Poetry

Repression

Repression

Sometimes, when you block out a certain part of you which was meant to surf alongside your lifetime, it comes surging back desperately all of a sudden at any point in life when you feel nonchalant or lack the integrity to discharge that once forbidden fraction of emotion.

For me, that emotion is love.

I have so lullingly disintegrated my ensemble to the point beyond recognition. I have isolated that segment of me into a divine faction of the brain, constricting it of any to all activity. Over the years, it has taken a toll on me. I am now incapable of emotional attachment, affection, submission and commitment to anybody that proclaims a certain prospect in my theatrical and eventful livelihood.

I have done absolutely nothing but live the way I have lived for such a long time; without love, romance and affection. Procuring this regurgitating feeling only occurs to me by accident, in a case of mishap as I would say. Because it happens so arbitrarily, so suddenly, it jumps out of nowhere and devours my very being riotously in an attempt to super-compensate for the absence of this bittersweet feeling which symbolizes a double-edged blade; so called love. It returns and acts in such a compelling manner that it rebels against my own consensus, disambiguating every doubt of selflessness over a temporal boundary.

It comes for a while and then it goes, it will be everlasting for as long as I lack the ability to love and the motivation to try. Eventually, it will convince my consciousness to comply, to evince thereof, and even submerge ever so deeply in it.