i need to learn to stop beating myself over things i did in the past. those who love me have forgiven me and i guess i need to do the same as well. move on.
there is no such thing as secrets. only hidden truths. those that we try to bury beneath layers of overbearing shallow aesthetic spectacles. waiting – anticipating – to be uncovered. for something or someone special to share them with.they’re there. on top of an open palm of everyone.
you just have to prove that you’re just as special as these truths. for someone so guarded, you just have to be worth it. and in that open, unreserved moment when all have been by its naked self, you just have to be there.
no one ever stops wanting but they have to balance what is impossible with what might be possible and try to make sense of their hopes and reality. they haven’t got a lot of hope, it would be unfair if they did. but they do the best with what they have. i mean, we can’t plan everything. life makes its own plans. sometimes we let each down; sometimes we fail each other; sometimes we break each other’s hearts; sometimes we leave. and sometimes we come back and sometimes we stick around. or sometimes it’s okay, even if we don’t. things happen and they are hard, too hard. we just get through them. that we are able. clear eyes, full hearts.
clear eyes. full heart. can’t lose.
i stay quiet.
there’s nothing much to say.
i take mental pictures of people
inasmuch as my memory can muster
to hold, even in just a brief grasp of recognition
i linger in that stillness,
i feel more powerful, more in tune with myself.
i see people, i listen.
i don’t judge. i won’t judge.
even in after my next lifetime.
i see the reflections of things in people
things i don’t have the courage
to take out, to make myself step out of the box.
i feel safer just looking, just listening
.. just waiting
for someone to be bold
to make himself known
that inasmuch as I felt at ease
preying on other people’s nuances,
i am unalone,
holding up his part of the bargain,
doing the similar thing
i felt i was only doing.
I stand here with steady feet, at the point where land and sea meet. I have myself, and myself is complete. Alone, and I do not care, myself is enough to tolerate from here to there. Two feet, two hands, heart solitary. On two shoulders, are my own burdens to carry. I have no wish for my day to rain less, just that I might shed consciousness painlessly. Endlessly the land stretches beneath me, the sky fills my eyes perpetually. I am at peace with my being, but still need direction. Where I must go, must be a careful selection. Because one step is enough momentum to engrave my course, and from my path, I can never divorce. So I’m immovable, here at the point where land and sea meet. Too vacillant to step forward, too prideful to retreat.
There is no reason to stay anymore. Not when you’re starting to pretend that there is something to hold on to for much longer. Maybe it’s an unconscious effort that I was teaching myself to let go, and learn to open up to someone who has shown all efforts that he can care more than I can care about myself. I have to forgive myself wanting to be in a relationship that existed because I thought I was needed in as much as the context of the word care and love borders. But I was needed for a different reason.
I am as much in awe as people are on why I ever did fall for him. Looking back, everyday I wished that things will be different. But life has a way of hitting me on the head, letting me wake up to things that hurt me. The biggest person I had to battle was myself. And I hated it.
In spite of the endless versus-introspection, I am going to start being selfish by loving myself even more. And I’m learning this through people who do care about me as much as I care about them. I love love people who can make me smile and laugh. I’m opening up.
All I really want right now is to sit comfortably in silence, hear myself think, because words fail me. I watch the breeze sweep the fallen leaves of the things that matter to me most – of beginnings that seem destination-less now. As I sit still in this quietness, I’ll explain what anyone can understand. I open my palms to show what I only have to offer and that it’s not much. I work with what I have no matter how meager they seem.
I work for adoration, for recognition but I am a slave to my personal beliefs, my pride. My well-built, strong facade is torn down by the tears I have cried. My life has been inconsistent so far, with a few peaks of happiness but more plateau of sadness and disappointments. I’ve seen my star rise but I’ve also seen it crumble. I’ve allowed myself to trust people no matter how unworthy they are – one too many times. I’ve made it conscious effort to hold good memories of people than to remember the bad ones. They make the wings that make me fly high.
And while some people may regard mortal possessions as legitimate reasons to be above everyone, I can only exist to watch them and continue being as I. I am who I am and it won’t get any simpler than that.
Never mind. Truth is better left when you’re still young enough to mend the holes it’s ripped. Never mind why I did. Or didn’t. All that matter’s is the finish. Because as time goes on, ends are all that we have left, all that we have. They pick up like raindrops in a bucket. Then we empty it out and start again. Sometimes I think it would be nice to be fragile. Then maybe once in a while someone would be gentle.
No one thinks too much about the stones they kick as they’re waiting down the street. No one worries thgey’ll get broken. Where they’ll land. What they’ll hit. Just because the outside is hard they tend to assume they won’t be damaged. But more often than not, that hard outside is there because what’s underneath it is much too soft.
I watch people sometimes, wonder how they can walk around with the weight of what they know. Wonder if they feel like me, stumbling with lead shoes on the bottom of the ocean, swimming in a sea of the unsay-able. It’s a mistake we make, thinking it’s words that tell us everything. It’s the sound that breaks glasses, cracks windows, sends cats up trees. Maybe we’re just not getting it, standing here listening for sensible speech, dying of loneliness and waiting for whatever it is. How do we know we’re not calling and calling all the time, our throats so tight with it, that it’s too high to hear?
Counting each passing moment
Only worsen the absence
Anticipating the need to love
Only free the essence of wanting
Measuring the amount being taken and given
Only leads to disastrous outcome
Is it not easier to want what you have
In exchange of desiring impossibility?
In such subtlety, could-have-been-not becomes
Just a mere fragment of the subconscious
Is it not better to label no standards
Of beauty and madness and success
Enabling the rebirth of you
Is it not fairer to realize that you alone
Tell the story of your fate,
your triumphant fate.
This was an old post:
Walk in my shoes
Image is a curse
A label better left unspoken
It is not a measure of my worth
I am a man as you are a man –
A human being housed in
an anatomically correct body
Clothed in an embarassing hierarchy
of standards that should never stand
For anything but worthlessness.
I am you as you are me
We share the same air
And a universal language
That can neither be denied
Nor forced fast forward
Neither can it be ignored
Nor set aside,
For otherwise , you have disowned
The legacy of your existence.
I am as much part of the circle as you are
A participant of the same cycle
That allows you to become an entity,
To become the living perpetuity
Of something built upon a complex
Foundation of responsibilities,
Expectations and assets.
So what do you have
That I no longer have?
We are two peas in a pod
Mere reflections of a higher being
So as I am walking in your shoes
You are also walking in mine…