We didn't talk much. Just a few times. Not even talked about personal things. I think we just exchanged smiles. It felt weird enough being attached to a man I barely knew. But there was something about him that gave me closure. A peek of safety. Made me feel like he was the father I longing to have.
Is this normal? Nothing i say or do ever is. I felt a sense of peace Whenever he would smile with me whenever he saw me pass by. I don't know what about him made it feel like he was my father. We don't look a like and he sure wouldn't see me like a daughter. But forget the logistics let's think feelings. If only choosing your love was like that huh? Forget about the odds and the facts. Kind of how you want to forget and pretend he didn't cheat on you again. But I'm going off topic, let me start again. Or better yet let me summarize this so you can understand. I am not normal. I feel attached to strangers I don't even know. But it's that kind of closure I get with them that I guess makes me whole.
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Is it normal for a person of my age to be sitting here on a Friday night, venting and writing my thoughts on pieces of paper. And after I've let out all of my anger and frustration that I've carried with me through the week, I set the pieces of paper on fire and sit in a corner asking myself why I don’t have a date on a Friday night or what are the requirements that a man has or looks for in a woman.
Compliments can be easily taken by someone who has a stable self esteem. Someone who’s heart wasn't broken two or three times, and seeks safety in people that quickly turns them away. But you wouldn't know about that. You don’t know who I am. Nobody does. I always get asked why I don’t believe it when people tell me how beautiful I am, or how talented and funny I am. Let me ask you this, if I was as beautiful as people claim to say. Why do I have such a big fear in my eyes and my heart drops every time I open my mail, hoping that a friend would somehow ask about my whereabouts or someone can just ask me to go out for dinner instead of the usual fuckin’ every night for pleasure not money. You see pretty girls don’t spend their weekends watching movies on TV that they're seen 10 times, and write until their hands fall off. They don’t question every word that comes out of their mouth and wonder why a reply wasn't received. “Did I say something wrong again? Didn't I say what you want to hear? I’m sorry let me make up for it.” I’m sure you know about that. Just ignoring her and go on to the next girl who is willing to do anything you like to make you smile despite she’s drowning in a deep loneliness. I never did any drugs, unlike the party girls who get high every weekend and end up in the beds of men who don’t even know their name. But I’ve felt the effect of drugs. You see loneliness is one hell of a drug that kills you slowly if you don’t have a stable support system. Get a grip of your actions and try to take deep breaths. I’m not coming to any conclusions. I don’t assume every pretty girl is depressed and begging for help. To ease empty spots they sometimes don’t even know is there. But what’s worth being beautiful if I constantly have to watch my mascara run all over my face and going to bed with a face with smothered lipstick marks. These expensive make up materials helps cover every flaw on your face and make you look as happy as you want to be, but it can never cover up that empty space you’re so longing to fill. Around this time last year I was an optimistic
I didn't write every feeling that I felt or had urges to put words on paper because; as you know paper has more patience than people. I lose my patience and temper very fast, and I can’t help it. I made a living out of making excuses for people and myself. It’s like every sentence that I said or wanted to say followed an “I’m sorry”, “It’s not your fault”, or a “maybe it wasn't intentional”. But I am not that person anymore. Making excuses that turned into anger and frustration all because my heart and my head didn't agree on a lot of choices that I made, my needs and wants. I used to question why I had a life full of obstacles, friends leaving and hearts mending and breaking every December. I complained about every situation that stared me in the face. But now it doesn't bother me, because every disappointing moment that makes my heart break into pieces turns into pieces of art. Writing poetry seemed to be my place of peace. I have a lot of dreams and ambitions. Having the constant want to fast-forward my life because the things I want at the moment are just “too much” for a girl my age. Being 18 and wanting to get married have a lot of children and having a great career. Wanting to travel abroad or just spend 3 days in a room with wide and tall shelves full of books and an old radio playing Bon Jovi songs or some Santana. I can’t hide who I am anymore or pretend to be that girl that I was a year ago, trying to make excuses for everyone and having to mend my own heart just so that I can get up the next morning, put a brave face and wish everyone good morning. While I know that not even 5 hours ago I was hoping that I wouldn't wake to see the sunlight and just stay in a dream for the rest of eternity. My mother didn't understand my faze changes, and constant mood swings all because I had too much to say or I was too emotional and I couldn't contain myself at times. This is the person that I always was; I didn't change or put on a mask. I just took a while to realize that my dreams may be too big and I just had the soul of a 30 year old. And as impossible as it may be, or as difficult that I am to understand, today I enjoy life with more pleasure than any teenager sitting at home, getting high on the weekends and getting hang over’s. |
AuthorA collection of a few published poems and spoken words by Keyla. Feel free to go through any of them, feed back is always welcome. Archives
April 2018
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