I wrote this

“Am I allowed to write about this?” I asked, doubt sinking into my gut.

“Ideally, you have every right.”

 He had a point. I do. I have every reason and I had every possible motive to write this. But the feelings of reservation and worry lingered within.

 Maybe, it’s because I’ve been told time and time again, by a society so hateful and set within their ways that what I believe in and what I am is deeply wrong. It always feels that I am split between realities, one of caring acceptance and the other of hateful confinement; and it’s dangerously easy to believe the one you have been raised within.

 I never, and have not yet felt at home within my family. Sometimes I just wish I could tell them, and for them to love me for who I am and I just want to be open and safe, but I can’t and I don’t. It is tragically comedic the way I fear the act of exposing myself and it doesn’t help that I hear first hand the way some have reacted to the same news. I dread the possible outcomes, the way they would blame everything and everyone, the “westerners, and their ‘liberal’ thoughts”, the “media and their influence on young minds” and even “the devil himself”, and as archaic and tired those beliefs are, a small part of me believes it too. And possibly worst yet, the way they shall choose to fathom the information, “it’s just a phase”, “you need to change your mentality”, or worst yet, “no”. 

 Nobody likes a sad story, so I don’t tell most people; and in place a façade of unimaginable glee, and mask my insecurities with jokes that diminish myself.

Solitary and alone I hid. But as the cliché goes, the truth set me free. For the first time in my life, I could say and be who I truly am, to feel whole and candid about my emotions and feelings. And even though it’s my intentional secret to keep, for now, from my family, I am fortunate to have discovered another in my friends and right now it is enough.

 But, it’s not. It’s not okay to have to put up with relatives hounding you on when you’re going to finally get a girlfriend, having friend’s parents say, “be careful” when they hang out with you, and for my very existence and who I am to be illegal. And neither is it okay that others are able to dictate a woman’s right to wear clothes they decide to wear. And it is not right that some are forced to marry and lack the access to education. And yet, we are still forced to live with it.

 While everyone has the power and capability to form their own opinions, one must not forget that so is everybody else. And by limiting each other and forcing upon other people an opinion, especially from a position of power, has absolutely devastating impacts. Psychologically, constraining and pressuring people to change and conform, potentially, has the power to effectively, pull someone into depression or worst to becoming suicidal.

I write this in hopes that I manage to evoke at least a tinge or slim sliver, of emotion, sympathy, regret, anger, comfort, something, anything that makes you different and that this effects you in whatever insignificant way. My hope for this, whatever this may be, isn’t so you feel sorry for me, it’s beyond that, I wanted to break the boundaries, and the glass celling, that maybe I have created for myself, and the taboo surrounding real issues effecting real people. Like Lauren Myracle once said, “What I find cool about being a banned author is this: I'm writing books that evoke a reaction, books that, if dropped in a lake, go down not with a whimper but a splash.”        

Another angsty post about how much I love this person

I wanna make it better
Make you feel loved always
Make sure nobody will ever hurt you again
I would do absolutely everything in my power to love you harder

But you don't see me in that way
And I get that you're in love with her
And that it is impossible and completely stupid
But I imaging our wedding on the beach and you smiling at me and I smiling back

I really think I fell for you
Hard and fast and I don't think I'll ever able to recover from that or at least extremely
Hard for me to even try to do so because
I am so very much in love with you

Impossible reality

"There is nothing I wouldn't do for you," I said as I laid in bed, with two pillows under my head, and I hoped he understood, understood what I said and meant, and how much he meant to me. 

I loved how he smelt, the way he always smelt like detergent, clean, fresh. His room smelt like him too, and I could spend days in there with him. I loved the small secrets he tells me, like how he has to tuck his pants legs into his socks before he goes to sleep, and keep the bigger ones safe for him. I loved his hands so large and solid, I would hold them forever. I loved how he would smile and laugh at stupid things, and random jokes, how little things made him so happy. He was enough and more for me. I loved spending time with him and just be within his immediate company.

Smell

Today,

Everything smells like you,

And I hate how,

Everything, wonderfully, smells like you do

It’s everywhere.

In the places we’ve been and places we haven’t.

Places like the cracked and uneven pavements,

Like the rooms that stand in infinite silence

Your scent lingers and clings.

To the clothes I wear,

To the trees I walk past,

Every leaf saturated by you.

You don’t know how much I love you,

And I don’t even wanted to admit to myself the extent

Because it’s only your smell that stays with me,

For you that scent is someone else.

Infection

The sensation of removing something completely, 

For me is,

Fascinatingly and euphorically satisfying. 

But most things never do so. 

They grip and cling and hold on. 

The more you pull,

The more they tear off the pieces you want to keep.

And so you think you should just keep it where it has chosen to stay,

Hope that it won't hurt you anymore,

Hope that eventually with time it'll fall off,

A hollow shell of what it used to be.

Of course, it will not.

The more you leave it the more it takes away,

Infecting and spreading and decimating everything else.

Fall

Fall for an asshole 

Fall for someone that puts you down

Fall for someone who takes and doesn't give 

Fall for someone who won't love you back

Fall for the person who uses you

Fall for a person that leads you on 

Fall for someone who is in love with someone else 

And after you fall yourself hopefully you realize you don't need to fall for assholes anymore.

You don't need to feel like shit 

You don't need to take shit 

You don't need to pretend it doesn't hurt 

You don't need them 

Fall to stop falling 

Prayer

Bless the unfaithful and the questionable souls.

For they require most and demand only what is precious to their selfish lives. 

Give him the strength to find himself, and to quit his vices,

Give he what he truly desires, for something as pure as happiness cannot be reserved solely for the hearts of peace.

Give him the love he so wishes to keep.

Give her the health beyond her years, and to find calm in choppy seas,

Give her the joy and elation of fall for someone who loves her tender and sweet, and to let her believe it to be so.

Give her the strength to love with what she already has within herself and give that love him.

Give me the power to love them both, and to wish nothing but the best upon them.

Give me the ability to function without selfish intentions and self-loath, to be happy within the light of their happiness.

Give me the chance to move on.

Amen. 

Coffee

It's a bit tragic how the poems dedicated to you aren't even non-fictional.

It's like as if I process events unfolding with a romantic filter.

It's as if I brewed coffee with tea leaves and expect the same result. 

The words let me live out fantasies.

And the rhyme makes it seem as if there was a reason to thinking this way. 

And when there is no rhyme I like to think it's the emotional fiction taking over. 

And I don't want to think that there is no reality in my words.

Or in my rhyme and no rhyme.

Or even the filters put in place. 

But the tea hints at a stronger, nuttier, more caffeinated brew.

Pink

I fake painted your nails once.

You wanted them yellow. 

And carefully I traced my fingers around each nail,

As we sat on a pale pink blanket. 

As the sky shone with new light,

As the clouds rolled over. 

I painted your nails yellow. 

An ant crawled across the pink blanket 

And your nails still wet,

You flicked it away

And you said don't kill it

Because it could feel pain.

And then I imagined the fake paint 

Splattered teardrops on the pink.

And then I laid down,

And let my body finally sink.

And I sighed without a sound.

Happy

Am I happy if you are? 

Or am I too selfish to put you in a jar,

On the shelf? 

I want to be happy for you cause you're finally happy with yourself. 

But still I wanna kiss you and have you for myself. 

I, I, I, I, I, all I really think about is myself.

My wants and my needs and my desires.

I should let you go,

And I should be happy cause you're happy.

But I'm not. I still can't get over myself loving you. 

I still want to feel your hands on mine,

But you rather hold hers.

And I wanna run my hands in your hair, but you rather her do so. 

Yeah, I still can't get over you. 

And it's stupid. 

But my heart is selfish and desperate.

And I can't help but believe that you in a very small way love me too. 

She wrote

Hearts on pink beds in front of pink curtains in a pink room

Dolls scattered on the floor, sunlight peeks through the window

She sleeps with a thumb in her mouth and a dream in her mind

Candy coated

Denim jacket, pink skirt, Barbie sneakers.

Beads up her wrists and sunglasses in her plastic hand bag

Hops into a car, jumps onto a train

And suddenly she’s on a plane.

Up in the air, she’s told where she’s going

It swoops past her, what could be more important

When her Chelsea doll’s necklace is missing?

5500km she flys

Hard candy to dark chocolate, it seems her life made a u-turn

From Barbie sneakers to New Look sandals, 

From plastic hand bag to fringe cross body

From dolls in her hand to music plugged in her ears

She lived so naive, so lost in her own hole

Surrounded by walls she built herself

Almost never bothered to look up at the clouds

Until she found herself flying in them again

Candy coating eroded off, hearts on her bed become uneven circles

Walls half smashed by her own fist

Lying, being the product of realisation

Of the reflection that lied before

And below furry coats and 6 inch heels,

Under the charm of misguiding idols,

Beneath the thick layers of mascara,

A young black hole

- Amelia Ismar

All in my head

The thing is I always get too attached and the only way I stop, temporarily, is when I try too hard and I hurt myself. But, I will always let you in again just because I think this time it'll be different and that it will not end up the same. I think and I know and I hope that you would love me like how I love you. But, you don't and I can't help feeling like you should, because my heart wants it to be true that you and me, were fucking meant to be, maybe I just don't go out enough or I haven't met the person for me yet. The crazy thing is I think I've already met him and it's you. Why do I fucking think that my love for the rest of my goddamn life is someone who doesn't even think so? Maybe I'm just a lonely sad person, and that the idea of you appeals to me. But the only reason you tread me along, is because it appeals to you to have an admirer, and yet I still hold that string with both hands.

Room

This is a room.

A closed room, with open doors.

There is a roof above and we stand on floors. 

There is us inside of the room, us three and a broom.

We should sweep up this shit. 

But me and him we don't, we don't touch the broom within the closed room. 

We pretend we aren't there and we move away from each other and we stand across the room with the broom. 

We stood apart. We split.

She took the broom and she got off her chair, inside the room. 

And she swept and swept the shit and the dust, as if she had a duty to do so, as if it was her task. 

And he saw and he took the broom away from her hands and they cleaned the room with the broom. 

And he was loving and kind and I stood there as I watched and my resilience when soft.

This is a room is still filled with shit.

And like it feels like it was the cause of unfortunate events why us three had to meet. 

He was the one who made the room shit. 

All I could say was, "fuck that's lit"

She is as lost as I am in the room,

She don't know what the fuck to do with the broom. 

We are stuck here in this room, and the doors aren't open anymore.

Wonder

Some days you still make me wonder and ponder,

And like for a brief and unexpected moment,

I catch myself daydreaming and my dark heart seems to grow fonder,

As I stroke your head as you lay down beside me on the bed, 

You make me want to catch this simple moment and make it frozen.

And let myself feel, forever chosen.

The sea was blue

The sea was blue

Because the sky was too.

A peculiar blue, both the two.

The waves and it's froth an icy white 

The clouds and their shapes and shadows

But only the waves and their foam crash against the glimmering sands,

While the white clouds soared above the endless sky. 

I was blue.

Because he was blue too.

A peculiar blue, us two.

I wavered and smashed myself against cliffs 

He moved forward and his clouds became grey. 

He stormed, flashes of lightning and rolls of thunder, pelted me, the sea, with water. 

He is now grey and I am grey too.

A murky grey, us two

Try

There's a beauty in the way we try. 

Try to impress and try to depress aimlessly, fruitlessly. 

We all seem to need it, to prove something, anything to ourselves and to others what we think we need to say or do. 

Based on what we believe and on what we don't, we strive, and bound ahead to try to try. 

12:05 am

I don't wanna die knowing that I can't tell my family something so simple but I feel like I can't and that bothers me. I never changed or wanted this, I've simply just realized and was. 

Loved

I loved.

I loved him and he loved me,

He was so patient and so solid,

It made the distance seem virtual,

As virtual as the messages and photos we shared,

Tangible and not at the same time.

I was loved.

By another, and he loved me so,

For my surface beauty and inner charm,

He would tell me and kiss me and flatter,

But I only loved his words and that didn't matter,

It was not healthy nor fair of a game to play.

They loved me.

And I loved some of them back.

Be it their charm or their wit,

Or for their speech and their confidence.

It doesn't matter anymore, 

They have all left and I am all alone.

Night run

The dew clung to our toes,
Like the way our shirts clung to our damp backs,
As we ran through the humid, yet cool fields.
We suck under the bushes,
And we hid in the shadow of the large oak trees,
Avoiding the detection of wandering guards,
Or worst, wandering friends, we didn't invite.
Through the winding road we walked,
The midnight moon milling above in the enclaves of wispy clouds.
As we reach the lake, and turn into the final field,
We positioned ourselves on top of the railing,
And together we craned our necks skywards,
To witness the vastness of space,
And the beauty and grace,
Of the stars and planets suspended on invisible strings,
And contemplate stuff like the earth and it's beings.
Hand encased in hand, we sat on the field now,
All is calm and quite; us smiling brow to brow.

I'm not feeling creative so here's a list of lyrical snippets I think sound deep af.

You can keep the nose ring, I don't have to soul search
I'm still at my old church, only ever sold merchGrandma say I'm Kosher, momma say I'm culture
(Chance The Rapper, Angels)

Take a pen and write this down
Draw something that can't be found
And learn to walk again somehow
You know you might surprise yourself
(Jack Garratt, Surprise yourself)

And we hate Popo, wanna kill us dead in the street for sure, nigga
I'm at the preacher's door
My knees gettin' weak and my gun might blow but we gon' be alright
(Kendrick Lamar, Alright)

Along with the people inside
What a wonderful caricature of intimacy
(Panic! at the Disco, Build God, Then We'll Talk)

I am the dragon breathing fire
Beautiful mane I'm the lion
Beautiful man I know you're lying
I am not broken, I'm not crying, I'm not crying
(Beyonce, Don't Hurt Yourself) 

And I'm ready to suffer and I'm ready to hope
It's a shot in the dark aimed right at my throat
'Cause looking for heaven, found the devil in me
Looking for heaven, found the devil in me
(Florence + the Machine, Shake it Out)

I am the proof.

Hey honey, how yah doing?

I'm about to drop some hurt hope y'all ain't suing.

Low and behold, I am the proof that y'all's disposition ain't just.

I am the proof that frequent failures are fit to sit pretty in society's bust.

No we didn't cure contagious coughing, nor, solve and serve up simple solutions,

No we're here today to bring a whole new revolution.

We are the proof that we don't need to do great things to be great.

I ain't the smartest bulb in this room, and all them successful's gonna hate.

But I am content with myself, at being mediocre, and plain.

I ain't wanna be some medal, I ain't got nothin' to gain.

I am happy and frankly has a full belly, and friends that love me.

I did good, and that is enough, I am so free!

I gotta whole life ahead, and I've got good health,

Y'all entrepreneurs, and big busy businessmen, can keep your wealth.

Me I'm rich in life and rich in company, I'm alright,

Are y'all? I hope that y'all haven't lost sight.

Thank you and good night.

The stubborn and the closing of minds

Why you gotta be like this?

Why you have to pretend that it doesn't exist?

Problems with terrorism,

Issues like climate change,

Difficulties with equality?

Do you honestly think,

That the world you trap yourself under,

Hiding in your shells, away from the thunder,

Will not break?

No.

One day it shall shatter,

And then when all your pieces are scattered,

You realised the ignorance in your stance.

They way you chose not to look at the balance.

The way you chose not to take up the challenge.

How short-sighted you were,

To not have looked up from that blank book,

And crawled out of that nook,

And only did it when the world shook,

To make comments on things you've never know,

Because you pretended you were never shown.

No.

You chose to turn the blind eye,

You chose to tune us out,

You decided that we are not right,

Because you lacked the foresight,

And pretend that everything is fine as you sleep at night.

Even as I speak now,

You will never listen. How?

How, can I make you listen?

Hear the calls of reality?

It is quite sad really,

That you would rather be known as silly.

Than to admit that you are stubborn,

Self-centered and dim,

Pretending to live your lives without knowing of sin. 

Asian

Sometimes I wish I was more asian.
I wish I could be good at figuring out numbers,
I wish I could understand chemicals,
I wish I could be what my parents always wanted me to be.
Or at least be able to grit my teeth and ploy through a goddamn law degree.
But I can't, I can't be who they want,
I can't even be a good christian for them,
I had to be gay.
But they won't tell me what they want but critics my choices when I do make them.
I live in perpetual fear of being rejected,
I can't study geography because they raised me to enjoy comforting indoors.
I can't be a teacher because they raised me to want a comfortable life.
They taught me with hard work, I could be the doctor that would save lives,
Or the lawyer that could protect the innocent,
But most of all so I could make MONEY,
The source of all my problems.
It is not true.
Hard work is only for people that have found their passion.
I can't even find my bloody slippers.

Blue underwear.

The afternoon sun lazily crept through the curtains,
That swayed in the breeze of the electric fan oscillating,
That caressed my exposed foot, as I laid my head on top of his chest.
The sound of his slow heart resonated within my entire body,
That seemed to be moulded into the curves and angles of his,
That was emitting a subtle warmth from under the white duvet.

Only in a pair of blue underwear was he,
But on my bed nobody would disturb us, nobody was here to see.
It was just the two of us under the covers, indoors, just content to be.
Just him and me.
I do enjoy the quiet comfort of privacy.

The boy with the dragon onesie.

I am the boy in the felt and polyester-coth onesie,
The one in bright purples and neon orange.
The one people stare and gawk at,
Pointing out that I am not wearing dull clothing like the duller crowd.
Shouting out of empty mouths, helium comments, inflated and squeaky and meek.
Whispering into ear of other, lead insults, about how weird, how newly millennial.
They cannot understand nor do they choose to comprehend me.
Why wear that? Why not a nice white button-down, or some jeans?
Why keep this hidden? Why not cloth myself with this, not hide it away inside a trunk?
In this dragon-skin, I am alive.
I embrace the harrowing colours of my one-peice, I let it become me.
I do not need to explain my lilac scales, nor my sunset nails.
All there is to explain requires no words.
Because I am no longer the boy is the dragon onesie, no, no.
I am a dragon, in the body of a boy.

Airports

A family of yellow skin swine,

Using their fleshy bodies as a selfish shield, squeezing and pushing in hot pursuit of cutting my god damn line. 

They are loud and have no sense of humanity, no sense of society.

Loud and cheap they shriek and scream, as pale men, and paler women simply stare, as I hurry to slip my laptop back into my bag,

Before greedy, grimy fingers do. 

A throng of hooded women and goatee men sweep and saturate the boarding hall with the intoxicating and indescribable smell...

And the monotonous sound of the meek mouthed lady, announces the  opening of the gate,

The worst attribute of humanity is unleashed, the one I most hate,

The surge of human bodies crushing and shoving against each other, as if their only purpose of life is to be in that plane.

Some linger back as if they knew I was judging. In reality they were only waiting,

For a moment to intercept that queue, oh those selfish few...

I do despise flying.

Triumvirs

-How certain art thou that fair and nobel Antony shall lose his third to the slippery Caesar?

-As certain as the Sun shall set in the west, and arise tomorrow, on the horizon of the east.

-I shall forgive thou for witchcraft, soothsayer for thou has caused treason. 

-I have not Othello, I am merely reading for the book Nature has prized in secrecy.

  

-How does thou say with such vigor and confidence, Caesar shall be victorious?

-I declare it, as I see it. Fortune's knave shall forever, reign in triumph. As one mortal, though a great one be it, has no credit in the halls and the wheels of Fortune's bias gaze.

-Then why does thou sound bitter? For there is great authority in the scarce-bearded Caesar. Shall he not rule with a passionate, and strong fist?

-Aye, but what Caesar lacks is not the authority; his scarcity comes not only upon his face, but his mind. Whatever strides he shall bring, will bring prosperity, but great ruling succumbs easy minds. Caesar bears no trait of negotiation, nor the gift of democracy. As dutifully to Fortune, he shall dutifully doom this great nation for one cannot encompass all, especially the likes of Caesar.

-Treason! How dare you speak-ill of our great leader?

-I speak not sickness, merely the truth. I take no pleasure in seeing this empire fall. But, Fortune shall overbear all. Antony, though driven by mortal passion, could drive similarly towards the benefit of this nation. He is also fruitful in the ways he treasures scales of equality, and the nobility of his words can be strengthen by all he keeps loyal. But yet, Fortune is powerful and unjust. 

-Lepidus? Does he have no ounce of a better fortune than ill-fated Antony?

-I dare say he does, although would be a poorer substitute, for he lacks both the will of authority, and the label of justice.

-What if queer Esther overturns this tide of tragic fortune?

-No, for she does not find mirth nor finds comfort in seeing only an independent state succeed, she much prefer to benefit from a global celebration. 

-Then there can be nothing, to change?

-I foresee it as being so, though I feel wrongful for doing so.     

Oubliettes of you and I

My prince,
How far below the wretched ground,
Does your oubliettes lie?
Are they hidden away to hide some scandal,
Far too demeaning and far too crude for the ears of mine?
Or nay, they are too beautiful and glimmering for my mortal view?
Are they placed beyond the borders of your heart,
Or deep within folds of the many layers of your soul?
Must I seek these hidden chambers that shadow the secrets you hold so dear?
Or shall it remain a mystery that shall last forever?

Beloved,
Do you seek to find mine own oubliettes?
The ones, even I fear to unlock?
The ones I have buried in hopes of forgetting them?
The ones that hide more dark that I imagine the world has light,
Ones placed in plain urban sight, avoided to save simple grace,
Left to rot, in hopes their contents do thus similar.
I worry you shall find them, my king,
And although you have rule over all my heart,
When you fall into the caves I have considered dungeons,
Will you emerge without a taint of my sins?
Or will the blackest blood flow, both over and under your fairer skins?

Erotic

Lord Eros, Sweet Eros, Most anything Eros,

I beseech thee. 

Grant me a lover,

That takes not interest in figs,

But one of noses.

Let not him heat my blood,

Nor heat his own liver,

Will him to have been raised not by savages,

But by the daintily hands.

Dear Lord, allow me this absolute contentment.

Good Aphrodite, Most absolute Aphrodite, 

Dear Goddess, 

Though many would make themselves whores,

To lay upon I a fortune fit for the wrenches,

Keep decorum and hear,

This prayer.

Give me a man, 

And let us in privy sheets die,

But keep him loyal,

And even he may hence fleet,

Here shall remain him.

Holy Goddess, I request prithee.

Grant me the grace with Lovely Fortune,

And turn her wheel,

In favour of thy loyal homager.

And thee shall allow thy,

Mere mortal, a drink of mandragora,

That I might sleep out this,

Great gap of time,

In awaiting my Antony.

This I beseech,

Amen.      

   

WE HAVE SURVIVED

I AM SO DONE WITH PEOPLE VICTIMISING THEMSELVES.
Gays embrace yourself, but realise that not everybody will understand,
But that does not make them homophobes.
Maybe if you try to show them we are normal people,
They'll understand, because what I see is portrayed by many is this,
excessive need to prove our individuality,
And insatiable want to flaut and express our differences.
But to prove is to show that we are not what stereotypes defined us as,
We are defined by ourselves, and it is fine if you identify with the 'conventional'
But we need to be part of society for people to see that we are not aliens,
Although we can embrace it, we don't have too.
A community founded our of oppression and turmoil can blossom,
Without needing to be reminded of our past constantly,
Without having to prove that we are special,
Not to the world, because we all are,
Every single one. But, we are also very similar, which is why we are all humans.
And we need to show them a different side to us and to our culture,
Because we are not promoting something crude but something vaguely and barely different.
We are promoting equality, and we should not deviate form that.

Dear Meninist,

It vexes me a great deal,
That you do not agree with feminism,
"Meninist' is not a thing,
It even autocorrects to Leninist,
Which is ironically,
More justifiable.
Please take off your big manly boots,
And wriggle, and squeeze,
Into what the french call "talons",
And try to walk, wobbly, stumble and fall,
As you try to comprehend the life of a women,
A life you have been fortunate enough to have escaped.
Imagine growing up,
And the world telling you,
"Dress like a lady,"
"That's not what a girl would do,"
"Don't be a slut,"
But you can't can you?
No because your childhood was filled with,
"BE THE MAN"
"You are so strong"
"You are the best"
Nobody tells you that,
"You shouldn't sexualise women."
"You should treat them with respect"
"Don't be horny bastards"
Women want to be able to express themselves,
Through whatever they choose.
"A bag" left open,
Should not be touched,
Because that is stealing on two fronts,
Taking away whatever morals have been taught to you,
Removing the fact that you are entitled,
And exposing that you are self-centred,
And ignorant
Choosing to lie to yourself,
To say that what women are fighting for is fake,
But what is fake is the fact that you cannot admit,
That you are simply too horny to keep it in your jeans.
It is frustrating that men are allowed,
To say and call and insult women,
Even though they are the ones that want,
To see a little more leg,
A little more breast,
A little less everything.
But what is actually lacking,
Is the morals you men have,
For being unable to keep your own sexual frustration,
And keep it to yourself,
And blaming it on women.
Shame on you.
Be the man,
And tell yourself, to have more self control.
There is no reason why you should be better,
And there is no reason we cannot be equal,
Stop being selfish and stop monopolising,
The rights all people should have,
Women are not taking away your rights,
They simply want what is rightfully theirs.
You can take those heels off now,
And drop that act,
And stop pretending that problems like this,
Don't exist,
It is that mentality that should be non-existant.

( )

(I think I remembered you that day,
It was a stunning day, I dare say,
The clouds were soft and the trees were lush,
The air filled and saturated by this content and overwhelming hush.
It was as if the world knew,
And the earth, who saw and agreed, said, "I should fall in love with you.")

Wait, actually it was...

(I think I remembered it as a cool Autumn afternoon,
It was a nice early evening, I remembered that the moon would have been out soon,
The leaves a kaleidoscope of earthy tones, the grass a soft yellow,
The breeze carried with it this sense of ease and the air was mellow.
It was as if the dying day,
And the dying seasons, who saw and agreed, said, "Go on and kiss him before he gets away.")

Wait no, no I think it was...

(Now I think it was a cloudy, winter day,
It was wet and cold and I think I wouldn't have had it any other way.
The sky a monotone of grey, the trees black and bare,
The atmosphere filled with dread and despair,
But it was alright, cozy by the fire,
And the stoned hearted ice, even said, "If you say you don't like him, you'll be a liar.")

Wait no I think it didn't actually happen.
Never mind.

Sorry I haven't been posting, busy with sucking at life.

God fucking dammit it CIE,
Screw you.
Not, only putting a History and English Lit paper on the same day,
An outline paper and a prose and poetry paper,
Not you have to screw me over with a fucking passage based from hell.
A long poem!
A fucking long ass poem.
WTFFFFFFFFFF,
dear people of Cambridge, I hope your happy, screwing me over,
Yeah sure I could have done the essay question,
IF only I had the opportunity to neglected my History,
I do not have the luxury of playing your game Cambridge,
UGHHHHHHHHHH
You, I hate you.

Normality and the progress of guilt.

Throughout my life, people have created and deposited guilt onto me. 

Like some sort of terrible pearl, and from and uglier clam, the flaws I cannot control,

String together in a guilty necklace or a flawed pearl noose around my neck.  

But I have come to realised that they do not have the power to succumb my mortality,

and that individually, the spheres of reflective flaws cannot inflict damage,

I just carry on, with the string slack and drooped.

But to realise that I can control the length and the distance of this noose of pearls, 

There is also a suden realisation that I cannot control the pearls that are formed across,

The necks of others, even if these guilty, glossy circles where mine to begin with,

And that they by default have obtained, and by default they have to bear,

Because of my flaws, and because they embrace them.

it is unfair that the burden is split, and that I have chosen to give,

And their willingness to take, and the share.

Because,

It is one thing to give grief to someone.

It is something else to be the grief for someone. 

Mornings

Indigo, violet sky, with streaks of scarlet and pink shattered in-between.

We have waited for so long.

Since the moon was still up, since the stars shone bright,

On top of the dewy lush grass, 

Your sweater was grey and soft, and smelt of a mornings with your scent lingering in the folds.

An arm to hold me, a chest to lean on, a heartbeat to feel. 

You said my eyes caught on fire, by the light of dawn.

I said your hair was a blaze with young sunlight.

You held me closer, and I was encased in your warmth.

Ceremony.

Cute, clear skies and baby pink ties.
Beautiful white, pure carnations, and slivery, sparkling sensations.
The aisle paved with gold, on a dock, rustic and old.
Big smiles and larger grins, oh my head, how it spins!
Hand in hand, beneath the cool air, look at everyone, look how they stare!
A pair of twin rings, and the sounds of a dove, listen, hear it sing!
Under the watchful eye of the sun we say our vows, sunlight seeping through willow boughs,
Look at us, together in holy matrimony, indeed, my love, what a ceremony!

Last night

I thought of you last night.

The way you smelt,

Intoxicatingly strong,

Unbearably melancholic,

Fatally sweet. 

Unconsciously I breathed deeper.

I recalled your smile,

Boyishly charming,

Ruggedly handsome,

Utterly radiant. 

I didn't realize my lips were curled.

I heard your laugh.

Sheepishly adorable,

Youthfully loud,

Fondly innocent. 

I sighed in contentment.

I felt your touch.

Comfortingly warm,

Unsettlingly safe,

Temporary escape.

I felt a wetness on my cheek. 

With me.

Hop, jump, skip, dance, twirl, pose, embrace, fall. 

With me.

Love, lust, desire, passion, destroy, hurt, bleed and die. 

With me.

Breathe, inhale, hold, release, submerge, drown, float and sleep. 

With me.

Touch, tease, pinch, punch, slash, cut, shoot and kill. 

With me.

With me. 

With me.

With me. 

 

Stupid and silly

Oh how stupid and silly it is to fall into the raptures of romance,
How ridiculous it is to view love and it's entity as something fulfilling.
How absurd it is to find joy in the passion between mortal men.
How dangerously foolish it is to allow its to sweep and devour you?

Oh how careless, I've seemed to be of late.
How unobservant and blind was I, to listen to the snake?
How shackled I am to the tree that bears the innocently fatal name.
How trapped I am in the raptures of it's unrelenting gaze!

Oh I feel myself being attached to this attachment.
How delicately subtle the waves of tenderness latch.
How this intimacy is so pleasantly intimate.
How fond I have become to the emotions of desire.

Oh how stupid and silly!
 

Phase

I do not know when it started,
or how or why.
All I know is that it did,
And that it is now a phase,
A terrible reoccurrence,
doomed to repeat itself,
like some false history.

He comes and goes,
or merely ducks underneath,
behind and hides,
in clouds or grey, and clouds of white.
During the day nothing more that a blur,
But on a clear night he emerges.
A fresh and renewed.

Smiles at the simple discomfort he brings,
Laughs at the awkward conversations we share,
Avoids the closeness of hands,
Moves away from kisses on cheeks.
As sudden as he arrives,
Like the constant irregularity of the cycle,
He is gone, tucked under the comforting,
masses of cotton clouds.
And just like that, he departed.  

“He understands me and my art, and loves both.”

"It would be unfair to expect other people to be as remarkable as oneself."

"What a sassy bitch," I mentally said as I read the line, reading Oscar Wilde on the way to a Shakespearean play, man I was cultured as fuck. In reality, it took an exponential amount of metal acrobatics to grasp the depth of his analysis, the nuances of every adjective, noun and verb. I usually retire in defeat after no more than 10 pages, and continued the slow progress with a new zest each time, an appreciation I have formed not out of curiosity, but the wanting to educate myself to understand the ideologies of aestheticism. But, the thing that did intrigue me, obviously, as if I were a nosy, journalist, or simply just a mere gossip queen, was his personal life, and how it seemed to be more vibrant and exciting than his literature itself.

He seemed completely infatuated with Lord Alfred Douglas, or "Bosie". (I do not intend to bore you with many of the details, you can find our, independently, merely by typing in either one of their names into any search engine of your preference.) I simply have chosen to look at their relationship, the truths and the ugliness as a whole.

All throughout their  relationship, which was filled with terrible fights and the constant judgement, persecution of and from the people around them, Oscar was forever infatuated with this man. Their relationship is worthy of the books that were written, for them, about them, because indeed their lives were exciting and I would argue stand among the the likes of tragic plays, such as Antony and Cleopatra, only played out on a scale much smaller, but in no way lesser, in the abundance of emotional turmoil. The letters written in his powerfully, romantic style, could be seen as a hyperbolic, but the title I have choose, was not written directly to his lover, but to a publisher, and he did not skimp nor lie about his emotions, and he need not justify his love, but he independently chose to do so. Although I may never know how genuine these words of endearment were, I will naively choose to believe that the words complement the actuality of their lives intertwined.

(Yes this is very random I know.)

Take it or leave it,
Ez