...
24.3.12
21.3.12
attract/repel
Not a seesaw or anything of the sort. Don't know which way you're hoping to tend, I neither. Do we still dance circles, afraid to break each other, and is this hate or some magnet-type repulsion, a shifting field we orchestrate as we spin?
dull stinging
I don't want to concede but I don't want to be hurt either.
Live on in fearful submission, is this how it must always be? The rebels scorn inaction; the wise know inaction is sometimes the only way to save oneself from an even greater pain--but is chronic suffering a good compromise for safety?
There are things you hate yet cannot eradicate; just bear that gnawing sting, and distract yourself from the pain with the hope of some ending.
Live on in fearful submission, is this how it must always be? The rebels scorn inaction; the wise know inaction is sometimes the only way to save oneself from an even greater pain--but is chronic suffering a good compromise for safety?
There are things you hate yet cannot eradicate; just bear that gnawing sting, and distract yourself from the pain with the hope of some ending.
19.3.12
to-do lists
I need to make a to-read and to-watch list. Else I'll forget everything. Especially the recommendations.
Bold = YOU'VE BEEN PUTTING IT OFF FOR YEARS SO GET ON YOUR FEET AND START SEARCHING
To read:
Bold = YOU'VE BEEN PUTTING IT OFF FOR YEARS SO GET ON YOUR FEET AND START SEARCHING
To read:
- Shutter Island
- Some spy novels or something
- Howl's Moving Castle
- Death Note
- Liar Game
To watch:
- A Game of Thrones (or shall I read the book series.)
- Sherlock
- V for Vendetta
- Ocean's Eleven
- Whispers of the Heart
To watch again:
- The Prestige
- 5 Centimetres Per Second
8.3.12
and again you fool me
I just want someone to say I'm talented. I like it. I crave it. But I'll have it no more. It was a lie; it was always meant as a lie.
Somewhere, somehow, I began to think I was special. What was it--the praise? The applause? Or the tears? I began to assume I was entitled to the status of "outstanding". Now the ones who told me I was, they've far outstripped me. It hurts to know what a fool circumstance has made of me.
Why? I have read before, how parents who continually celebrate their children's specialness only make it harder for them to accept how ordinary they truly are. Because how can everyone be extraordinary? To only a small fraction of those who are told so, the words will come true. To the rest, it is just a truth honey-coated so thick that it's revolting when you learn of the truth.
Maybe fiction does the same: the ordinary girl or boy at the heart of the story, no different from the commoner, always becomes a celebrity by the end. How not to believe, when all the stories are like that? Love your uniqueness; believe in yourself; you have it within you, a spark of some sort. More lies.
You aren't special. You are not entitled to it. You hold your head low and keep it low, where it belongs. This is how the legends are killed, but why hope, when you know it cannot be you?
Somewhere, somehow, I began to think I was special. What was it--the praise? The applause? Or the tears? I began to assume I was entitled to the status of "outstanding". Now the ones who told me I was, they've far outstripped me. It hurts to know what a fool circumstance has made of me.
Why? I have read before, how parents who continually celebrate their children's specialness only make it harder for them to accept how ordinary they truly are. Because how can everyone be extraordinary? To only a small fraction of those who are told so, the words will come true. To the rest, it is just a truth honey-coated so thick that it's revolting when you learn of the truth.
Maybe fiction does the same: the ordinary girl or boy at the heart of the story, no different from the commoner, always becomes a celebrity by the end. How not to believe, when all the stories are like that? Love your uniqueness; believe in yourself; you have it within you, a spark of some sort. More lies.
You aren't special. You are not entitled to it. You hold your head low and keep it low, where it belongs. This is how the legends are killed, but why hope, when you know it cannot be you?
7.3.12
fault
My fault, all my fault, you see? No less. And no more. You delude yourself to think it was a missed chance.
4.3.12
you might as well kill me
Every triumph, drowned by your betterment.
Will you never let me just--
savour it?
You seem bent on quelling every flame of my pride; is it not enough that I have sisters who do that for me already?
This is too much, too often, to be a coincidence. Tell me the truth now, are you out to hurt me? Are you hoping to show just how misplaced all honour is in me? Do you just want to show, that my stagnation was a sin, such a sin, and that my idleness was all the opportunity you needed, to turn into my predator? This stigma that resists, it's going to become my downfall, it's going to drown me, and you are the one who has me in your stranglehold.
I am dying, and you seem to take pleasure in it; it's so fun isn't it?
Will you never let me just--
savour it?
You seem bent on quelling every flame of my pride; is it not enough that I have sisters who do that for me already?
This is too much, too often, to be a coincidence. Tell me the truth now, are you out to hurt me? Are you hoping to show just how misplaced all honour is in me? Do you just want to show, that my stagnation was a sin, such a sin, and that my idleness was all the opportunity you needed, to turn into my predator? This stigma that resists, it's going to become my downfall, it's going to drown me, and you are the one who has me in your stranglehold.
I am dying, and you seem to take pleasure in it; it's so fun isn't it?
please
Stop trying. Just, stop, trying.
Get out of my sight. Get out of it, forever. Leave me be; leave me in a place where there is no one to bore holes in me and wrench my heart out with a stake, again, again, and rip to shreds everything I once stood upon.
I don't know who I'm saying this to anymore: myself, or the other?
I can no longer keep up, but I don't want to concede; I don't want to relinquish this race. Not when I know the taste of being ahead, not when I would be so ashamed to fail.
Get out of my sight. Get out of it, forever. Leave me be; leave me in a place where there is no one to bore holes in me and wrench my heart out with a stake, again, again, and rip to shreds everything I once stood upon.
I don't know who I'm saying this to anymore: myself, or the other?
I can no longer keep up, but I don't want to concede; I don't want to relinquish this race. Not when I know the taste of being ahead, not when I would be so ashamed to fail.
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