There is this void I’m in. You know the space where emotion runs rampant?
My world seems perfect. The motions around me suffocate me. I want to help but there is nothing to be done except be me. And it is affecting me: I’m tired. A good friend told me that I am like a redwood: strong and dependable. I want to say, fuck you! Go seek strength within yourself, my reserves are too low to support even me.
I want to cry for everyone around me. My tears are not my own. I want to cry for them because I was there. I know the pain. And then I look in the mirror. My pain has changed form. I need a new strategy to deal with it but don’t know where to begin, the only thing I know is that I need to get started.
Describing relationships is difficult. I have one word for what this though: cruelty. I’ve never utter it before. One day I think that I’ve been melodramatic but in this moment, in this space, I understand that what he did to me was cruel. Painful. Intentionally hurtful. Cruel in its execution. The action was forgivable. Everything else about the situation, less so.
As I think back, there are blanks and missing pieces. My mind blocked him out. It frightens me that my sub-conscious reacted this way. It cut deeper than I thought. I cared more than I imagined. He meant a lot more than I thought. I made myself vulnerable. I opened myself up. He saw it. He saw me. And, not only did he walk away. (Of course not, that would have been too simple.) He chose someone else. Someone who I didn’t know was present.
And then you reach a point. Then you tumbled. The Waste Land is empty.
You recall when they looked up and you were there. As always. In definitely. Without fail.
The landscape is empty. No one. Nothing. Not a shred of anything.
The thoughts rolling through your head always end of the same conclusion. Every. Single. Time.
His words echo. You hate the truth in them.
You’re too strong for them to understand that you also need support.
And in anger you take a deep breath. Block out the depths you’ve pulled them from and exhale. You lift up your head, shake the pain from your mind and rise. Rise. And rise.
Mistletoe: I surmount all obstacles. Even in the form of my friends. Especially in their absence.
The thing about it is that I know that good enough has never been good enough for me. I always wanted more. More of whatever I was looking for or what ever came my way.
He is more than good enough. Or so I thought. I really, really thought that. Then the seams started unraveling and I was left alone wondering ‘What the fuck happened?’
His explanation was cowardice. He apologised and called his actions heinous. I shrugged it off, two years is a long time and I’d already let it go. He hadn’t meant to hurt or so he said. I believe otherwise.
His words jarred me, ‘so you wanted to be my girlfriend?’ He had a glint in his eye. The tone left me reeling. I hadn’t an answer but I was dying to ask ‘so I wasn’t good enough for you to be my boyfriend?’
He must be breathtaking in appearance.
His inner spirit should radiate in such a way that there is no mistaking this man’s rarity.
His eyes should be comparable to the sun: strong, vibrant, powerful, and life giving. They are the windows to his soul after all.
I want an intellectual who can converse on many subjects with people from all walks of life.
His touch must calm a wounded animal, soothe a crying babe and restore former beauty.
Spirituality for him should be a way of life not a one-day-a-week affair.
He should do what he loves regardless if it rakes in millions or barely brings in a penny. He needs to be happy first.
I deserve a man whose strongest qualities are loyalty and faithfulness.
His passion has to be living life to the fullest.
I don’t want a man who is only half-awake, half-aware, and half-alive.
Cease to believe the words spoken to me. The walls aren’t closing in; I’m unable to fit. The world is looking at me and I’m looking away. I long to be in his embrace, yet I don’t know his name, I’ve yet to meet him. She towers over me; I want to trample her under my feet.
I want to be alone. I want someone to love me. I want to be free. My heart has been ripped from my body and thrown halfway across the world. I have no one to call my own. I’m sweetly and softly and seductively embraced by painful lonely solitude, a grip I cannot be released from. One I never want to.
I see the world through hopeful eyes. I want a better world. I love our differences I despise our indifference. I want to make world a better place.
Collisions. I collide. Everyday. With most anyone. Fighting the restraints. Violently cursing my muzzle. Why won’t they let me speak? Why do they refuse to listen? When did we stop learning? We lied and said we knew it all.
Burn the script. The production is a farce. The director is in it for the money. The show needn’t go on even if you weather the storm. Go out there and learn to dance like a pro. That is what it means to be a true man.
Though the music’s playing, I can’t dance
I’ve forgotten the steps
I’ve forgotten to smile
While the sky travels the sun I stand still
The last time I ran, I fell
No one picked me up
When I become one day
The rain will rush to the earth much like the tide runs to the shore
The gulls will screech with glee
I will be me
And I will recall that one time I found my home
The last time I was held in your loving embrace
And you stole a kiss
Whispered words of longing. Longing looks of yearning. In
misery I reside. Unspoken passion consumes from within. Tension tenses the free
flow. What ought to be is reality and in reality you ought to be with me.
Reluctance. Refusal. Rejection. Solitary. Unrequited. Under the radar. Slinking
away. I’ll never hear you call my name again.
FlamingNyx is an oxymoron, in the most basic form. Flaming comes from flames, fire, heat, light and passion. Nyx is the primordial goddess of the night, born of chaos.
My silent riots bespoke the emotion raging in my core. The flame was fed by rage: red and raw.
In me, lies a woman of great wisdom and uncharted darkness. The fire that courses my veins is light as well as dark. The contradiction is that I embody is not contradictory or an oxymoron. Strength is beautiful and elegant and graceful with a hint of fire and a touch of danger.
This is my entry for the Indie Ink Challenge from SeeSaw. The prompt: 100 words on ‘oxymoron’. Marian, this time the word limit was an issue