I kept waiting for the world to hand over to me, that which I withheld from myself. I sought for it, chased it, demanded it. That fuzzy feeling which one gets from being appreciated or loved or cherished.
I stood on tiptoes awaiting that one person who would make my world all sunny again, that one person who would make me feel like my presence is needed and my absence dreaded, that one person who would make me feel good about myself.
And what I got, was a ball of spitfire. From afar, it looked like a beautiful powerful light, just the kind to elicit the feeling of stardom, but up close… It burned. And I learnt, the world is a reflection of the image I view myself in. (I saw charred skin in the mirror, and the world gave me one).
-We cannot expect love from the world until we are willing to give that love to ourselves. And when we get to know who we are, we accept who we are, we love who we are, the world as we see it would be different.
Have you ever met a person who is so vehement and adamant in his argument even though he is wrong. And that’s not all, the argument does not end until you agree, what the other party is saying is right (even if it’s wrong). Well, today’s short poem by Wendy Cope touches on that topic. Whatever happened to the good old “let us agree to disagree“?!
I have been in situations, where there was an argument and I stood by my point; and after checking the facts, it turns out I was in fact wrong. I say, just silently let the argument die out or admit that you’re wrong. It is that easy.
Talking about silence, I know I have been awol this January but, I do have a reason. My Network went off since Sunday night- No calls and no internet; something to do with a national blackout. Turns out, I can survive without my phone or internet.
Long story short, it has been fixed finally- I can post, read, like, again. I will try to post a poem tomorrow, My Mental Health Friday post on Friday and a Flash Fiction story on Saturday. Below is the poem by Wendy Cope, hope you like it.
Differences of opinion by Wendy Cope
He tells her that the earth is flat–
He knows the facts, and that is that.
In altercations fierce and long
She tries her best to prove him wrong.
But he has learnt to argue well.
He calls her arguments unsound
And often asks her not to yell.
She cannot win. He stands his ground.
The planet goes on being round.
The girl who spilled juice on
A mother’s newly moped floor is
The girl who sneaked dolls to
Classes because school needs
more fun is
The girl who faked stomach cramps
Joint pain, hospital visits to escape
The girl who’s anger was at the
Tip of a button is
The girl who soaked her sheets
With emotions streaming across
Her face is
The girl who lived and loved and
Joked and took each day Without
A care is
The clumsy is in you,
The angry is in you,
The happy is in you,
The sad is in you,
-a part of you, not the
You are who you know yourself
Not the idea thrown across
I really enjoyed doing the december poetry challenge last year. Plus, I found this really inspiring prompt called “30 layers, 30 days” which many bloggers have completed now. So, I decided to use the prompts for December.
Today’s Prompt: An idea of you
For this week’s Writer’s quote/poem Wednesday, I’m going to take a personal detour. We all have those people in our lives who are much more than friends and are practically family. People who waltz into our lives unexpectedly and inadvertently take up a huge space in it; well, my friend/housemate/sister recently published her first poetry collection called Soul Unraveled.
This book is a journey through Love, heartbreak, abuse, and rising above it all. It touches on aspects of life in short free verses divided into six different chapters. The poems in this collection are raw and unfiltered especially when tackling issues such as sexual assault.
Now that I’ve talked the talk, Its time to walk that talk. Below are a few poems from “Soul Unraveled“. If you like what you read, you can pick up the book which is available in e-form and hardcopy on amazon. The link is at the bottom of the post.
You can also catch up with the writer on Instagram @ Soul Unraveled
Available on Amazon: SoulUnraveled: Rising from the ashes
If there are any book reviewers who would be willing to review this book, please send me an email at email@example.com
Something unexpected happened today. I awoke to the news that we had a 25 hour day, yesterday and the time has shifted from +3gmt to +2 gmt. I was messed up in the head this morning when I found out.
In my 21 years, this is the first time its happened. I had to sit down for about 30 minutes to get my bearing straight. It was confusing trying to decipher if the 11 am lecture I was having today meant 11 am old time or new time.
But then again, thats one of the great things about living in a different country; you get to experience new things. I sure wouldn’t be experiencing any time changes if I was back home.
That being said (I just had to air it out), welcome to another Writer’s Quote/Poem Wednesday. I do hope the poem i’ll be sharing today doesn’t put a damper in your mood. I found it beautiful and melancholic.
Middle Age by Pat Schneider
The child you think you don’t want
is the one who will make you laugh.
She will break your heart
when she loses the sight in one eye
and tells the doctor she wants to be
an apple tree when she grows up.
It will be this child who forgives you again and again
for believing you don’t want her to be born,
for resisting the rising tide of your body,
for wishing for the red flow of her dismissal.
She will even forgive you for all the breakfasts
you failed to make exceptional.
Someday this child will sit beside you.
When you are old and too tired of war
to want to watch the evening news,
she will tell you stories
like the one about her teenaged brother,
your son, and his friends
taking her out in a canoe when she was
five years old. How they left her alone
on an island in the river
while they jumped off the railroad bridge.
The lovely blogger at Accidentally inked nominated me for an award. I honestly don’t do them anymore, but I loved the questions she put forth. And anyway its been a long time since I did one of these so I thought, I’ll give a shot.
What’s the best thing you like about your blog?
Ohhh lets see. I actually love everything. The fiction because I never thought I could actually do one of those “flash fictions” and now, I look forward to writing them; certainly pushed me out of my comfort zone.
The poetry because writing them have been such comfort and therapy at the same time. And the writer’s quote/poem because it gives me the opportunity to share with all of you, the reason why I fell in love with poetry.
What do you tell yourself to convince yourself so that you stay positive when something bad happens?
Honestly- I try to remember that everything happens for a reason and things could have been worse.
Do you like books? If yes, what did you last read?
I Love books, but then again I am a picky reader. I tend to stick to the same kind of genres. Don’t judge me, I’ve branched out but I just don’t enjoy them and i’ld rather not read what I don’t enjoy.
I’m currently reading a book by David Baldacci- The escape. It is the 3rd book in a John Puller series.
Do you think it’s okay to be scared of cats?
Hahaha, I am one of them. Of course its not okay to be scared of cats but thats why they are called “phobias”. They are irrational fears after all.
What do you say, lets get to know one another? I am throwing these questions to anyone/everyone who reads this:
1) Coffee or Tea
2) summer or winter
3) Vanilla or chocolate
4) crime novel or Romance novel
5) Documentary or movie
You can answer in the comments below or in a new post. Lets do this 👊🏽
I write for the days when the beating heart within my chest feels ripped apart. For the days when my readily accessible tears fail me (it wouldnt be the first thing to fail me).
I write for the days when my mind spins tales on purpose which perpetuate me as the villain- it is my mind but i have no control over it.
I write for the days when rejection and heartbreak; betrayal and sadness all morph into one and spring on me at once.
I write to remind myself, I am not alone. I have my words, I have my Lord. I have been failed before and I rose and wrote words.
So I write these words and save them, for the rainy day that I would need them.
I wish I could take,
I’ve got bills
(Not for my pleasure of course),
I’ve got mama
To make proud of,
I dare not
Who cares about-
That’s the way,
The world works,
Facebook page: words of a random. Let’s connect!
It wasn’t just one experience, it was a multitude of them. One after the other like the crash of a carefully assembled dominos cards; in succession. I slid slowly and then rapidly, hitting a few bumps along the way, like I wasn’t already on my way to the bottom. And I learnt on that downward journey, I learnt the bitter truth that rock bottom does not guarantee you won’t still get hit.
I watched the solid parts of me break into pieces, the liquid of my essence dissolve and gaseous parts evaporate. I was losing who I had ever known myself to be.
It took watching my whole life vanish before eyes for me to realise what life had been trying to teach me for quite some time. Sometimes, you have to shatter into pieces in order to mould into the “you”, you were always supposed to be.
“But I love you,” he said.
And I wondered where he got the notion that saying the words “I love you” was akin to an eraser which wipes off a slate of past mistakes; a chant which hypnotises one into prompt obedience regardless of the absurdity of the orders; a piece of blindfold over a woman’s eyes to block off the reality of events.
Or maybe, he just assumed I am like the other woman who had come and gone. A blooming soul withered by a facade of love, fed on sugar coated words which tasted like nothing- nothing- a compilation of meaningless gestures- suffocating.
And maybe (cause I can only assume as mama always said speak for yourself alone) he was fed on the notion that love is blind, love is an eraser and love hypnotises in the hands of a man.
But honey, Living has taught me, you can scream I love you until the oxygen carrying capacity of your lungs deplete, without sincerity in action, it don’t mean nothing. Call me cynical, but living otherwise would have me ending up just like the other woman. A washed-up replica of a once upon a time star.