Under the façade of sarcasm and insults
Hides an insecure girl who is trying to hide her most recent wounds.
They are fresh, gaping, bleeding.
She hopes nobody would smell the stench of hurt.
She hopes nobody sees through to the bone deep disappointment.
Under the façade of winged eyeliner and smoky eyes
Cowers an ugly girl who hates the curve of her hips and the thick of her thighs.
She hates it so much.
She hopes nobody ever discovers how deep that hate runs.
Her fuck-all attitude is all she has left.
Under the façade of the resting bitch face
Lives a mean cunt who used to burst into laughter at the dumbest of things.
Her laughter was the weirdest sound.
She hopes nobody hears it again.
She doesn’t want to be funnier than the joke anymore.
Under the façade of the rebel
Survives the most difficult shit they ever came across.
Why does she have to make everything so difficult?
Why is she so stubborn?
Why does she never listen?
She hopes nobody discovers she had listened a little too well once upon a time.
She doesn’t want anybody to hear her agreement when it isn’t given, ever again.
She wants to be heard loud and clear when she smacks that asshole with the big no of her rebellion.
She wants to laugh in the face of the rejection of “Boys will be Boys”.
She wants to embrace her curves when they won’t pose a risk of her wanting it.
She wants to accept her dose of pain when she believes her wounds will be scars one day;
When she believes they can heal.
She doesn’t yet.
And if she doesn’t ever, she will be the sarcastic bitch with the fuck-all attitude who can rebel like nobody’s business.
It’s more fun anyway.
I won’t moralise about what I’ve learned but I can tell you this: in my experience, telling the truth can land you in just as much shit—err, crap, as lying. More sometimes. Sure, a lie can trap you; it can crush you immediately or slowly weigh you down until you suffocate. But telling the truth won’t necessarily set you free; it can cost you everything you love the most. And it can force you to face yourself, as painful as that may be.
The untrusted word The broken promise The knife in the back The smile behind the hand The lies and laughter The bitchy disaster The unlikely recovery The fake concern The non-sensical question The anger returns There’s no hurt There’s no sadness It’s all anger now. Vicious anger. Ready to over flow, Like hot lava all over.
P.S. It’s been so long since I wrote something like that. Not that I have improved over the years. Not even a bit. But, well, it is what it is.
You know that moment when you feel like you are standing on the edge of paradise,failing to get in? You are at the ledge, just a short step away from falling into that abyss? The cliff that just might act as the last stop of your pitiful existence if you don’t put the brakes fast enough? Or that precipice that just might be the way your death will be recorded for generations to lament? You know that moment when nothing you do seems to be enough? Everything is deemed lacking? You are deemed lacking? That moment when you assume the world to be a happy place, worthy of dramatically beautiful pieces to be written about it, oblivious to the harsh reality, and_boom_the reality hits you in the face? Or that moment when you suddenly realise that there was a different way to go about a problem, or a situation, one which would have actually proved to be the solution? You know these moments? These really soul-wrenching situations you find yourself in? The times when nothing seems to be in your favor? When you are on the verge of losing all hope, but holding onto that last thread? THAT HOLDING ONTO THAT LAST THREAD IS WHAT MATTERS,YOU KNOW. When nothing seems to be as it should have been, when nothing seems to go your way, when nothing seems to be okay, when everything appears to be messed up, when everybody seems screwed up, when nobody looks like they won’t shit on your faith, but you still hold on, even hold onto that last thread? That’s what I am talking about. That’s what life is all about. Holding onto that delicate thread. And holding on tight. Because the moment you master the art that is holding on no matter what, you let go of all the worries and you become…happy. Because you have faith. Because you have hope. Because you have you. Every moment you lose faith,you lose some bit of yourself. But if you hold on, even a little bit, you know you have yourself, if no one else. And that’s what the game’s all about: Having you. Having you in the long run. Having your back. Having yourself. You. Just…you.
Lying under the blanket of stars, I see so much more. I see myself riding the horse past the full moon On a clear starlit night. I see the possibilities of tomorrow, Shining bright. I see myself running alive amongst those yellow daffodils, With the joy bursting forth.
Listening to the waterfall, Gushing right outside my window I hear so much more. I hear the sounds of happiness, A melody that’s rare. I hear the song of the wind, Distinctive in my ears. I hear tomorrow calling for me to Take a step. One step.
Feeling the sense of completeness overtake me, I feel so much more. I feel the need to smile without a reason. I feel the need to let go of all the digressions. I feel the need write. I feel the need to write, with the essence of my soul as the ink, And my life as the paper. I feel the need to bleed with my words All over the blank canvas of time.
You have always been my anchor; someone, something that kept me still; grounded. You have always been the self-appointed mental bouncer who kept me sane and away from all the crap. You have always been that sweet smell wafting up my nostrils that alone had the power to calm my wildly-beating heart. You have always been like that ice-cube on an annoyingly hot day that cooled me down as it slipped down the back of my shirt. You have always been like that soothing song that played on repeat on my mp3 player when I wanted to do nothing but burrow under my comforter in my comfiest pajamas and let the world fade away. You have always been like those deep-set dimples at the small of my back that I always wanted but never could work hard enough towards achieving, because it was something else. You have always been special. You have always been you.
Now? You are the melting snowflake that can make my heart flood.