unfollowed.
You are waiting for a message that will not deliver, a call that will be unanswered, a glance that will have no potential. I wanted to learn you inside out, draw on your heart and extinguish your past. You have been so blinded by your previous you forgot about your present.
I'll do it alone. Without your unpredictable existence in my love life. I will focus on my matter, my existence. Rather than prioritising your needs above mine. Whether to be forgotten or not, whether I will wake up from this beautiful mess, I will grow. The debates and battles of me and my heart are no longer. We finally agree, no more pain. I'm numbed by your world, by people who have left so sudden, so unexpected. Cruel thing is, I was tricked. You were not expected, but the biggest thing the world could take from me at this very moment.
If you expect me to believe your effort to fight for us was that one night, you were never in love with me. And see I've done it always and will continue to fight this battle of life but instead without those who lied to have loved me.
Fuck, we had a good time though right?
Sunday
haven't seen my mother sober for more than an hour this week, she's getting worse.
Gently, it's picking me apart. It's okay when you feel the world is behind you, yet when you're alone, It becomes a lot harder. I'm happy with my weight, I love my figure. Yet I'm forgetting to eat, I'm forgetting to take care of myself while my mind is elsewhere. Becoming a lot less confident, I don't feel anything anymore. Sitting on the stairs at six, seven, eight waiting for my mom to fall asleep so I could rest my head doesn't haunt my insides anymore. I seem to have lost myself. I feel virtual. Songs don't trigger tears and sad stories don't do anything to me.
I think the world has manipulated me that I'm really not meant for this. I exist too much, I feel too much. I need too much. This world is compressing the fuck out of me and I haven't a vent to breathe through.
I still love Disney.
But I also still believe the villain is just a forgotten hero, with an untold story.
So, at this chapter of my story, I ask myself who the villain is?
Yet a chapter isn't my whole book, I don't know how long I have...no one does.
Therefore, I won't let a worn out pen or a blunt pencil write the rest.
Being fifteen, it's hard to have matured in such little time. I now have to stabilise my mind to being independently grown and depart thoughts from actions. I like the thought of discipline. The thought of having power over yourself, making you feel what you want when you want. So that's exactly what I'm doing. I'm going to every place that triggers a negative emotion and I'm going to go laugh there, with who makes me the happiest, changing the narrative. Sometimes we are better off with the memories of someone than the actual person. I'm aware of what I'm capable of, I just need to learn to control it.
I've learnt from my mom. To no longer let her feed me lies, or participate in the sport of hunt and prey; cat and mouse. I'm no longer her victim, her blades don't make me bleed. It's like this chapter of her and I is at a close.
It's sad really, I've gone so long without a mother it's normality to me. I'm capable of doing it myself, like I've always been. I remember the little girl that sat at the top of the stairs watching her mommy's hand light up into flames and the violent attacks on her behalf, the cuts on her arms, the savage blows in the stomach making me throw up at 9. That's the reason I'm still here, the reason I walk down the hallway at school with my head held high while being shredded and bound with painful names and sore stares. The reason I still have hope, the reason I push past what my body can handle. I like to believe she's watching - the little girl that needed what she didn't have. I've only got me, people are temporary, but your past, future and present self will always be existent. You can't escape from yourself as you can from the rest of the world. She's all I'm pleasing, all I go on for, little me.
One day I will sit my final exam, have my final fire drill, relive a time of no stress, a time of no deadline. A time I won't have to remain stronger than the bullies in the corridor or plaster the cuts from the backs of my heels. A time I wouldn't count away my hours, my minutes, my seconds. A time I won't need to act as if my world wasn't crumbling.
there she is
her first day
camouflaged easily
her pink stationary pierced in her pink pencil case
her skirt washing below her knees
her smile as messy as her hair
her future bright
there she is
a little bruised a little battered
known so permanently
recognised so easily
her hair tied perfectly
her skirt tight
tying her organs in so they don't fall out
there she is
her last day
her smile extinguished to a vague glance
her future watery
yet she misses so defeatedly
the little girl
who's pencil case shone pink
