Thursday, 5 January 2012

Older Stuff

I've always used writing as one of the ways to deal with emotion and reasoning. In particular
'It began with a card', it helped me to figure out a way to deal with anger, and as cheesy as it sounds, to have some kind of sympathy and forgiveness at the end. 
Most of the time I use my own emotions to write expressively, probably 'The Rumour' was my most 'angry' poem/rant. When I read it I remember the anger I had felt - and even though I firmly believe in forgiveness and letting go of the past... Remembering your experiences and emotions which made 'you' at the time yourself and explained what your past self is like is important.

It began with a card

 And so it read...
                Fly!   If you want to.
You can if only you want to!
Fly without strings – nothing to catch your fall!
Say their name and no reply,
But you can damn well FLY!
Fly as high as you can – so no one can see you.
Fly over to visit – so they don’t have to come to you.
It’s all because they’re holding you in their heart...
When it’s convenient.
And they’ll let go, when it’s just as practical.
So lets fly!
Fly over to say hello, how are you?
Such bland conversation with no meaning,
The demand of thinking so demeaning,
Would you remember my name, if it wasn’t written down?
Somewhere on your desk, is there a note ---
Remember her name, on that day, write a card, make it
Fly! If you want to.
 -Only-, if you want to.
Fly one way, one direction.
Fly my way, a grand dictation.
Your only wish, is my decision,
Your wings fly towards me,
Like it’s my mission

I have to say it was kind of you,
 To think of me so fondly,
 Such happy memories you describe,
 When you saw me as a baby,
 Did you remember the colour of my eyes?
 Did you watch them grow and change?
 It’s easy now to see my face,
 New photos online to replace,
 The old ones you never had,
 The ones you never asked for.

I don’t think I’ll fly the course,
I’m eighteen now, I see through your cloud.
I won’t play along any more,
Though I'll remain at the same place,
To return your once in a blue moon messages,
And your birthday wishes and kisses.
I know you're busy, I know you have your own life.
But if only you knew how wrong it was,
To think I can so freely fly.

A true friend never drops a stone.

No, no, just no more. She can't say yes any more.
Burning flames, light the stone,
Never mind that, leave it alone.
Go back to the crowd, it's easy that way.
Abandon the flames, take it away.
You walk, you go, you leave, you know,
That stone gonna burn, gonna burn through the snow.
Let it melt away, forget it's decay,
She can't yes anyway. Any more. Any day.
She don't care, she's free now.Free from that small little stone,
A small little stone that's going to burn,
No love, no regret, no wish, no debt,
As long as she's not bound from that tiny stone,
She's fine, she's happy, she's alone.As long as she can abandon the stone.

But when that stone's flame extinguish,
By one true friend.
By one one true distinguish.
The little stone will remember,
Who set it on fire, and who saved her.

One small stone you could not save.
One small regret you have made.

The Rumour

After two years your whispers have turned into a direct scream,
That leaves me shivering,
And hurt.
I find myself in the dark room you seem so eager to push me into,
Because I am not you.
Because I am not like you at all.
Do you like me pretending not to hear,
your comments that you so loudly preach to eager listeners? Of your so called tales of my life, that you call actual 'history'?
Are you so brave in fact,
that every so often I can hear my name,
I turn to see eyes looking at me and mouths closed.
I turn away.
And you continue.
Is it easy because I'm open minded? Because I'm so gullible? That I were to think that you were not leading me to this dark, cold room,
but to a grassy field were perhaps, we could all just get along?
That's not how you work is it? I've learnt now. And I'm disappointed but...
I open the door and leave the dark room.
There is that field ahead of me – but it doesn't involve you. It's far more nicer than that.
Sitting in a circle are my friends – amazing friends. They speak louder words that you, and they have honest eyes.
They are true to nature, and true to me. I haven't needed to care any more, about your deadly remarks.
The ones that leak poison, the ones that hurt again, and again like a wasp's sting.
Because my friends are the cure, the remedy and the sun. They remove the darkness, and now you're affect on me has gone.


My ShoeBox

My shoebox has no windows.
My shoebox has no light.
And now my shoebox has a lid,
That is wedged on tight.

In my shoebox there are moments.
That one cannot share.
Of things like smiles and voices,
From everywhere.

I know that some people may not understand
The box I'm carrying around.
I know that some people do understand
How tightly I hold things close by me.

(They whispered about effort, distraction, lack of concentration.
They whispered about clothes, face, sexuality.
They whispered about things, they knew I could hear.
And they whispered about things, they thought I couldn't.
What hurt most?)

I also know that its already too late
To change what has been happening of late.
But I needed that time, to prepare
To be strong and kill that nightmare.
And continue...

So soon after, I will try harder.
I'll be as strong as I can.
I will practice, know and master.

And: Then I will build and make
A new shoebox for me.
And this one, will be just as precious
With every good single memory.
With my new 'obsession' embedded into me,
Letting go won't be easy.

And I won't let my shoebox ever die.

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