Tag Archives: catharsis

Let’s Talk About Not Talking About It

Well I’m sick of it, over it, however you want it said
I’m telling it straight ’cause it might be the only chance I get
Just shut up, just shut up, would you stop telling me who I am?
I’m sick of it, over it, however you want it said…

~*~

Some people find it really easy to write about themselves.

I respect them for that. For being able to express innermost thoughts and more private sentiments in articulate ways, and for having that certain imbued capability in their writings where other people could read their catharsis and be able to feel all their emotions, sympathise with their plights, and look at the world in another perspective, in their own personal perspective. Of course, even if they can’t exactly relate to whatever situation that person is caught up in, they could still nod their head understandingly, dole out some hopeful dime-a-dozen platitudes, and perhaps even offer some needed advice to them, just as normal human beings should.

Whenever I attempt to write about myself, my life, or my current feelings, I tend to drown it in cryptic nuances and fuck-all metaphors that are so incredibly twisted to the point where even I don’t find any sense in it anymore. That’s why I’m more adept with poetry than prose, and why I find music to be the most therapeutic outlet for myself, above anything else. And also why I hate the shit out of essays and formal writing so much. But in the rarest blue-moon times when I try to abandon that sort of familiar style and write something that’s concise and straight to the point, in simple words that are the closest to the truth, it always makes me so disgusted with myself because I always sound like I’m whining too much and making such a big deal out of nothing. And even then, I couldn’t help but add way too much labyrinthine sentences and complicated head-scratching quips to sugarcoat the naked ugliness of it all. Case in point, this very write-up itself. Sweet irony to further press the point.

I’ve always found it difficult to talk about myself. I don’t know exactly what what happened to me that made me turn out to be this way, but whenever I try to open up, a million desperate hands pull me back inside as a thousand alarm bells seem to scream and flash red lights inside my head, all of these, all at once, giving me a major dose of anxiety that takes a long while to wear off. I never know how to be completely honest without feeling awkwardly uncomfortable, and vice versa, it’s a great struggle for me when people start getting too real and personal with me. I tend to be a very secretive person, and I’m not a great support to come running to when you got problems and need to talk it out, because I’ll probably just intensify the headache that you already have and turn it into a full-blown migraine. Trust me, some of what-unsurprisingly-scant friends I have can testify for that fact in front of a court jury with both their hands on the bible.

(But on the plus side, being a secretive person also means that I’m basically Fort Knox when it comes to keeping the secrets of other people, so…redemption??)

I try my very best to be comforting and truthful when times call for it, but somehow, I could never completely shake off that vague feeling of uncertainty, that constant nagging voice at the very back of my mind that tells me that I’m doing something wrong, or tells me that I’m not doing enough, or tells me that I’m fucking overcompensating, or whatever stupid made-up issues it has with my attempt to act like a decent human being. I’ve always just found it easier to repress everything, every difficulty and emotion that’s going on in my overwhelmed mind, to simply keep it all to myself no matter how dire it is, rather than to bother anyone else with it, and I’ve always found it easier to keep people at a ten-foot pole’s length with acerbic witticism and sarcastic dismissals, because when they get too close, someone would always get hurt, and it always ends in a devastating fallout.

To put it shortly, I don’t know how to be empathetic. And I don’t know how to make people empathise with me. Up to now, I’ve always convinced myself that it was my biggest strength.

But perhaps…it just might be my greatest weakness.

~*~

I know I have issues
But I don’t need to hear it coming from you
It’s something that I’ll work through
The beating of my heart’s not stopping anytime soon
It’s not stopping anytime soon…

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in which love is just another imagined story by a hopeless writer who has dysgraphia

“and though to my arms you are forever lost,
you are a prisoner in my fantasy.”

~Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz

~*~

you are my sweetest fiction,

conjured, derived from the very ends of

the lacklustre impediment

that is my algid imagination.

light calla lips flushed pleasantly

(though, i may only be imagining it so)

elusive soul a taunting fugitive

(from which i could never hope to catch

with bare hands and bare feet)

cerise smile melting upon liquid gaze

before i then realise—the blood was my own.

missing birthdays, unsent letters

piling into sealed dictionaries upon my oaken desk

and again, i weep the night sky

in the grievous absence of your starlight.

falling, falling; lilies, lilies,

plucked like shimmering innocence

from the skin of my gritted teeth, sighing

irreplaceable—!

though, your divine body is not mine

to ruin and revere relentlessly

under eternal storybooks and lost volumes of

anthologies, the empty pages

all at once interjecting: “impossible?!”

but, is it always so? must my fluttering shyness

be short-lived like your tyranny?

surely we must not always adore the

blinking butterflies, cascading iridescence

billowing solemnly into my reverie—

accidental interruption.

aralias, aralias; painful, painful;

i am to dirty fly as you are to decadent fruit

dragged down rather cruelly into

the ad infinitum of your fiery veneration

and i am unable to twist my words into cathartic

crashing, collapsing, holding it in…

but, i do not mind at all; for i lost mine

the moment you slipped from enthrallment into

the ache of my charismatic sternum,

submerging me in pacific oceans of desire—

enchantingly alluring me into the cozen, shackling confines

of the prison you call your heart.

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Filed under Poetry, Valentines Poetry

pens in pain

pen in paper

in hot water

ink in horror

feel no better

pen in paper

‘til i’m sober

write to conquer

pain in paper.

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Filed under Poetry

The Devil On The Horizon

Are you sick, are you tired, and you’re feeling vain?
Your lips are turning blue
I know you wish you were dead to the world
But there’s something you should know…

~*~

A scream that cuts like the edge of a pensive

Bullets and serpents caught between your teeth

Gritting and gnashing until the pieces shatter

Drown demons under gasoline and burning water

.

You swore there was a heaven, and you let us keep it

You swore there was a hell, but you have kept it secret

Living in this filthy world of hospitals and deathbeds

Singing a little fucking louder to keep from being dead

.

Take us through woodworks, past wolves and putrid decay

Flowers for Medusa, I’ll go tell Slater in the bathroom door

Heal the hurting with rusty needles to sew the pain in half

Within a canvas of dark ink, true maven artwork soul falls

.

Trapped under circle pits, dragged under entrancing spells

We’ll join the club of antivists, our middle fingers up there

This liberation against possession, anarchists for catharsis

What’s yours is ours, and all this hatred could go get pissed

.

The jaded beep of the tiring monitor may never feel your heart

But this mind feels each beat of your raging pulse steadily restart

Sempiternal like the horizon, and you’d better fucking believe it

You’ll scream for the damned and the broken, yeah, that’s the spirit.

~*~

You’re scared, I can see you tremble
Shaking like a dog, shitting razor blades
Feel the shadows like a stranger
Well, join the club, yeah, join the club
Do you think you’re the only one who feels the way you do?
We’re all fifty shades of fucked up…

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A is for A-Holes, B is for Bullet holes

Big mouths

Deserve an empty chamber

Of a revolver gun

With the smoking muzzles

In their throats

Hot lead bullets decomposing

In their stomachs

Blood painting a constellation

Of pretty viscera

Their faces contorted into horror

Frozen visage with

An added gaping hole to ironically

Put a stopper on

The hole that started their trouble

Big mouths, they

Deserve what comes to them and

I deserve my hand

Resting contentedly on the trigger

With a smile on my face.

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Filed under Poetry

Va Te Faire

Endless causeless concessions and contrivances

Coming from such a bloodsucking little pest

Tearing down my already-crumbling defence

And annoying me with your mere existence

.

Toying constantly with my fucked-up emotions

While simply thinking “Hey, it’s all in good fun”

Ignorant fool with such an innocent notion

Don’t you see you are already breaking someone?

.

I, for my part, always learned to hold my tongue

Before I snap and do some irreversible harm

Sociopathic manipulator filled with poisonous spite

Just because you can’t feel human love, it doesn’t give you the right.

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Filed under Poetry

Bedauern

Hard heart of pure gold

Silver soul of shimmering steel

You are hailstorm, algid cold

But warm you make me feel

Making me abruptly hitch

My breath, my sides in stitch

You deny my flat lungs, then

Of their love of sweet oxygen

Cover my open gaping mouth

So I wouldn’t be able to shout

Screams and pain unheard

Till my swollen heart bursts

Worm inside my sanity and head

Make me mad and kill me dead

I love that you’re the best regret

That chagrined me has ever met.

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Filed under Poetry