially now that you’re grown.

“Little Ms 21” is now an adult,
ready to take the world by storm.

[Laughs]

Happy Birthday, Girl…

—–

I miss you, Ms 21.

Thinking of you, all grown…

It’s funny how I think, over the years we would have
raged, argued and butted heads against your stubbornness.

Because, goodness me, were you difficult.
But it made me love you all the more.

It’s funny how, you brought me joy and sorrow,
tears and laughter,
fights and fun fights…

We had our childish antics back when we were young,
but that was a long time ago,
when you were still here…
and now you are gone…

“Little Ms 21” would be an adult now,
ready to take the world by storm.

[Sighs]

Happy Birthday, Lil Sis.

Poem, Prose, Shorts

A Letter To You

I want to write you a letter.

At first the feeling dawned upon me like sweet morning dew gracing the beautiful green of trees and plants everywhere. The colours became clearer, the sounds became sharper, and deep within me, I knew I was dead certain that I want to write you a letter.

But I am stuck.

You see, I find myself dangling on the edge of possibilities of what the letter could entail just for you, but still left indecisive as to what would be best.

Do I write to lift your spirit up? To tell you how life, while complex in itself, is simple when left in the hands of your Creator? To motivate, teach, push and assist you through all that might hinder your progress? I recall the day we spoke last, about dreams and goals and I recall you being just as indecisive as I am right now. You remained unsure as to what path to take. Thinking back, maybe I should have nudged you down what I thought would have been better for you. Then again, I wonder… would you have been offended if I did that? I don’t know. Hindsight.

Do I write to describe and display my vulnerability to you? give you the potential to wound me deep with your pen and word? Do I tell you the things that make me weak? the things that make me afraid? Do you remember when we had the discussion we had about the mistake I made when I was relatively young and naive? I had gotten so relaxed in flesh that I didn’t see the pitfall in front of me. My goodness, did I fall.

It’s all hilarious now when I look back, but my goodness was I afraid. Of consequences, of future, of self. Hindsight.

Do I write to address the issues of the heart and how I feel about you? Will you accept it this second time round? Will you forgive me for writing it, as opposed to saying it? Because my oral articulation suffers when incoherence sets in from anxiety pressure. We did this dance once, back when we were younger. Maybe I shouldn’t write it, as that led to you raising me up from my metaphorical knee and softly rejecting my advances. Maybe I’m still naive. Maybe it’s not meant to be. Maybe it was fleeting.

As more possibilities cloud my thought-space, I find myself still considering what would best be put in the letter that you’d read addressed from me.

I’m still unsure as I realise I can write about the dreams I dream about.

I can write about the fantasies I play out in my head, all colourful, diverse and ultimately expensive enough to demand a hollywood budget.

I can write about my memories and show you how much nostalgia I carry within this body of mine.

or maybe…

…maybe I should write to leave a piece of myself with you.

Can I…? Can I write a letter to you to remember me by? A letter to leave a piece of myself with you, should the day come when I am gone and ‘we’ are no more…

The future is always filled with uncertainty, so I can’t promise I’ll always be here, no matter how much I will love to be. Having lost a lot of friendships along the way, I can’t guarantee the same won’t happen to us.

It may even be out of my hands, as everything the Creator wills, happens for a reason.

I think I’m going to write a letter to you.

I just don’t think you will see it.

Coping System, Emotion, Poem

That which is unexpected / Truth cycle

The week started great.

Better than expected actually. Work progressed much better as things were being done well before deadlines and all those extra stuff.

Then came the first missed call.

And the obvious expected callback which resulted in listening to the robot tell me to leave a message and try again at a different time. A voicemail, I believe was the idea.

Then came the second missed call.

And this time, it came with a voicemail.

I perform the much needed callback almost instantly.

She answers.

And then the conversation occurs. 10 minutes later, I’m back at my desk, clutching the edges of my table, wondering exactly how this managed to happen. I tell myself to calm down. I can feel my heart beat steady. Slow. Heavily.

Mental faculty goes quiet. It can’t articulate properly anymore. Questions get dropped into the silent space, but the neurones avoid the virus. My mouth goes numb, my eyes get sharper. I remain in full alert. My face falls back into default. A fake smile creeps on my lips and I let it stay.

“I will ride the wave till the end.”

I hear the words echo in my skull, reverbrating in the ’empty’ shell.

“…till the end.”

—————————————–

Officially, I get an oral thumbs.

Unofficially, I get a written mark down.

Which is the truth? which is the lie?

I question the dissent. I question the difference.

I find confusion at the crossroad.

I see dilemma in the options.

Do I trust one? Do I trust the other?

Which is the issue?

What is the solution?

Mental strength burdened by the responsibility.

Apathy clears the nonsense.

Apathy creates a new plan.

“Say BS to that which is BS,

Close your heart to those who have wronged you.

Let them know they’ve lost you.

Let them know they’ve hurt you.

Let them know you don’t actually care anymore.”

Heart listens with an open ear.

Gladdened by that which might be right.

Till mind empties the room.

The silence presents a solace.

But then the cycle begins again.

Which is the truth? which is the lie?

I question the dissent. I question the difference.

I find confusion at the crossroad.

I see dilemma in the options.

Do I trust one? Do I trust the other?

Which is the issue?

What is the solution?

Poem

Irradiation

Ignoring the truth that lies speaks,
I’m clinging to the darkness that light brings,
Blending with the shadow like a  lifeline,
Living as I want because it’s my time…

Because it’s my time…
Says the part of me that knows the path’s wide…
A 50/50 gamble ending in a hell-ride,
Failing the odds, losing to the wrong side,
Might as well go out with a bang, right?
Screw the world, live for me, right?

“Wrong” says the part that knows what’s the right side,
Kitting up, walking back, back to the light’s eye,
Hands down, eyes blinded by the light’s shine,
Darkness fades, none hidden within the light’s rays,
Life given, so freely under the light’s gaze…

Newly made,
Irradiated,
Life given by the light within,
Light giving by life in him.

Made my choice, I guess its time to lay on it…
Waking to face the pearly gates looks like the aim of it…
Will I make it, or fail at the end of it?
That’s his to decide,
While I figure out the rest of it.

Poem

Lost Pages: Alone

[I am neither back at square one,
nor have I reached the end of the road…
Stuck in this crevice of nothingness,
or as this story would have it told…]

I beseech you,
allow me to create the imagery,
built from the sentences & words utilised
I beg your forgiveness,
should it appear long-winded…

Alone,
On the mountain-top looking down,
In the darkest pit looking up,
Panic holds my mind,
Fear strangles my heart,
Paranoia sets in like the morning dew,
I succumb to the dampness
and illusions plague me…

Ever been in that state where you feel…
Like its you against the world?
Where fear would have it appear that…
You are all alone against the masses?
So you withdraw from everyone,
Folding in on yourself…
And pretend like you don’t exist.

Conversations are lessened,
Trust is rarely given,
Scepticism becomes the language.
Paranoia plays the piper,
Whispering words into your ears
As it hopes to make you doubt your friends…

“Friends?
Since when did you have friends?
You mean the same people that
Constantly stab your back?
Those are friends?”

[Scepticism becomes the language.
Paranoia plays the piper,
Whispering words into your ears]

Doubt working its way into your dreams
Discards them like playing cards,
Sets them on fire
And you’re left to stand,
watching them burn…

You can almost hear the scorn of fear…
Cackle as the pages of future hopes burn black…

Ever felt so alone,
Like the world has turned its back on you?

So you get the urge to turn your back on it too?

Ever been so alone, that fate would you have you question the Creator… What’s the point of this? Or that?

Ever felt alone, that in the moment of heightened panic, you almost discard the Creator, like a rebellious teenager, only for your mind & heart to remind you of His glory upon your life?

So you call out to him and pray for reprieve?

Yeah. That.