If I could say a few things about myself, I’m not sure it would be enough.
I would feel that I’d need to justify myself for everything I would say, and yet I know I would never feel justice in explaining how I am if your eyes aren’t locked to mine, if your ears aren’t navigating through the pain-filled scars I need to tear to show you how much they bled when I first earn’t a wage in love’s demise, in the disappointment of my own reflection are you able to hear this, or are you just waiting for your time to talk while I scratch the cuts of my deepest regret, while I focus my mind on the memories that I should really forget.
I was born on July 1st, that makes me a Cancer. I’m not completely sure what that means, but apparently it suggest I’m nurturing, affectionate, emotional and sensitive…
Some predict Cancers to be oversensitive, and yeah maybe sometimes it’ll seem like I can’t stand the taste of criticism but I’ll take shots of the truth till I’m dizzy with self-worth… or past that when my reflection gets blurry
I usually need to mix it with half a glass of regrets, so I can be faded with these memories…
I’ll need to chase it down by squeezing a slice of justification just so I can stand up properly again.
I love the smell of mint, new books and not too much perfume.
I enjoy listening audiobooks, the sound of the water crashing and other peoples problems. I think I got it from my father.
I guess it’s because it distracts me from my own issues
I find if I can at least help someone worth helping I’m doing something worth
which makes me wonder if I find worth in myself
I honestly I don’t know, I don’t talk to my dad much but when ever I have something to tell him it’s through the tears the navigate between images and dimensions.
I never used to be able to rest until he tucked me in at night.
The comfort of my father being around is enough for me to believe in the positive.
I learnt the power of silence from him, and how listening can determine so much character…
I’m a great listener, although I sometimes wonder within my own head – I tend to go to places I know I shouldn’t
There are times where I don’t talk much, it’s not because I don’t know what to say but because I’m enjoying the patterns that are being stitched between thoughts, processes and delayed response isn’t because I’m slow or indecisive, it’s because I’m sometimes analysing how to materialise the comprehension of all the connections that is going on between us, so just give me some time to answer and enjoy the silence in-between.
I don’t mind being alone, I sometimes feel frustrated and fluster when there’s a lot of people I don’t know, it makes me feel like the seatbelt is on too tight, like my wings are tied down and I’m not able to stretch my whole self out there, my claws at my head, and feathers strapped to my boots.
I had a lot of trouble and a tough time finding my style because nobody had it.
I don’t mind being around my brothers that know me well enough to not need me to say anything to know what I feel, to know what I mean.
I always thought I was great at talking till I had to try it.
I always thought I was great at talking till I figured out I was the only one listening.
I always thought I was great at talking till I heard my own voice.
I honestly hate my accent, and I wish it wasn’t the first thing people notice, it tends to be the first thing they point out.
and as soon as I’m done explaining how this miracle spurred within me, people are usually done getting to know me, there’s no follow up questions.
I like almond mochas, peanut butter sandwiches, and awkward silences…
I guess it’s because it reminds me of my childhood, quirky, confusing and being deep in sticky situations, hoping someone else will say something first.
They call me Matcho…
I love to dance because it gave me the power to think I could be free…
I love skating because it gave me the power to feel I could be free…
I love poetry because it gave me the power to say I am free…
My favourite day of the year isn’t the 1st of July
it’s the only day I get to call people up and tell them how successful I am
it’s the 1st day in April
I remember the day I tucked my father in for the last time, I haven’t been able to rest the same since.
You don’t know love until you’re sick of the free food from the hospital
I was born at 2am and I’ve been night crawling ever since
maybe that’s why most nights I can’t sleep, I find that I’m torn between the present and the past, and when I dream … when I do dream
I sometimes can’t escape the memories that I sometimes drink to so that they fade out, but like colourfast are mixed between dimensions of the future and her as contradicting as it seems I still live in my dreams where she takes me to places we used to go and she tells me the things only she knows and we lay there waiting for the sun to set. for this son to rest.
I hate being reminded of my past mistakes, as if knowing I already won’t fall victim to repeated circumstance
I tend to search for love in those that are lost or needing it
it’s as if my whole life I’ve been using myself to fill in the gaps
Like an elastic band that tares itself to stretch,
I was the glue to your broken heart
I was the foundation to your lives mistakes
I was the makeup to the blemish
that bridges the gaps to create a sense of peace
I got taught to be a buffer to everyone’s life problems because mine didn’t matter
what’s worse is that I mostly don’t fit in, the joints are too curved
and when people get filled between they tend to angle outwards knowing they don’t need me anymore
and they’re life fits perfectly without me
and after every time I begin to realise that I’m a puzzle piece in the wrong picture
trying to figure out where i belong or if theres any pieces willing to bend themselves into my image to connect with me
I love watching the water during sunsets,
I find that if I look towards the horizon I’ll see an image meant for two and realise how lonely I really am
Sometimes I find myself running from the horizon
I believe it’s one of those things that aren’t worthy without a second pair of eyes,
without a matching heartbeat, and another hand to interlock fingers…
See the sunset
I know that it has this power to cure the spell of whatever it is,
that deters me from realising how .. truly .. lonely .. I am…
I start to look deep into the blended separations of colour as if they too ..represent the failed relationships I’ve tried to bend myself into in order for it blend together well enough to make more than a beautiful backdrop, more than a chapter, more than a half finished jigsaw image..
Even the horizon fading reminds me of times I shared when I was more delighted in the moment than to question how long it lasts, and now I question how long this loneliness will last…
now I’m able to bend myself to reflect the image of those who were able to break away and piece together a full image without me
I can feel the emotion in the clouds, bringing me in, as if they too are affected by the burden of holding up the skies for others
till I nourish those that look up to me with the mercy of my tears, and I can finally feel free amongst the rainbows formed beneath the sunset.
I always wonder if things could have been different
I don’t know much but I do know this
I know that the spirits of those that have gone are ever passing just making sure we will see the positive
I know that there’s a melody within the colour of the sunsets and if you sit quietly and listen you can almost hear what I’m dancing to…
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