The Culling

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I skinned off your hide

And tossed away the entrails

After which I drained the blood

And all the stains the leftover entails.

*

You, living art, like a sanitized indemnity

By the making of my own verity;

I pick what I love, discard the rest —

What I pack onto myself, my soul won’t attest.

*

The language that you speak,

Your beady gaze so bleak;

The clothes that you wear,

A spiffy countenance so dear.

*

Hair that hides your horrors,

Your jawline quite intent;

I lie to myself to myself to endlessly

I wonder, then, to what extent?

Mirage


Waves of post-summer heat

rippled through afternoon’s lonely lil’ lot

like the contractions in my chest

and rhythmic pounding of tennis shoes

against the sun-weary gravel,

feet carried by the languid shrug

of a melody spilling over my life span

or at least what I know of it till now.

The buzz of anticipation

offers no solace

in seeing the one I love and fear

materialize into my mind

before finalizing into the

painful notion called “reality.”

And yet, I requisite no action either

for whatever is realer than my real

is all the worse for my chakra.

And I ponder all this

while the heat strikes my blazer

worn to reflect my image reincarnate —

arose

like the tears in my eyes

that turned the vicinity blue and green —

and crashed

bringing down a cacophony of

memories and snippets and anything

substantial.

And so I’m

running running running

as yesteryear’s autumn shadows

slink in front of my path.

Perchance,

what a pleasure to see all and nothing

in the sad summer heat.

At least I see color again.

And with that said,

I bravely meander

from bomb-shelter of a school to the car,

for today’s survival game is complete.

In the meanwhile

I pray I won’t spill my guts,

and with them

my feelings for you

borne out of freak chance

and absurd timing.

Old Love

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This old song

reminds me of the old love;

of chemical synapses

and aimless relapses

and then the lack thereof.

*

It niggles in the crevice of my mind

Waiting to latch onto sight,

And then it’s a fusion

Of rapture and willing delusion;

But only when the time is right.

Love, they say

I was rummaging through my old notes from summer course when I found this little random epiphany written on a sheet of paper. Revised for clarity.

People and media romanticize falling in love a lot. I understand the hype, but for me, it’s so hard to deal with.

I don’t love — I become hyper-aware. I am obsessed. Worried. Tense. Paranoid. Depressed. And very, very anxious.

The last time “love” happened to me:

  • I endured some of the worst panic attacks in my life.
  • I had thoughts of self-harm.
  • I hallucinated in my sleep.
  • I disengaged from my friends.
  • I cried so hard I threw up.
  • In fact, I was throwing up everywhere I went, pretty much.
  • Lost my appetite and nearly passed out.
  • Had chronic stomachaches.
  • Had chronic anxiety attacks that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy
  • Had intrusive thoughts 24/7.
  • Had depression.

Looking back, now only does it sound funnier when I read this stuff aloud but I wonder why I went so gaga over that specific person. Maybe it was my firsthand assumptions about them or that they looked like a work of art in human form. If that’s so, it doesn’t explain why the symptoms were so…paradoxical.

Why do I react the way I do? My sister knows and she contends that it’s insane. Even I know it.

I don’t have answers to that. Such is the wild, unpredictable nature of love.

This person exists. Perhaps that should be reason enough.

But…

I be sure to take every painful situation as a learning curve.

I remember watching a Twilight Zone episode where a woman kept running away from some creepy man that seemingly stalked her across the country, and she kept calling out for help to the local passerbys that she encountered. although no one believed her. Near the end of the show, our protagonist, about half dead with fright, tried to contact the phone operator to put her on the line with her mother. The response was, “(Name of mother) has been crying over her daughter’s recent death.”

It hit her: she was dead all along. She just didn’t know how to accept Death — the same Death who was the creeky stalker, by the way, that was following her across the country, beckoning her to follow him into the afterlife with minimal fuss.

I narrate my life with parallels such as these, so let me explain. Before, I was the terribly insecure, desperate, love-starved girl who kept phoning the operators of Fate to give me the love I so craved and thus rescue me from withering away into a lonely, lonely life.

Then the operator picked up.

“Tiffs is suffering from excessive anxiety and thus can’t qualify to our Matchmaking line right now.”

Just as our protagonist realized the truth about herself, I realized mine: I was in intense pain. Fate, disguised as a lurking doom-and-gloom singleness, was merely beckoning me to put aside my love worries and continue on with my life, single but pain-free, even though I initially fought against him.

Accepting Fate’s advice wasn’t going to be easy, but knowing the truth about myself might just be the thing to strengthen me until I’m truly mentally ready to accept the next lovebug that comes my day through the series of coping mechanisms I developed after my precious experiences.

The truth? It doesn’t matter whether you have someone or not. What matters most is how at peace you are with your state of mind. That is the only way to feel authentic happiness.

You can’t be that lonely if you’re at peace with yourself first. Right?

But…ya know. All the millennial girl bloggers ever have probably said the exact same thing as I have. We’re so similar it’s disgusting. xD

Evanesce

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Vanished! she did

assimilating into depths of time

leaving nary a reminder of her presence

except shards of memories as ambiguous

and muddled as my assumptions.

How do I regain a livelihood that was

already lived for me?

I needed that closure, you see,

so I can fail myself more…gracefully

while summershine’s powder puffs

stay their season’s stay.

*

Poof, she did,

like how the goddess of spring

dissipates into the air leaving none but

a few wafting cherry blossom petals

adorning the warm wind.

Ruminations of you — wonder no more! —

came to a halt in your sudden absence

and fueled instead the song of a crying piano

while the powder puffs arrived

to prolong their stay.

*

Anon, I am,

falling in love with myself so that

I despair again, because I vested into a

cheap mimicry of myself, yet so

enshrined in stars that ne’er held

a light to their original inspriation.

Meanwhile, the powder puffs,

whispy whirlwind powderpuffs,

suspended like time itself,

came to stay their leave…

Quotes that I made up

In case you ever need inspiration from quotes. I composed them all by myself, by the way, so trust me when I say you’re not gonna any corny-ass Marilyn Monroe quips from here.

– It’s not your successes that define you but the bravery to pick yourself up and try one more time.

– You haven’t failed enough until you actually succeeded.

– If you want to know someone with mental issues, ask them if they’re a poet.

– If everything goes well for too long, something is definitely wrong.

– Don’t drive when in love.

– Sometimes the best teacher is yourself.

– Always have a plan B.

– Keep wondering about everything. Chances are, you can write a bestseller with the answers you come up with.

– My friends would be good Christian girls. My best friends would be weird-ass punk introverts.

– Stop people on the streets and ask to take a picture of their clothes. Email growing channels with questions they’d love to answer. Take the initiative to do something you never did. You aren’t living your life to the fullest unless you’re the instigator.

– If I have to be depressed, then at least I’ll be depressed with style.

– Life isn’t about attaining the ultimate rose-colored life. It’s about making the best out of what we already have.

– If it’s too easy you’re doing it wrong.

– Life wasn’t made to overcome you. You were made to overcome life.

– Life’s a bitch. But God is still good.

– The only way to truly be yourself is to break out of the mold your role model designed for you.

– Writing is 1% actual writing and 99% figuring out how to write.

– Sometimes all you can do is the best you can ever do.

– Am I normal or is everyone else just crazy?

– Your vulnerability invigorates me. I’d like to slip you into my heart and hold you there forever.

Manifest Secret

woman s index finger on her lips
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As I tell us my story of you,

The tension of your omnipresence spills

All over the tangible world

Like a child splattering its wholesome glory

Over a ripe canvas.

Everywhere I am,

You are —

For the trees to breathe in,

For my father to hear my giddy delight,

To guffaw with my friends,

For you to oust my secret stories

Out of the woodworks.

For the mountain-tops

To rejuvenate the air

And draw a portrait

Of you.

The ripple has ceased,

Longing has eased —

One of those dilly-dallying days

If I think of you again,

I need only spread my tendrils

And grin.

Flux

pink petaled flowers closeup photo
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I caught the glorying gaze of a cherry blossom tree;

Its fortune told me the future of my hearting flame.

I inhale its preening scent of beautiliciousness

And throw it to the sky,

Sky,

Sky…

 

I saw you. Then.

You didn’t even spare me a sympathetical glance.

Please don’t hate me now. Hate me later.

All I need is an understanding while I cry,

Cry,

Cry…