Clock

A ticking clock scares me.

Alone with my thoughts.

All I can think about is what will be. Where I will be in a month? Fear gnaws at my insides.

I can't help but feel terrified. For so many things. For so many people. The issue with me is that I care too much. When something bothers another person, I make it my personal mission to make sure they'll be okay.

I worry about my friends - will they get interviews? What if I waste opportunities that they could have had? I worry when they grieve a loss. I worry when they feel pessimistic.

I soak up the emotions of people who surround me like a sponge.

I worry for life. Who knew it was.so delicate? In two days, someone dear to my friend was taken from the world. 17. Young.

I worry for my parents; my grandparents. I can't disappoint them when they expect so much.

Ultimately, I don't want to fail. If I fail this year, I won't recover.

Scared.

But defiant. I will not accept the low opinions of others. Those opinions are tossed aside, like wood into a bonfire, until the only visible remnants are small glowing embers.

Wholly insignificant.

They fuel my anger. Make me strive to prove otherwise. And I will. Time will show them.

Untitled

Anger

It coarses through my veins
My blood boils.

My fingers itch for something
to pour out my frustration.
To empty out my worries
My fears.

Failure.
Disappointment.
Rejection.
Loneliness.

I don't want to think of these.
I don't want to - need to - think of these.

My hands long to cry on a piano;
To melodicaly thrash the ivories
Until I'm content.

Because I'm not.

I want to hold someone close
and punch someone in the face.

I want to be eternally silent
and shout until I'm satisfied.

But what I want isn't what I need.
And what I need?
Not what I get.

Perhaps I should stop expecting so much of people; of life.



Perhaps I should just stop expecting anything.

Deliberations

Shoved into the dark,
Blind faith my sole possession.
Simply awaiting
A single silverlining.

Answers

I'm out of the know;
In a new situation.

Effortlessly, they
flow; many conversations.

---

Not every question can be answered; some answers will always be unknown. Why you stopped talking to that person you held so highly. Why God took away someone you treasured from the world. Why someone thinks the way they think; why they do what they do.

These questions keep my overanalytical brain, well, overanalytical...and send me straight towards the kettle.

Dreams Of November

It was about a man; tall, pale skinned, coiffed brown hair, confined from its typical unruly state. A sleek black suit. Stubble dotted across his face; his jaw and hollow cheekbones.

He protected me. Sat by me in a black Mercedes.

I walked past the cemetry in Rochester, NYC, looking over the lonely tombstones. It was a cold night, my hands tucked inside my pockets. I breathed out clouds of steam that drifted past the glaring street lights, into the obsidian sky. I blinked, and the vapour had dissipated into the night.

Suddenly I was in his car. He was rushing me somewhere.

A restaurant. A flight of stairs; curved, going down. He grabbed my hand in his, pulling me with him.
Wrenched a white door on the right open, pushing us inside.

Lights off.

My hands pressed against his chest, which rose and fell in syncope with mine. No other sounds than our breathing, forced to be hushed. And then a sound. Outside, rapid footsteps. Someone sought but they would not find.

Onyx eyes looked down to meet my gaze. They held mine for a long period of time; in them I saw many of the emotions I held in my own. When his eyes darkened, I gently bit my lip.

He whispered my name.

His gaze wavering
between my eyes
and my
plum
lips.

He looked me in the eyes, his emotions conflicted.

His resolve shattered. Suddenly his lips pressed against mine, before stopping; moving away. Still partially paralysed in shock, my eyes only just opened to see him beginning to step back; insecure eyes seeking mine as an apology began to spill from his lips.

Before he spoke, tip toeing, I gently reciprocated. His hands fell to my waist, pulling me closer, his head tilted down towards me. And as we kissed, my hands raked through his thick, soft hair; our lips briefly parting before delicately touching again. He placed a kiss on the corner of my mouth; I felt his smile. My arms wrapped around his neck as I pressed my lips to his again.

They say a picture can speak a thousand words.

The beauty of moments like these is that words are no longer necessary.

Promise

Who am I darling, to you?

Hide and Seek

My eyes look
On and on
For a sign; something to spin
The cogs in my mind.

They seek; day in, day out.
For him; half a person.

Just like me.

The person who'll let me be.
And won't run screaming.
(Just kidding).

His imperfection would be his greatest quality.

He'll look after me, but let me take care of him.
Hold me, to give me an excuse to hold him.
It'll be unconditional; never temporary.
No end nor beginning.

Not a typical guy. He'd see the world in his own perspective.
Not obsessed with attaining wealth, money, fame, women.
Caring, compassionate. Witty, intelligent.

Most importantly, he'd be loyal. So that I wouldn't fear coming home,
To an unexpected other.

He wouldn't complete me; he'd make me better than I am.

Question is: where is he?

Hopefully not confined to my mind.

Why

Don't know why
I'm so badly affected;
Infected.

Stumbling across your presence,
my consciousness chokes. Logic ceases.

Don't know why
I can't stop glancing at you. You've said not a word;
Only played your guitar. Sung of daydreams.

I can't focus. My thoughts permeated by your angry croon.
I can't think. Go away. My window was open, and now it is shut. Pad locked.

I waited, but you never came.

Don't know why
Nothing makes sense anymore. My head throbs.

Fuck it. I don't want to make sense of this anyway. Do the honourable thing; piss off.

Longing

It's such a disgusting feeling, longing. That yearning that pulls at your insides when you want something seemingly unattainable.

It makes me want it even more.

On Judgement.

I walk through life calm and collected, taking each day at its face value. I spend more time with my thoughts than I do with people; peacefully empty, my words bound in shackles behind my lips.

I smile and nod when appropriate, look away when I don't know what to do. Connections are hard to form when you're as awkward as I. Knowing others, and others knowing me leaves me vulnerable; exposed.

Judgement of character. It leaves me frowning. As if knowing one small piece of information, hearing one sentence or seeing one act entitles us to make conclusions about a character.

Wrong. It does not.

Regardless of how good or bad a person, deriving immediate conclusions and making false assumptions about individuals often brings nothing but conflict. You, a human, do not know their intentions, their past and their present, their dreams and fears, nor can you read their mind.

Judgement on an individual's bad actions is not justifiable either; that individual, like any other, has the potential to change. A person is not defined by a moment of their weakness.

If an individual does seem to be going astray, onto the wrong path, rather than criticising or mocking, you must guide them back to the correct path. Violence needn't be used. Compassion, respect and kindness are essential for the sustenance of goodness.

Changes

He noticed. Me - 1, Invisibility- 1.

Salty Leave.

Hands clammy. Lips parted. Eyes squeezed shut.
I'm terrified.
Looking around at the rest of the room, I see reflections of myself in the people surrouding me. Anxious; fingers strumming, feet restlessly tapping, eyebrows furrowed. Sitting in beige plasic chairs in a long white corridoor. Eyes frequently flit back and forth between the floor and the coal black door. Someone in there is changing their fate.
We may be different, but today unites us - it's the day that determines what path we take. What we do in the next thirty minutes will decide whether we are successful. All that we've done; all of our achivements have guided us here.
Success is a hair's breadth away.

Photographs

Odd dream. Sitting in audiences of a talent show. People I know - but am not the slightest bit close to - who are on stage call me, telling me to hurry up. My parents' expressions reflect mine; their brows definitively raised.

I hesitantly get on stage, randomly standing behind one of the dance troop members.

"Not there," one of them whispers harsly, somehow managing to maintain her perfect smile as she looked towards the audience. I quickly shuffle to the right.

...

After the performance and the departure of the audience, we needed our photos to be taken. A lanky figure entered, brown hair framing his face. His eyes peeked up from behind his chesnut locks, scanning over the ensemble before pausing briefly.

Our eyes locked.

In one smooth motion, he raised his expensive looking camera that dangled from his neck and snapped a picture.

---

The Perfect Dream (Reality).

Laying in bed, my mind is briefly purged of yesterday's worries. I press my face into the white linen, snuggling in an almost cat like manner before two strong arms encircle my waist; a firm body gently lays behind me. His lips upcurl into a smile as they press against my neck; a greeting kiss.

My own lips echo his movement. I turn in his arms to face him; we're exceptionally close to eachother. I'm overwhelmed by a hundred emotions at once; existing in this moment was something I'd only dreamt of.

"Hey," I whisper with a smile, which quickly becomes wicked as my hands lift to playfully muss his disarray of hair. My laughter turns into a scream as his fingers tickle my ribs, his dark brown eyes alight. I quickly turn us over, his eyes now visibly panicked; knowing that he awaits the doom of an onslaught of tickling.

Seeing his expression however; his lazy smile, long wisps of dark brown hair framing his eyes, his plump raspberry lips pouted in protest - I simply couldn't do anything but press my lips to his.

In this moment, it was simply him and I, in our little bubble. We were emancipated from reality's troubles; finally free from the weight of everyday life.