Goodbye Alice (Sad Truth of Us)

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Photo by Tiko Giorgadze on Unsplash

we have an inevitable expiration date
at some point in our lives
we would part, the cause still unknown
there will come a day
where one of us has a piece of the other
sadly, one bigger than the other
it hurts knowing this fate
that we would only be memories
tucked into our subconscious
We will only be an anecdote
Part of small talk, chit-chat
and mentioned in conversations
The next few days, months
(hopefully years)
Would become recollections
We would be reminiscences of our youth
It pains me knowing that
we may never grow old together
we may never have our wedding dance
Or come home to our marital bed
They would turn into fantasies
Hypothetical situations, unimaginable scenarios
An imaginary world we built for ourselves
Hanging in disbelief of this uncertain expectation
Of this closing chapter
And that is the sad truth of us

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.

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

Loveless Definition

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You told me she loved you
You reassured me that she loved you
But I can see the bruises on your skin
And don’t you dare say you like it rough
There’s a difference between love and violence
I know that you were screaming the night before
Then by morning all you give is silence
Darling that is not love
Love is a painful metaphor not to be taken literally

Love isn’t words that crack your spine
Love isn’t black and blue
Love wouldn’t twist your shoulder
Love wouldn’t threaten you with a knife
At three in the morning
Love will never create bullshit excuses
To justify the marks they left on your arms
Love will never give you unfair consequences
Love will never hurt you the way she does

You’re confusing an embrace with her grip
She’s choking you and I don’t want to lose you
I don’t want the air to suddenly fade
from your lungs, and your last breath is her name
please find the strength to walk away
sneak out in the middle of the night
be anywhere else as long as it is not by her side

leave before you can’t even stand
leave before she chains you through twisted words
her eyes lackluster as she apologizes
her promises were meant to be broken
she said she’d love you until days end
but does it have to be yours?

Pieces of Peace: “New Love, past pieces”

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Now explain to me this: how can you possibly love me?

How you can love someone so damaged baffles me because I can’t see what you see. But I would like to welcome you here, where every single one of my relationships came to die.

Oh they’re all still alive; they just decided they were better off living without me though there were moments where I was the one who cut the ties and declined the pending relationship status. However I rather not explain moments or misinterpreted words and going into full detail about what led to our demise.

Instead let me introduce to you the pieces I mention in most of my work, actual pieces, things they gave before deciding to call it quits. Before one of us grew tired of the other and before one of us chose someone else.

Fair warning, my past loves are not exactly picturesque.

Here’s the first piece a worn out shirt, it’s still in my closet buried beneath most of my other clothes. Its red, his favourite colour and it was mine too for a brief time. Because I was fourteen and forcing myself to believe we were soul mates. So stupid to fall for the first boy to give me the attention I thought I deserved. I watched too many romantic comedies if you asked me, because when a boy smiled and said the kindest of words I was hooked.

Three days later he called me crazy and we broke up after fighting about something so insignificant only two teenagers would find it as a reason to break up.

And now the next piece is a cliché, the usual gift for your first month together. It’s a teddy bear; I cuddled it as much as we did. It’s still on my desk because it fits the aesthetics. When I’m drunk and thinking of him I stare at the bear wondering every single what if. He was “the one that got away” in other words I was a clueless bitch who didn’t understand how a relationship worked. I loved his company yet I didn’t show it.

He gave me flowers, I scoffed at the bouquet and said hated roses then he gave me chocolates I ate them of course. He never asked for anything so I never gave.

I wonder if he thought of me as often as I thought of him. Looking back at how we left things, I was apologizing and I forgot what for. But I do remember him leaving me in the cafe because he didn’t want to fight anymore.

The third one is on my bookshelf, it’s been sitting there for a while collecting dust. It’s a book, a pretty good one too. I didn’t know him well but I did wish he came with a premise so I knew what to expect. Instead I was impressed with his words and blindsided by his plot twist, a week before Christmas he decided I was only worth two weeks.

I never actually finished the book but I always tell people it’s my favourite. When in fact it’s not, I think the only lines I’ve re-read over and over were the ones he wrote on the front page hoping that I’d love his gift.

I did for a moment because I was so in love with him that I associated my feelings with the book and the only reason why it’s still on my shelf is because even if he didn’t stay doesn’t mean the book has to pay the price for his stupid mistake.

I can stop if you want; because I already mentioned three out of five and yes I’ve shortened the list for your benefit. You do not need to know the others because most of them are in the trash. You might want to walk away now before I get to the last two. Honestly I wouldn’t even blame you.

So here’s our fourth piece, like it? It’s another cliché it’s his jacket. It’s too big for me; I don’t know why I still have it. I even washed it because I didn’t like the smell of beer and cigarettes

I thank God it doesn’t smell like him anymore because I see that jacket and I remember that night.  He said he was drunk, but even if you drown enough bottles and had enough shots you would know what your girlfriend looked like in a hazy state. It’s easy to be unfaithful in a relationship that bored you, though it still hurt when I saw him tonguing with another bitch.  He was a firm believer in “actions speak louder than words” so instead of saying he no longer wanted to be with me, he showed it.

I forgot to give his stupid jacket back because if I saw his face I might end up punching him again. But we’re all good; he said I could keep it now it’s just for display.  A daily reminder that anyone can screw you over.

And here it is the fifth and final piece, a broken CD. It’s from this boy and I’m pretty sure you’ve heard about him. There isn’t anyone who doesn’t know about the feelings I had for him, my manic pixie dream boy.

They said that he and I were soul mates, meant to be and fate finally brought us to meet and I broke the mix CD he gave me hoping it would shatter that image of us.

It took around… three years until I decided we were better of co-existing because I was tired of being a hopeless romantic thinking he would finally feel the same way. I placed him on a pedestal and after three years I finally kicked him off it.

Rather than trying to stitch moments to be something we could’ve been. We are now dancing the waltz of constant avoidance and forced distance.

Do you still love me? Because I don’t want you to be part of this museum of faults, I do not want you to be with this person carrying this much baggage. I’m willing to give you an exit strategy, there’s a map in my pocket that will lead you to the nearest exit.

 

Pieces of Peace: i am not your manic pixie dream girl

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I could just be some hipster wanna be but instead you called me a manic pixie dream girl” some two dimensional literary trope.

It was sweet at first how you liked me the moment you saw me though that should’ve been a red flag. You said the moment you saw me and not the moment you met me. Instead of asking me out for coffee, you decided to stare at me from afar. You said you were shy around attractive girls, thanks for the flattery but a “hello” would be more appreciated.

Congratulations you finally asked me out but I could tell that you were disappointed. You were a writer, a poet you specifically said, and you hoped I would fill the lines of your leather bounded journals. You mistook my energy as bubbly, my smile as charismatic and my reserved answers as mysterious.

My appearance might’ve deceived you and I am not even sporting bangs! Yes I like vintage and dress like I’m walking out of a 2006 pop punk music video but I am not a two dimensional trope.

Sure I said I have a place in my heart for quirky films and indie flicks. Yes I said that I prefer indie pop over mainstream pop. My favourite band has some obscure name and my favourite movie was directed by Wes Anderson. But like I said, maybe I’m an annoying hipster chick and not someone who is setting up your romantic storyline.

I am not a storyline.  I am not going to be with you for 500 torturous days where you’ll only love me for a split second until you see my flaws. Until you realize that I am as mundane as you are. I did not like everything you did, i did not brush off every mistake you’ve made with “I understand” and I broke your image when I was talking like a normal person. I forgot to speak in metaphors and confusing pop culture analogies. You hated that I was real.

When you realized not everything was an adventure, not everything that came out of my mouth was a snarky comment and I was boring to say the least. You got tired of me when I preferred to stay in, when I didn’t want to resolve our fight with sex, when I recalled my day at work or at school and you definitely hated me the moment you realized I am not as perfect as you wrote me out to be.

Please fall in love with a person, it’s such a treacherous thing to fall for a character you created.

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