Infatuated Bliss

My Pain is Not Poetic But Yours Is?

XXXX

I write this to talk about a fellow writer here on Wattpad.  Specifically, on her title: "Your Pain is Not Poetic."  She goes by the name of Bkixxw.  Now, in no way am I hating on this artist, nor am I discouraging her, but I'm just writing a rebuttal to some of her claims within her book.  In fact, I actually quite adore her work, but I still feel that some things in there deserve to be discussed rather than just loved.  This will be a bit more of a rant, rather than an actual piece of poetry.  So lets get to it.

My pain is not a piece of poetry.  I never intended it to be.  Like you said, an artist only begins to paint their works as a joke.  I see these words not as poetry, but the only way that people can hear me.  I'm not trying to shine a light onto this dark pedestal of my pain, but the world chose to want more, so I have to provide.  I used the language I speak, and threw it into a notebook because I felt frustrated with my life and very existence and the world chose to call it poetry.  

You've done the same and yet, you call out those who write their pain?  No, it's not just that.  You pointed it out that there is irony in what you're doing.  That it's ironic about what you're writing.  You've felt that pain, and you've been hurt.  Maybe I can't see all of it, but I know you have.  You just state it clearly in what you write.  I'm sorry I don't feel like I'm enough to tell people directly how I feel.  It's why I use words no one even speaks, so they don't have to know.  You know how much the words help.  You know how much they hurt as well.  It's just unlike you, I can't see the beauty that the pain created within me.  I only see a sea of demons shrouded by the blinding light of fame and glory.

I do continue to try, but I can never find myself shielding my bruised skin with armour made of kindness.  It is something I have never known.  I do not carve the letters H A P P Y into the blade.  I carve it into my skin.  To this day, my hands are still shaking every time I climb that mountain.  Only to fall into an abyss and get hurt once more.  Now I'm deciding if I should just give up or keep climbing.

I ask you this shortly.  How can I feel anything if forever I've felt nothing because the one thing this world desires, I am not?  This place needs justification for it to be beautiful, and I never had it.

We never know do we?  Our questions always remain unanswered.  They say our truth is the real truth, but what if we don't have one?  I cannot answer you, at least not properly, but to me, well.  Classical music is calming in a strange way, but when it slows down my breath, it feels like I'm not breathing at all, and it feels amazing to not feel alive.  Some people can look into a mirror and say goodbye, while others can look at it and say hello.  I look at it and break the glass.  But what matters is not what we do to the mirror, but how long we stare at it. How long until we see every imperfection reflected back at us.  If you put on socks at night, then I can barely assume that you do it only because you miss his warmth.  There are a few of us though that prefer to be left in the cold.  Yes, we pick and prod at our sleeves,we laugh towards the night sky relentlessly, but for different reasons.  Many prefer the warm touch of their lips, but sometimes, we prefer a bottle to replace it.  Their lips are soft, but only for now.  But maybe you are right.  I don't know.  I can barely answer my own questions.

I'm already burning the memories.  I've tried for so long to erase my existence from the memories of those I thought I could love.  Everything around me is why I exist, not because I want to.  When I collected all these memories, I held on to them for dear life and wouldn't let go.  When some of them started to fade, I was left broken and disappointed.  Not in the memories, but in myself because I let them slip through my grasps.  If I collected what I loved now, I'd only be afraid to lose them again.  So the next step must be to bury the ashes.

I can plant a beautiful seed in this immense forest.  Then I can pass the directions on and on, until they get twisted like the game Telephone.  Whenever someone walks this path, I will have to leave, knowing that I left them to walk a path of torture all so I could plant what I called an abstract beauty.

If art is what I want it to be, then why do they ask for something I don't want, and yet, I am forced to do.  My art is just another way to express myself, and yet, you want me to explain why my pain can't be art whenever you do so in a similar way.

Why do you continue to believe in me?  It doesn't do anything other than show me that I could never believe in myself.  Seeing is believing, but no one can see me.  So how can you believe in me?

A plot twist.  I commend you.  I know most of this has been about bashing you for the most part, but True Love's Kiss amazed me.  We are the actors and this world is our stage.  Not my quote, but it's an astonishing one to say the least.  Our minds think alike on some aspects.  True love's kiss never comes true.  It's just a fairytale told by your parents and the people around you, so you want to live another day.  It's all just an act.  We never fully take off our masks.  We're always acting.

Love is so sparse these days.  People are taking love out of sex.  I love you is something I've wanted to tell a person for so long, and even more so, I've wanted to hear someone else speak those words to me.  I'll continue to say it as well, but I know it won't come true.  I'm just too far lost for someone to even care to find me.

Do you wanna go out with me?  That's something I wish I could ask.  I have a feeling their response would be, "No, you're too fat.  You're too skinny.  You're too weak.  You're too cheap.  You're too ugly.  You're too depressed.  You're not enough, I mean you're not my type.  You're a shut in.  You're too antisocial.  You're-."  I get it.  You don't need to point out all my imperfections because I already know about them and I tried cutting them out a long time ago.  I'd annoy you anyway.  It'd all build up and you'd hate me.  No point in trying to date anyway.  But for that one person, I will not choose to like you, I will choose to love you if you have it in you to choose to love me as well.

Isn't that just shitty?  Looks are everything these days, but when I tell you how much I've been hurt and how much I want to hurt, you continue to look at my face and my ass.  If I show you the cuts on my wrists, you now see me as disgusting, but if I tell you of how many times my father's abused me and my family with a dashing smile, you see me as beautiful.

Do not pray for me.  I believe in no God and no spirit.  Maybe I need a little faith.  Maybe I need a little hope, but I don't want any of that.  Please just pray for yourself because all I've ever wanted was for you to be happy when I couldn't be.  Find the irony, listen to upbeat music while you watch a massacre, and be twisted.  Just be happy, and leave me to my sorrow.

Sing.  Let joyous voices fill the air with song.  I too will sing alone, but an underlined tone will be there to my voice.  I will sing no matter where I am and who I'm with.  Though, the meaning may change.  I will sing, and people will love it instead of cry despite what the lyrics mean because I've been told I have a voice.

To be continued...

XXXX

I just love how this turned from me arguing with her claims to me supporting her in some of her claims and adoring her work.  If you stayed to the end, congrats.  You for some reason read this long rant which may or may not be continued if she adds in some more parts.  Once again, I am not trying to bash Bkixxw in anyway.  I do support her and am an avid fan of her work.  I suggest you check her out if you like my stuff for some odd reason.  

https://www.wattpad.com/user/bkixxw