Tell me what I'm supposed to do with my life. Please? 

We had dinner tonight and it was different. It still is somewhat surreal to me because I was myself, and I know you sold me nothing short of yourself. If we had visible auras backlighting our silhouettes like brilliant neon backdrops I'd imagining ours to be the synergy of orange and crimson hues. Orange because you are like the hot afternoon sun through closed lids, and I stand there in complete submittance to your radiation. Red because it is my favourite shade to leave your skin flushed with. I don't ever recall a time in my life where conversation with someone of the opposite sex did not connotate the desire to uplift one's personality and "sell" oneself, marauding for compliments and to leave an impression, then I met you. Without even trying you have left me in the queerest puzzlement regarding the charm you hold in thinking you have none. I have drank from my Perspex cup about 53 times, each time peering over its rim not wanting to break your gaze. It feels like if I blink you might possibly disintegrate and I would return to the days I'd get a table for one and act like I've got it all together when all I really am craving for is somebody to love, and all I am is surface cracks concealed with thick coats of paint. I think one day you noticed the frayed edges and you picked at it on pure human instinct. The more it broke away in tiny flakes, the more you scratched and pinched. I hope when you finally manage to tear away a significant area, you'll be surprised at what you find. What I'm trying to say is we are all unfinished, lacking in vital parts, short of a coat of lacquer, huge yellow signs cautioning "works in progress". Or I'll speak for myself, I am. But you aren't afraid, in fact, I bet you'd take the challenge.

Game on.

Weeknd

Weekends are a call out in the dark. Figured the same place that tolerates the tempestuous lashings of my inner psychotic should be rewarded with some pictures of myself and my favourite person. You know, just putting a face to the incessant whiner whose problems you always read about.

I look happy and therefore I am.

Think of love as sustenance for your soul. Drink in the sight of each other, you'll find yourself still ravenous for more. Scrutinize less, give more, don't hold back and throw caution into the wind. It's always going to be about taking chances, giving leeway, compromising. Just that you always get back more than you ever expected. When you find a love like that, never let it go, not even when your fingernails have left dents in your palm, and know just how lucky you are.

Tell me the one place you hate to be kissed

And I'll tread your body like uncharted territory 

Avoiding that felonious diameter

Finding the spot where pucker meets sigh 

Tell me which part you hate most

You know the one you shuffle away

From the mirror to avoid catching

On the way to the shower

And I'll show you there's nothing not

To love about you

Tell me about that one place you lost your first kiss at

The very first attempts at awkward

Fumbling and haphazard trial and error

And we'll laugh about it and rewrite that memory 

As selfish as that may seem

Tell me about that dream you had when you were 12, stepping out of your adolescence

Of the girl you would marry

Did she have eyes like mine?

I bet the gleam in hers lacked the fluorescence of mine when you look at me

Tell me about that barely there scar on your knee

When your over-zealous self fell in your haste to take possession of that ball

I still see that part of you in your

Steady attempts to pin me down in

Yet another one of those tickling wars

Tell me about that one time you were misunderstood 

You'd slow down your speech cautiously 

Reminiscing still hurt

But with my thumb tracing circles on your wrist

You'd know I'd understand 

Tell me how lost you feel some nights

About the amorphousness of the future

When the opacity of what's ahead steals your breath

I'll be silent for awhile 

And then apologise for lacking the answers and that

All I can tell you is 

Your figure is the only shadow I

Can make out in the darkness

“I was told

The average girl begins to plan her wedding at the age of 7

She picks the colors and the cake first

By the age of 10 

She knows time,

And location

By 17

She’s already chosen a gown

2 bridesmaids

And a maid of honor

By 23 

She’s waiting for a man

Who wont break out in hives when he hears the word “commitment”

Someone who doesn’t smell like a Band-Aid drenched in lonely 

Someone who isn’t a temporary solution to the empty side of the bed

Someone

Who’ll hold her hand like it’s the only one they’ve ever seen

To be honest

I don’t know what kind of tux I’ll be wearing

I have no clue what want my wedding will look like

But I imagine

The women who pins my last to hers

Will butterfly down the aisle

Like a 5 foot promise

I imagine

Her smile

Will be so large that you’ll see it on google maps

And know exactly where our wedding is being held

The woman that I plan to marry

Will have champagne in her walk

And I will get drunk on her footsteps

When the pastor asks

If I take this woman to be my wife

I will say yes before he finishes the sentence

I’ll apologize later for being impolite

But I will also explain him

That our first kiss happened 6 years ago

And I’ve been practicing my “Yes”

For past 2, 165 days

When people ask me about my wedding

I never really know what to say

But when they ask me about my future wife

I always tell them

Her eyes are the only Christmas lights that deserve to be seen all year long

I say

She thinks too much

Misses her father

Loves to laugh

And she’s terrible at lying

Because her face never figured out how to do it correctly

I tell them

If my alarm clock sounded like her voice

My snooze button would collect dust 

I tell them

If she came in a bottle

I would drink her until my vision is blurry and my friends take away my keys

If she was a book

I would memorize her table of contents

I would read her cover-to-cover

Hoping to find typos

Just so we can both have a few things to work on

Because aren’t we all unfinished?

Don’t we all need a little editing?

Aren’t we all waiting to be proofread by someone?

Aren’t we all praying they will tell us that we make sense 

She don’t always make sense

But her imperfections are the things I love about her the most

I don’t know when I will be married

I don’t know where I will be married

But I do know this

Whenever I’m asked about my future wife

I always say

…She’s a lot like you”

This is the most perfect thing ever written.

Naïveté

I’ve always held ambivalence towards my body. I’m not genetically inclined to long limbs and high metabolisms, neither do I possess the discipline to maintain abstinence from calorific desserts. The struggle to accept my body is a far greater one than saying no to that banoffee tart(omg I love banoffee tarts) though and maybe in my desperation to achieve the body of my dreams it’s the exact stumbling block that stands in my way. In a world plainly obsessed with love whether it’s for superficial things or grandiose or that one person you cannot will your heart to forget to nameless tongues to just fucking loving the intricate system of cells and muscles that enable you to function, that final example is the toughest one to succeed at. I cannot love myself. So I sit here and hope. That someone’s going to walk into my life and cross-examine me like a porcelain vase on a mantle and possibly render me delicate and beautiful enough to house. And in that house I’ll seek refuge in a love I cannot even offer to myself. It’s sort of tragic. In fact, this handicap often makes me reconsider my ability to love someone. Maybe I’m too weak to love, maybe I’m too naive, maybe I’m too careless, maybe I’m too impatient, maybe I’m too needy, maybe I’m too damn difficult to love.

I’m sorry. 
I wouldn’t choose to love me either.

Don't swallow the cap

I can hardly stand up right.

I hit my head up on the light.

I have faith but don't believe it.

It's not there enough to leave it.

Everything I love is on the table.

Everything I love is out to sea.

I have only two emotions,

careful fear and dead devotion.

I can't get the balance right,

with all my marbles in the fight.

I see all the ones I went for,

all the things I had it in for.

I won't cry until I hear,

because I was not supposed to be here

I'm tired. I'm freezing. I'm dumb.

When it gets so late I forget everyone.

I need somewhere to stay.

I don't think anybody I know is awake.

Calm down, it's alright,

keep my arms the rest of the night.

When they ask what do I see,

I say a bright white beautiful heaven hanging over me.

This post is going to contain a hell lot of reiterations, incoherency, pity, disgust, I can't think. Don't think, just write, just put it all down, I decide. I don't know who to talk to anymore, what to do, all I want to do is cry. Be alone, but yet I want people to ask me how I am, but then again not, I'll just break down in front of the entire caf and hate myself for being so fucking weak. For making my friends around me feel so god damn uncomfortable, conversation ceases and I bet they're all thinking, what the hell is up with her she's always like that nowadays. Suddenly, everybody seems to occupied with what they were previously fiddling with, wanting to avert their gazes, away, away from the pathetic, unstable freak of a girl. Friends. Since exiling myself, I don't know if I still have any. Friends are not acting like friends. Emotions, stronger than the most devastating 2am text or the lack of, when things are left unsettled. I just keep crying. It's so stupid, I can't make sense of anything. Stoicism is a comfortable camouflage already. Camouflage because inside of me feelings are imploding and exploding through every exhausted cell. If I were in a better mood I might snicker at the irony. Putting up a false front never seemed easier, but also a pain in the ass to keep up.

I've never been an angry person.

I'm pretty damn fucking angry right now. Or maybe I'm at a loss. I don't know. 3 words that sum it all. I don't know how to put an end to this quotidian nightmare. I hate how I can't write anymore, not GP, not poetry, not even a blog post. Nothing is working, it feels like somewhere along the course of the past month I let the good parts of me slip away, completely unaware. I've never had to pause so long before typing a sentence and then cursing myself in my head because it is nothing short of banal; hackneyed. Reading older posts, I was happy. So happy, it seems. So inspired, things were beautiful. Maybe they still are, but my judgement is so thick with the smog that is my negativity, failure. Maybe I'm blind, maybe there is beauty. Far, far away from where I stand though, that I am positive. Positive. The first thing that comes to mind is some physics definition I was forced to memorize. I inwardly wince at that, I always want to break something when people ask me to memorize things. I guess the system has overwritten human emotion with useless facts and formulae. That's sad. I'm sad.

I don't know.