Misunderstood.

Writing was an art for me and then I hit a wall years ago. I was unhappy, therefore I never wrote. This meant I never spoke, I never used the voice I was given to scream what I feel, what I see in you, in them, in me.

Funny thing looking into a mirror can do….the prisoner was holding the key to this very cell the whole time, the prisoner was me. I was finally happy. So I wrote again.

I wrote, my veins bled with stories of pain, wonder, and above all heart break. Simultaneously I saw people around me suffocating on the own words they chose to never share. Choking on their emotions. A noose that they wrapped around their neck themselves. And so their pain was my own. It was my own because I became the voice they had permanently placed on mute.

I for one forbid filters for myself, restrict myself from building a wall around my heart anymore. Therefore as I sing melodies of my troubled soul, I in turn paint their own on a canvas. I translated the emotions I saw in their eyes. Eyes that glistened, that yelled for me to interpret.

I write for them, I write for myself. A way that I can feel I am doing a service to others. A way that I can touch them so deep they savor my sunshine even after I finish another chapter.

I was always reluctant to share these secrets of my own, and theirs. But all it took was a little curiosity, and I let my words be alive. Moments like these I am thankful I have my writing to escape the reality of my pain. But these are also  moments I wish I never wrote in the first place.

I always wrote to be understood. How naïve of me to think that would always hold true. I forgot about the shitty part of being a writer and being misunderstood. The moment you wish you never wrote in  the first place.

My 2 a.m. hello

Thank you for being my 2 a.m.
For being the hello my soul screams for when it reaches solitude. 

My heart has always been warm but it seems as though it goes through fevers. 

So hot to the exterior world. 

Yet shivering from the depths of its core. 

You were the antidote when I was unaware I needed one.

A clarity I hope never escapes my grip.

You are much more than a companion. 

And nothing short of a fairy tale

A breathless moment; a much needed hello. 

Thank you for being part of a sequence.  

To a woman who spent nights asking for a man like you . 

Sweet delusions.

How do I let you go?

Nights of sweet intoxication refusing to let go of a fixed delusion of “us”.

Infatuated with a fantasy that refused to steer away from reality.

Giving my soul to you seemed so natural, so easy.

And here I am, whiskey tainted lips, crumbling in the thought of you.

My fairy tale, my fixated thought of you decomposed finer with every sip.

And every sip tasted sweeter, and even more like you.

 

Quote · March 30, 2016March 30, 2016 · Leave a comment ·