Pieces of Peace: “saviour of a toxic romance”

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In the long run, you’ll realize that there are a few relationships in life that’s not worth saving. Do not constantly remind yourself that you are in love. Or tell yourself that there is no one else in the world that will love and tolerate you because you’re only settling down with someone for the sake of not being alone.

It’s going to be hard but at some point you have to realize your relationship is dead. There’s no use staying when you are unhappy because if you do, it might turn toxic. Because there will always be someone whose pride is too big to admit the spark is gone and another who is trying to avoid any conflict.

To some extent you give yourself small reason on why you should stay though the number one reason would always be to avoid crippling loneliness so you might as well stay with the because let’s face it, you’re no good in being single. Why venture into the great world of tinder mismatches and awful blind dates? When you can live your life in benign mediocrity with someone who might not make you happy but can try to make you smile every once in a while?

But then again you end up in this stagnant state, where you try so hard to shake things up. Try so hard to feel something because let’s face it, you look at your significant other and wonder how you can tolerate each other for so long without any physical or psychological alteration. You are constantly reminding yourself that you SHOULD be happy with them regardless of any disappointment or resentment or grievances they may give you because you are both so stupidly and irreversibly in love with each other.  Well that’s what you tell yourself.

One will always go through great lengths to make it seem that the relationship is still alive. Most of the time it’s a one sided thing, a receiver and the most admirable giver of the situation. They’re the ones that give you little surprises, have photographic memory they use as leverage when giving you nostalgic gifts based on inside jokes and firsts.  They are the ones who would do anything to make you stay.

Then you’re there sitting around wondering why they do this. You feel as if they’re guilt tripping you for the things you forget, for the various things occupying your mind and for just lying there while they look like the hero of the romantic comedy, the saviour of romance.

Then you reach a high point or boiling point in the relationship, where one small insignificant detail can turn into a mess. You’re always irritable and they always seem to nag or look like they never listen to you. You find yourself getting mad more often than usual, even about the smallest of things.

To the point that being mad is the only emotion you can feel around them. The only way to show some sort of affection or passion is by screaming at the top of your lungs or at least make a sarcastic side comment about how YOU do most of the work in the relationship. Though you have to admit they make you smile every once in a while but you end up finding a reason to be mad at them. The worst part is you don’t see this as toxic but as a way to fight for your dying relationship, to prove that it’s still worth it.

You actually miss your Tinder mismatches because at least you can easily cut loose the stupid fools and move on to the next brainless horny bastard.

As you sit there waiting for the next argument, the next sweet surprise and wondering if physical intimacy will be the saving grace of your relationship, your mind wanders to what if situations you actually wish were true. You then realized how unfulfilled your life is, how discontented you are and then realize maybe your relationship isn’t worth it. There’s a growing resentment between the two of you that turned into the elephant in the room that you try so hard to avoid.

If you have to remind yourself that you’re happy and in love, you’re not really happy or in love, would you rather grow together knowing that you harbour strong and hateful feelings towards each other? Or would you rather escape the toxic environment both of you are creating?

Pick the second choice.

damaged goods of sweet nothings

 

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i havent written about love since i was nineteen
since i was nineteen, I was foolish
thinking love could be salvaged through Facebook
thinking love could be found in a few swipes
and as i scroll though sweet status updates
i have a bottle in my other hand
to cleanse my thoughts of love
rid the emotion completely
turn me into bitterness, make me numb

i was nineteen
too young to know how it feels
because love doesn’t knock on the door
or send me a message
so why bother with its existence?
they did say bliss comes from ignorance
until i met you all love was, was just a myth
a nice bed time story to tell children
to scare the monsters away
now i can’t believe
i’m comparing you to stupid love songs

you are that love poem i said I will never write
you are that cheesy love song i promised i’ll stop listening to
because love is an unfathomable emotion
good only for a midnight conversation
fingers interlock like a silent prayer of rejection
we turn to salty saps craving validation and affection
tove seemed to be a drunken thought and an unwilling muse
it’s uninspired and lazy writing
that’s what I thought love was
until I’ve kissed you

i thought to myself
scavenged through my memories
i’ve never been kissed like that before
i’ve never smiled in the middle of a kiss
i’ve never smiled like this
you are the poem I’ve set aside
thinking I’d never write it
inspired and tired, my wrist cramps
because this is all unexpected
scribbles of love filled lines
verses of dedication
you are worth every single amount of my emotion
this is more than mere words
this is my heart, metaphorical, so cliché

This was supposed to be an Americano

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I forgot what I was supposed to order. I know that it’s their job to smile but dammit his smile was charmingly distracting. So I ordered the first thing I saw on the menu, regretting it once it was served.

He called out my name, my heart jumped but sunk when I’ve tasted my mistake. What the fuck was a macchiato? This was supposed to be an Americano.

Well his smile was enough to wake me up; I didn’t need to fill my system with caffeine because I’ll be picturing his smile until I start dreaming. I sound perpetually cheesy and a tad bit creepy (as long as I wasn’t borderline cliché I’m doing fine) but I swear to God I’m not a stalker. But I do wish I knew his name.

Is it weird I’m writing so poetically about a stranger serving coffee? He’s behind the counter while I’m sitting a few feet away scribbling bad poetry.

Would it be too forward to strike a conversation? Maybe I should start with a friendly hello and ask for his name. Because here I am wondering who he is while he’s screaming out coffee order names.

People are now piling in and I’m jealous because he’s sharing his beautiful smile. I wish his smile was reserved for me, dammit this creamy drink was supposed to be an Americano I’d get a better order if it wasn’t for him.

Now I’m stealing glances hoping to catch an accidental smile. But if I did I’d awkwardly look away out of panic because I wouldn’t know my next move. Should I smile back? Or would that be too presumptuous? I could just continue with writing bad poetry on how he must smell like coffee. I cringe at the lines written on my notebook. The deafening murmurs and overplayed Christmas songs are not a great ambiance for writing yet his very presence was worth the inspiration.

How can everyone in this café be so preoccupied with their own business not realizing an angel smiled while handing out their coffee? Did I say angel?

I told myself not to be cliché but I ran out of metaphors and analogies. I blame early Christmas songs on loop in the background and this wrong coffee order for my minute of insanity. Dear Mariah Carey I love you but if I hear “All I Want for Christmas is You” one more time this early on October I will go mad.

And I did, my writing proves it.

I can tell you this though, God must be bragging in the clouds when he created him. Lining up his angels only to praise his creation, high fiving and cussing to show his enthusiasm. Oh for crying out loud I have written something almost blasphemous calling him almost holy.

Ugh, this overpriced drink should’ve been an Americano. Its bitterness matched with my skepticism would reduce this light headed feeling from a stranger’s smile. This is ridiculous.  What is a macchiato anyway? Its sweetness is rubbing off on my paragraphs; these words are meant for a generic pop song that would be this cafe’s everyday soundtrack.

Dear barista with a captivating smile, can I get a refund? This was supposed to be an Americano.

To the Pretty One

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Pretty my heart stops

Pretty my heart hurts

I could stare at you forever

Because I can see a lifetime in your eyes

Your shy smile may say you’re not ready

But I know how to wait

I die a little inside when you look away

With your back turned

I feel the seconds pass

Each minute feeling like an hour

But I can still picture

Every detail of your soft features

Pretty my heart stops

Pretty my heart hurts

Such pure innocence

Rose tinted cheeks

Delicate yet full lips

A masterpiece that cannot be replicated

A museum cannot own you

You are living, breathing art

Pretty see what you’ve done to my heart?

No work of literature

No painting, no flash of a camera

No lyric of a song

Can ever do you justice

Pretty my heart stops

Pretty my heart hurts

Distance doesn’t distort your beauty

Finely shaped blurred edges

Darkness doesn’t cover anything up

The stars shine

Constellations make way

The moon would never hide

Because they need to be with you

Pretty my heart stops

Pretty my heart hurts

You are not a drunken thought

You are not a mirage

You are not an illusion

You are not a two dimensional character

Supporting my need of aesthetic

Pretty my heart stops

Pretty my heart hurts

Pretty? I need a better description

Cynical Hopeful

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It’s easy to mistake the first time as love.
Because no one finds “the one” in the first try,
if so then you are a lucky bitch.
Others have to go through hell and meet
every single asshole in the dating pool
before finally meeting the 1% of people
where there are mutual interests.
Or you can play the waiting game
and see what fate will bring you.
Maybe you said you loved me too soon,
maybe you only think you love me
because I honestly see nothing
you could love about me.
I am broken, jagged pieces
and I’m not a puzzle
you could easily piece together.
How can you love someone damaged?
You have to constantly fix me
or try to at least
and then you’ll get tired.
You will get tired of my mess;
I’m this mess of a person you chose to love.
It’s not even love, I’m sure it’s not.
I’d like to believe it’s not love
because if it was it would be short lived
and depressing.
We have an expiration date trust me,
this won’t last forever.

but I’m an idiotic optimist
believing we’re the exception

Stars, Black Holes, and Vodka

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she was once a star
until she can no longer shine
she was burned out
she is now darkness
empty and trying to find fulfillment
but even light couldn’t pass through
she walks on glitter
hoping she’d sparkle once more
but she’s too broken

while he was wonderful
simply amazing and innocent
he fell in love with this black hole
he kissed her lips
even if she tasted like vodka,
nicotine and bitter regrets
she was the definition of damaged
they told him he could never fix her

she lost her jagged pieces
that once made her whole
she wasn’t a puzzle
he could easily solve
instead he saw her and said
she deserved love
He made her feel
a little less scattered

Pieces of Peace: Lonely Morning Hangovers

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I want to wake up beside you because I want to know how it feels when your body curls next to mine. I want to feel your skin under the covers and our legs intertwined. I want to feel your lips pressed on my forehead as you slowly doze off. Your arms wrapped around me until the morning chimes in. I would patiently wait for the night so I could lay beside you again.

Let’s give a better meaning to “goodnight” and “good morning” whenever we’re close, no pillows between us. All I want is to wake up beside you and rid myself of lonely mornings. Aside from sleeping and waking there are others things we could do. Because there’s nothing better than staying in bed with you.

I want to kiss your lips and trace your skin with my hands. I want to feel my heart racing when you’re in between my legs. I want my screams building up in my throat waiting for the right moment to let it all out. I don’t want to distinguish our breathing or heart beats because I’ll be too busy trying to keep the rhythm of our bodies in sync.

We can lay innocently as well because intimacy isn’t always sex. But it’s still an option we can consider as I lay my head on your chest and you play with my hair.

That is all I want to do, wake up, fall asleep, and lay beside you. Let’s turn our bodies into maps and find the right spots and directions to reach our destination. Let’s drink wine until our conversations are sentimental and philosophical gibberish. Let’s stare at the ceiling watching shadows and imagine constellations.

All of this as we lay next to each other until we wake up and find ourselves interlaced from the night before. All I want is to wake up next to you, that is my only desire as of this moment.

Let me wake up to your eyes, your heartbeat and our bodies intertwined.

Late Night Love

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Tired city lights, lazy neon signs, and street lamps
people looking for bar stools, lonely eyes and a drink
Shmucks looking for love in a lust filled palace
a mix of desperate lovers and horny bastards
doing anything to get into someone’s pants
covering tanlines where wedding rings were supposed to be
There’s the lonely man walking up to the pretty girl,
his charming smile and witty pick-up lines
are compensating for his lousy skills in bed.
(that or any other tiny detail)
Then there’s the already beautiful girl trying so hard
to find her confidence in a man’s arms,
and then her insecurities will come creeping back
as soon as he leaves the next morning.

Love and Shmucks (Fiction)

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He called me hot and grabbed my ass.

I sort of hoped he was gay but then again even a guy wouldn’t fuck him. He could’ve been attractive if he wasn’t slouching or wearing clothes that don’t fit him right or if he decided to shave that day. Don’t get me wrong, some men look good with a little stubble but in his case he looked like some slob who finally woke up and decided to drown himself in cheap cologne rather than take an actual shower. Even the most desperate would not consider going to bed with this man.

I was about to give my snarkiest and cruelest of replies until I saw the bartender give him his mug and I was appalled by what I saw. There was ice.

Here’s one thing you should know about me, I love my alcohol and I treat every single kind of liquor with the respect it deserves. If the first reason why I wouldn’t sleep with this man was because of his appearance my second would be the fact he asked the bartender to put ice in his beer.

I could feel the bartender’s remorse when he had to put ice into a perfectly good beer. So where’s that asshole that said the customer was always right? Because he’s fucking wrong and should see this slob drink his beer, if you can call it that.

I didn’t need to say anything; this sleaze ball didn’t even deserve to hear a snarky comeback coming out of my pretty little mouth.

All I had to do was pick up my jacket and walk away. His insistent calling was muted by the new generation’s sad excuse for synth pop and people screaming through the loud music.

But as I was leaving the club I noticed that tonight’s guests were a mix of desperate lovers and horny bastards doing anything to get into someone’s pants.

There’s the housewife trying to cover up the tan line of her wedding ring that she’s hiding in her purse. There’s the lonely man walking up to a pretty girl, his charming smile and witty pick-up lines are compensating for his lousy bed skills. Then there’s the already beautiful girl trying so hard to find confidence in a man’s arms, and then her insecurities will come creeping back as soon as he leaves the next morning.

I feel sorry for most of these shmucks, looking for love in a lust filled palace that reeks of piss and semen. All I wanted was a proper martini but my night was ruined because of a man who didn’t know how to drink his alcohol.

I wasn’t one of these lost, pathetic souls trying to find imaginary soul mates. I already found mine and no I’m not talking about the vodka in my liquor cabinet. I actually meant a decent human being.

Okay decent is too kind of a word for him, what I meant to say was douchebag. Like most people their way to avoid a sad, empty and lonely life was to settle with the next person who shows enough interest to stay longer than a few months. I settled so here I am enjoying the bliss of a long term relationship.

I won’t say I’m miserable, that would be wrong of me to say but even worse if I said I was happy. I’m not bored or depressed enough to leave yet I see no other reason for me stay as well. Unless you count my fear of turning into a bitter and desperate old woman trying to find 2 minute dates in some club.

Then yes, I should stay.

Tale of Two Loves

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Your love chokes me and I no longer want that
I said you take my breath away
But you are crushing my windpipe
Your love makes me bleed, your love makes me cry
Love hurts but we took the metaphor literally
When I said I wanted a crazy kind of love
Call me insane kind of love
What you gave me is drown in alcohol until I forget the ceiling kind of love
I no longer want to be intoxicated because of your love
I no longer want to be delusional because of your love
I no longer want to be in pain because of your love
I no longer want to torture myself kind of love
They said love is sacrifice, but this is masochism
They said love doesn’t need logic but This is stupidity
It was a lost all of my common sense kind of love
I don’t want your kind of love anymore
I don’t want to look for you anymore
Because your love created a monster
Your love  burned my soul, questioned my innocence
Made me believe that my heart wasn’t worth keeping
My heart was better off breaking
Your love broke me and I have no idea where the pieces are
I’d wake up chained to my bed wondering where you are
Now the shackles are gone
I am free, broke out of your vicious traps
You are no longer the last though as I’m in bed
My pillow is dry because I’ve stopped whispering your name
As I slowly fall asleep, I finally rid my thoughts of you
Because there is someone new in the picture to help me
And I prefer to taste his lips because I want to get rid of your toxic kiss
I prefer to feel his skin against mine,
Feel his caress and ignore the bruises you left
I prefer to feel his hands underneath the sheets
Whenever the sun would creep through the window
Compared to empty beds because you forget to stay
This is something I can actually call love
And it’s better than your definition