ever since school`s been out i`ve neglected my poetry. I never find the time or the inspiration to write. I feel like I`m saving myself for the perfect theme, but in doing so i just get fucked by the elusiveness of said subject. I need to write about the mundane. about the everyday, keeping my motors running so that when that certain perfect idea comes along my gears will run smoothly and not be clogged by the rust of disuse.
Easier said than done.
But lets give it a whirl.
My head is fuzzy from wine, and my heart tumultuous with emotion after a phone call with my love. I had left the party early because as always, when I drink I am drawn to him, and yearned to talk to him. I called him right as I left, hoping to squeeze in as many precious minutes before sleep ensnared him. In total I was granted 11 minutes and 31 seconds, talking about normal these and that's before he was engulfed in drowsiness and had to hang up. I don't fully understand how my mind works, and I really wish I did. Then maybe I could explain why I teared up as he was telling me he was tired and the conversation was about to terminate. the tears rolled down my cheeks as we said our I love yous and our good-nights, and I managed to feign normalcy until I hung up. Its times like these when I would love to be tough skinned, less sensitive, then I wouldn't break down at the slightest emotional upheaval. It's nothing new to me. I'll find myself unstable even talking with my poetry teacher, or anyone who seems to show genuine support and kindness. I am fraught with complexity. Maybe it's because I was under exposed to any emotional hardship when I was younger; no fights or drama to toughen my skin and teach my feelings how to behave. But it's more than that. I feel so emotionally attached to my lover that when our time is cut shorter than I wanted, or when plans change and I can't see him, it drives a stake through my heart. It's one of the things that can affect me so deeply. And I haven't yet decided if it's good or bad. I've sorta just accepted it as it is.
I'm unsure of if I want to change. It would be nice to have rhino skin, but then I would miss the soft touches that life offers me. the brush of lips against skin, the tug of a breeze through my hair, the slow heat of the sun overhead.
Easier said than done.
But lets give it a whirl.
My head is fuzzy from wine, and my heart tumultuous with emotion after a phone call with my love. I had left the party early because as always, when I drink I am drawn to him, and yearned to talk to him. I called him right as I left, hoping to squeeze in as many precious minutes before sleep ensnared him. In total I was granted 11 minutes and 31 seconds, talking about normal these and that's before he was engulfed in drowsiness and had to hang up. I don't fully understand how my mind works, and I really wish I did. Then maybe I could explain why I teared up as he was telling me he was tired and the conversation was about to terminate. the tears rolled down my cheeks as we said our I love yous and our good-nights, and I managed to feign normalcy until I hung up. Its times like these when I would love to be tough skinned, less sensitive, then I wouldn't break down at the slightest emotional upheaval. It's nothing new to me. I'll find myself unstable even talking with my poetry teacher, or anyone who seems to show genuine support and kindness. I am fraught with complexity. Maybe it's because I was under exposed to any emotional hardship when I was younger; no fights or drama to toughen my skin and teach my feelings how to behave. But it's more than that. I feel so emotionally attached to my lover that when our time is cut shorter than I wanted, or when plans change and I can't see him, it drives a stake through my heart. It's one of the things that can affect me so deeply. And I haven't yet decided if it's good or bad. I've sorta just accepted it as it is.
I'm unsure of if I want to change. It would be nice to have rhino skin, but then I would miss the soft touches that life offers me. the brush of lips against skin, the tug of a breeze through my hair, the slow heat of the sun overhead.
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