Tag Archives: dark thoughts

Fraud

…that’s how I feel when someone gives me compliments and praises my abilities and achievements. I feel like a fraud, a pseudo, I don’t have so much belief in myself. I find that my capabilities are nothing to praise about. They are ordinary, common, anyone would be able to do them if they really want. I am not special, I am not unique. Most of the time I feel like a fake. What do you know, I can rhyme!  Even that is not noteworthy. Even children can do that. The easiest form of poetry I find. And haiku, they are easy to fabricate also. I’m sure you know the drill. What I’m talking about anyway. My life is the opposite of who and what I am. I’m masquerading through the days convincing myself that this is what I want even though my brain is shouting: “No, it’s not!” It’s for the best then I reason and on paper, and at first glance, it really is only it doesn’t feel that way and I find myself sinking deeper and deeper each day. Fading, till I am barely recognizable even to myself. Am I unhappy? What is that? First I have to know what happiness is before I can separate the two from each other. All I know is something doesn’t feel right. Like an itch that you cannot locate but it is definitely there somewhere and it’s driving you crazy. And there is this emptiness, a void that keeps getting bigger and bigger as the days, weeks, years pass by. My whole life is a fraud, not real, a fake, a pseudo of what I imagine or would like it to be. And I don’t know what to do to change that.

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Enamored

… with the works of H. P. Lovecraft, Edgar Allan Poe, and Stephen King. I can sympathize with and relate to them personally. I might not write in the same genre but in the dark corridors of my head dwell the same horrors, the same twisted thoughts that are more real than reality itself. I adore this trio. I love how their minds work. They are the pyramid of my belief in written words, in the power of writing, in the beauty of story telling. They are the corner stones of my passion for creating tales, my source of inspiration. I will be forever in awe of their talents.

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Solitary

…should I join the humanity again which I willingly left a long time ago after I danced to their music and sang to their tune and found out that being ‘a copy’ of the majority is a TOO HIGH price to pay in order to belong?

Simon and Garfunkel say:

“I have my books

And my poetry to protect me

I am shielded in my armour

Hiding in my room, safe within my womb,

I touch no one and no one touches me.

I am a rock, I am an island

And a rock feels no pain,

And an island never cries.”

…I chose to be a recluse, a hermit; me and my four walls. I always follow my feelings. I do not think. I worry a lot but never think. Feelings guide me and they never disappoint. I always know what to do.

Lately, I’m afraid I am losing touch. I am becoming blind and confused. I CANNOT feel my way anymore. I’m just stumbling through the days; not really knowing what to do. I ‘m afraid I am losing my true north.

My SOLITARY WORLD had been full of vivid colours, powerful scents, complex feelings, dramatic sounds and it was amazingly three dimensional down to the tiniest of details!

NOT ANYMORE! Lately, it is grey, one dimensional and very flat and far away. As if I am not a part of it. Like watching a film; you are there but not part of what is happening. Like looking through an aquarium. A silent spectator. Hopeless and powerless.

Do I NEED somebody after all? Do I have to be part of the world I despise so much? Am I not the person I thought I am? Is personal freedom not really important as much as I thought it is?

Or I’m getting old and starting to get MELLOW? Realizing for the first time that my own mortality, the things I once valued are not really that important?

Should I creep slowly out of my cave and end my HIBERNATION? See the world again, but this time not alone?

SHOULD I let somebody into my secrets and into my LIFE? SHOULD I?

GOD! It’s scary!

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Random Thoughts

Getting to that point again where it doesn’t feel like the tiles on the floor are cold anymore and the boiling water is missing its bubbles and the boy looks right through you and doesn’t see your eyes. The silent screaming of a girl so unaware of the fact she will rise again and will not be left behind. The notations of quotations that cannot drown but try to swim to middle earth anyways.

Walking home alone is not as bad as being with none around you with no one surrounding you and when you go to say hello they fly back and warn you that they are dangerously in love with you and it’s better to stay right there.

Your career is chosen along with your haircut and the voice in the back of your head is saying something along the lines of today will be cloudy with a chance of depression. The sunny, sunny moon is up and he is so cold, he cannot talk, and when you whisper I miss you all he hears is his own voice the only thing that matters.

9:30 is going time and I don’t see it happening and the dress is waiting and so is my heart for the three words to see if they will ever return. Today be the last day for me to consume and seven will be empty but the results will tell a better story than the change rooms did.

The man with the name that does not please me will try to tease me but realizes I own this game and the time is stopping and my mineral water bottle is empty again. The food shall last a whole weeks’ time or I might have to run away for good and not look back at all that has failed me and not focus on the fact I am exactly what I hate and try to erase the past that prevails me and run, run, run!

(found among old documents)

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Unspoken Thoughts

I’m afraid that one day, you’ll get bored of me. That I won’t be as attractive to you, my personality won’t be as interesting, flirting with me won’t be as fun, spending time with me won’t be as special, you’ll have less to say when we talk, you won’t touch me like you want me. There won’t be anything new about me that will surprise you, and then you’ll start to look for someone to replace me.

If that happened…

Just please don’t lie to me. Tell me the truth, even if it’ll hurt me. I’d rather hear it from you than other people, cause finding things out that way is the worst way. Be honest with me, even if it’ll make me upset, even if it’ll lead to us being separated. It’s better than you lying to my face, keeping secrets from me, making me believe you’re being real with me. Lies have a way of revealing themselves in the long run, so why lie in the first place? I don’t ask for much, but the one thing I ask is not to lie to me, cause once I find out, I don’t know if I can ever trust anyone the same way again…

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Daily Prompt 

The Year I Fell

I haven’t written anything for public reading in over a year.

I would be lying if I suggested that this jolting silence was for a good reason. It wasn’t.

The truth is that it’s been a hard year.

I’ve been everywhere within but nowhere without; I’ve changed my mind about things—big things—to the point of misunderstanding myself and my intentions; I’ve doubted everything I’ve ever known, and then what I thought I would learn instead, leaving myself doubled over with questions that I hoped would wring out the dark in me.

They didn’t. And believe me, they tried.

I often found myself wondering if I was a mistake—if my existence was entirely faulted from the start, designed for destruction and disappointment.

I wrote poems to myself drenched in blood red f*ck you’s and I wondered what I ever did to deserve such a cold sentiment.

Maybe it had something to do with the way I couldn’t find my purpose in this world or the way I lacked any sense of direction; maybe it was the embarrassment of failing over and over again, since it didn’t even feel like I tried; maybe I deserved the hatred I stitched into my flesh simply because I felt I had nothing to offer, nothing to give and nothing to show.

Maybe it was a little bit of everything that got the best of me. And maybe it all comes down to the fact that I am (and always have been) uncomfortably huge—in passion, in curiosity, in expression and in heart—and so I feared what I could become regardless of what I did or didn’t do.

Maybe that fear told me to run away, encouraging the vicious habit of becoming small enough to disappear.

But just when I thought I was doing a good job (of becoming nothing, that is), I found my edge and jumped. Every time, without fail, I jumped into the darkness before me, hit the jagged bottom of my own hell and exploded into a mess of everything I had ever wanted to be.

As it turns out, taking that same violent fall enough times taught me a thing or two.

Maybe I haven’t found exactly what makes me happy, but I’ve learned what happens when I try to pursue that which I wish made me happy, but doesn’t. And maybe I haven’t figured out exactly who I am, but I’ve learned exactly who I’m not—and who I should stop trying to be.

 I’ve also learned—rather, remembered—that I am not the only person who feels this way. I am not the only person who struggles along a path that doesn’t seem to exist most of the time. I am not the only person who’s ever hated herself for being so blatantly lost and sad.

And that’s precisely why this year(ish) of silence is coming to a close. It served its purpose and in a twisted and painful way, it did what it needed to do. But maybe asking it to stay any longer would undo the strides (okay, ridiculously tiny steps) I’ve made upon hitting that coldly dark bottom.

So here I am. It’s been a hard year.

But once again, I lived. And now, as I find myself begging for (and fortunately finding) gentle hands to guide me in emerging from this thing, I can’t help but think that there must be others out there who know that longing all too well—that desperate plea for someone to reach for them, to see them.

And maybe this will be their sign. Maybe this will be the first hand they grasp. Maybe this will let them know that they are seen, and that the climb is a tough one, but that they are ready to take it—one ridiculously tiny step at a time.

-Relephant: via Sara Rodriguez

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Doubt

One day I woke up and realized that one more thing and I would crack:

Fifty years of climbing proverbial mountains and I was too tired to make any sense. No matter how I turned things over in my head, the future seemed bleak. I wondered if I would ever feel whole again. To the outside world, I was doing okay. I’m always in forward movement mode. But my inner landscape screamed for the storm to end.

(not sure where it came from)

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Daily Prompt

Come Up To The Attic

Come up to the attic, come one and come all.

Climb the steep ladder, its right down the hall.

I promise, I’ll hold your hand, and you won’t fall.

Come up and play with the rest of the dolls.

 

Come sweet little “precious”, your new journey’s begun.

But, darling, don’t cry, the mascara will run.

Come up to the attic, we’ll play dress up sweet angels.

Don the brightest of pearls ‘round little necks that’ll strangle.

 

Wrap ‘round slender waists flowing sashes that’ll mangle.

Fluffy boas ‘round bodies that’ll clutch if not handled

Prance streets with bright costumes, dirty school girls to nuns.

Please, darling, don’t cry, the mascara will run.

 

Come up to the attic, don the make-up of time.

Cover up with blue shadow those heavy eye lines

Replace blotches with blushes, bruises hidden, skin fine.

Bruised lips ‘placed with red ‘stick, stash borrowed from mine.

 

New look beheld by dank alleys hidden from sun.

Oh, darling, don’t cry, the mascara will run.

Come up to the attic, and play romance games, honey

With grown men that give gifts of sedative candy

 

Bring you to rose-petal rooms with lights that are dimming

And lay you on holy mattresses that are ever so comfy

Now, just lie there pumpkin, let the men have their fun

No, darling, don’t cry, the mascara will run.

 

Come up to the attic, and play with sharp things.

Poke ourselves with needles, for a moment they’ll sting.

Make you shake, make you tremble, make your ears ring.

Shoots down your spine, make your bones rattle and sing

 

Then dance for more in the streets from Monday to Sun.

Hell, darling don’t cry, the mascara will run.

Now come down to my basement, and see what’s in store.

See angels fall from flight, to scratch the blisters that sore.

 

See the doves turn to crows, into scavenging whores

See pumpkins turn ill and rotten, fall dead on the floor.

See the dolls wander aimless for futures so bleak.

And I turn away while mascara runs down on porcelain cheeks…

 

~ found poetry

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Daily Prompt: Eerie

Ghost

Ghosts of the past…

I have a lot of those.

Never go away…

Taken up permanent residence. 

Perhaps I invited them unknowingly 

Living there most of the time myself

Maybe they are all in my head

Where all the stories usually played

They chase my fears around but

Keeping them alive and strong

I let them, sustain them entertain them

Better than being alone or

Facing the reality that 

This life is nothing but empty.

Empty.

 

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Obsessed

I’m obsessed with safety. Here is one hilarious example of how bad my obsession is. My thoughts are full of impending disasters and doomed scenarios. A fantasy can easily escalate into a full blown nightmare because I always ask myself what if this and that will happen. Even in my dream I can somehow shift scenes and situations to suit my desire for safety. I’m sure my irrational fears   have something to with it. They are the reasons why I installed five points locks on every door and have three sets of gates but still… some days I can’t be in the garden without thinking what if… 

At least, since we came home from Menorca, I don’t barricade myself anymore with pillows. The big knife I always sleep with under my pillow is now on the floor next to the bed. I call it an improvement. But I still lock inside doors. Don’t want to leave anything to chances. You never know… It used to be this bad. Especially during winter months when the days are dark cold and dreary. I guess we have to wait till it is that far again to know if I am really progressing.

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