Blocked On Facebook

Photo by rawpixel.com on Unsplash

You wrote and I quote:
“Rape is just like sex
There is no difference
between the two
So if I were you
I would take down the fort
Protecting those
Who clearly asked for it.”
And I should be thankful
If a man wants to have sex with me
As if it was an honor bestowed
But your vocabulary lacks consent
But you continue with this
Spinless argument

I have a couple of words
But they are a little too crude
Especially when you are exceptionally rude
If only it was possible
To have you evicted from this conversation
Oh, wait it is!
With a click of a button
You are my ex-Facebook friend
I find myself blind
Not to peg you as a troll
Living underneath the comment section
Picking off scraps and starting fights
With thoughtless statements
Virtually approving empty minds

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Wandering Bar Lovers

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Photo by Jan Phoenix on Unsplash

 

I don’t know where you’re going
and I have no idea where I’m heading
might as well try to find a path together
While I spill the last drop of whiskey
I’m half way drunk but still sober enough
These rocky starts and winding roads
are hard for someone who can’t walk straight
my vision is kinda hazy for me to see the way
My words are slurred but my thoughts are coherent
With my common sense still on the tracks
even without a bottle I don’t trust my instincts
you’re probably lost and asking for directions
While I’m trapped in empty glasses and conversations
Waiting for morning to shake me
You’re patient and attached
And I cling unto you
Hoping you won’t walk into a fantasy

Pieces of Peace: Midnight ramblings for a soulmate

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Photo by Alex Robert via Unsplash

 

Is there such a thing as soulmates in the romantic sense of the term? I once thought a past love of mine was my soulmate. Though my evidence was shallow and my reasons could be pure coincidences and not handed out by fate. Now, 12:20 a.m on the clock I stay up wondering if you are my soulmate. Could you be the one I would spend the rest of my life with? Or are you another person to fill the time until the universe hands me my actual soulmate?

But there is no doubt in my mind that I love you. I love you so much, in fact, I feel guilty for harmless fantasies. I sound a little crazy, it could be the alcohol talking or my drowsiness catching up with my train of thought.  But I do love you that even in my imagination I could not want to hurt you.

Falling Apart and Burning

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I am sitting in a burning room and all I can say is that I am fine. By the next few minutes, I would be buried with the ruins of my sanity. I am watching flames dance until everything becomes ashes along with my desire to live. Turned off my phone, my Wifi, and social life.  I do not need a public confession of what is spinning in my head. Even loneliness left me by midnight.

Pieces of Peace: My Anxiety is not Romantic

 

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My anxiety is not romantic. My anxiety is not a fetish you can bring into the bedroom.  Someone told you that someone with anxiety is a great lover.  You believe because of my constant need of validation that everything will be okay; I will pour my energy into our relationship.  You are sadly mistaken because I have no energy left to give.

It is not cute when I wake up in the morning. My alarm goes off and I hit snooze. What I do is this; I lay there on the bed feeling this heavy weight on my body.  I try to find the reason why until I’ve come up with a dozen conclusions on why I should get up. But instead, I lay there for an extra ten minutes because I am exhausted.

There are days I jolt up and my heart is racing. I have been thinking about the same problem from the night before and I hate myself that I haven’t found a solution. And even if I did, I probably woke up thinking my solution would just add to the problem. There are days I wake up crying because I have no idea what to do.

There are days I’d wake up three in the morning thinking about the context of a day old conversation.  Or worry about how I may not have enough money in my account until my head conjures up worse case scenarios. Until I’d start to sweat, my stomach churning, and my heart trying to beat out of my chest. There are nights I feel like the Tell Tale Heart because I hear a heartbeat in the room deafening me.

Though I should’ve just went back to sleep rather than keep myself up all night.  If I try to fall asleep all I do is fidget, toss, and turn. I’d think about every problem in my life, from point A to point Z. Only to find it coming back to me.  If it wasn’t for me I wouldn’t have anxiety. Yes, I know it does not make any sense.

Will you still find my anxiety cute when I get an anxiety attack? It feels like I’m choking on air, my heart is trying to beat out of my chest, and everything is hazy. Would you still find it cute when I walk through a crowd trying to steady my breathing? Or would you feel like you are saving me? It would be nice to have a shoulder to lean on. Someone to talk to about my frequent bursts of irrationality rather than hide it and pretend I am okay.

Darling, I need a friend, not a knight or a soldier. Better yet tell me that I should seek help. I do not want you to say that you want to fix me because I am not broken. I am sick, not a jigsaw puzzle.

So please, my anxiety is not a character trait. It is an illness. I need a doctor, not a lover. I am not broken.

ironic inspiration

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Thank you for the love
Unconditional
I am blessed
But you have damned my poetry
With every touch
I hear angels
With every written line
The devil would detest
Hell bent on ruins
Of my pathetic verses
Interrupting my flow
It’s love, for all they know
Passion and angst
Replaced with a metaphor
Stripping my enthusiasm
In between the sheets
My voice lost in a room
Papers scattered on the floor
You turned my writing
Into a garden
My words as seeds
My lyrics do not nurture
But with you
Here’s a flower

God Forbid, I am Bi

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She laughed, it wasn’t sweet
Nor was she being funny
her next words stung
“You’re only confused”
“You’re a lesbian, trust me”
She said I should trust her instinct
But who is she
To define my sexuality?
God forbid I like
Both men and women
I cannot choose which I prefer
And no, there’s no schedule
No interchanging dates
pertaining to which gender I’d love
During a certain day, week or month
God forbid I can love both
Some people ask me just choose
They say my sexuality is confusing
Am I straight or am I gay?
Apparently, I can only choose one way
Even those who fought for love
disregard my sexuality
God forbid the love I’ve chosen
Why are they so perplexed
by my sexuality?
It’s not that hard to comprehend
It’s plain simple
I am speaking English
But still they can’t wrap
the idea around their heads
That I like both men and women
Instead of letting me be
they pin their confusion onto me
God forbid I like a man
they accuse me of walking back into the closet
God forbid I like a woman
then they say I am only experimenting
treating my sexuality as a guinea pig
Whom I love is an entry
for the science fair
Whom I love is to be dissected
My sexuality is a hypothesis
God forbid love wins
Because they ask me to compare
They ask me which I prefer
But in fact all they are asking
Whose skills in bed are better
As if I keep a scoresheet
Listing the names of every man
and woman I have ever been with
God forbid I am not straight
God forbid I am neither gay
Trying so hard to convince
Or push me out of a metaphorical closet
Telling me to come out
My sexuality is not an announcement
I do not need to explain my attraction
Because God forbid I like both right?