mywordsfromme4me-blog

[mywordsfromme4me-blog]

X

I thought I’d forgotten how to cry. I’ve spent at least once a week for the past few months crying to myself and so suddenly. When you’ve left me. Again. I can’t cry ? I must be broken. I must be stupid. You mustn’t have meant enough to me if I can’t cry. I didn’t mean enough to you. That’s why you left. We weren’t dating, we’d hardly kissed you’d just held me in your arms for one night, and we spoke of the stars and the moon and us. How we could be something together. How you had spoken to your mum and realised it was me. This was our second go at it. You’d ended it the first time too. I didn’t cry then either. Had realised it was all coming to an end weeks before it did. I did that again this time. You’re not hard to read and yet you’re the hardest person to understand. This time I was filled with doubts. There was no way you wanted this. Me. You couldn’t convince yourself the first time what made you think the second time would be any different ? But I fucking fell head first into it all didn’t I ? You said it’s cause you’re not ready to commit to a relationship but that’s not it. If I were the girl you wanted you would’ve tried. It all would’ve meant something to you. But I’m not the girl for you. And you’re definitely not the guy for me. I honestly don’t know why I pushed it so much. My dream is to move away from here. Find something new and fresh. Something I’ll fit into. And you were never really part of that picture. I couldn’t see a future with you in it a day ahead let alone two months ahead. So why did I try ? I’m still trying to figure that out. It was partly boredom. No doubt. That’s what fuels most of my endeavours. It wasn’t love and only tonight could I admit I maybe liked you so it wasn’t my heart. It was definitely your first car. The ****. But for our second go you didn’t have that. It was also definitely the cuddles but that was only introduced two weeks ago. And for one night only. So they weren’t the reason why I wanted to try again. Maybe it’s who you are. You’re pretty popular and when we were younger we used to all be so infatuated with you. Or maybe it was just me. Your manner was so dang cool. But I’ve hung with you now and it’s all an act. Isn’t it? You don’t even know who the real you is. That’s cool. I’m all a facade too. A face prepared to meet the faces you meet. But you couldn’t remove your mask in front of me and I couldn’t remove mine. So we could never have worked.

The biggest problem with this all was, okay yes you not liking me back, but the effort you put in (as a result of you not liking me back :| ). I’ve had many a guy talk to me. Some before you, some during you and there will definitely (touch wood) be some after you. and they put the effort in because they wanted to snag me. I guess. And you didn’t. I’m not settling for you. I’m never doing this to myself cause if after two seperate times you still couldn’t convince yourself you wanted to be with me, do you really think you’ll manage the third time ? I’m gonna find someone that loves me though. That sees me as everything or talks to me all the time and keeps wanting to. Wants to listen to what I say and share what they think. Cause you honestly never gave a shit about what I said and I’m too in love with myself for that.

I wish you hadn’t bothered to introduce me to your dad. Or told your mum about us. Cause your dad has seen me round each time now and he’s probably thinking “poor girl”. And he’s right but I fucking hate pity if it’s not something I orchestrated. And your brother too. And his girlfriend. They’re definitely gonna be thinking gosh this bitch is dumb. Your friends. I really liked most of them they were all so accommodating. But fuck your cousin man I can see you love him but he’s even cockier than you and he’s not as attractive as you so he really should tone it down. You should tell him. Like someone should tell you. But you’ll never lose that head of yours so long as there’s dumb girls like me to fill it.

It’s also hard cause after nearly every word my phones suggestion box comes up with your name. I’d like to delete that. And I’ll figure out how. Cause it sadly just shows how much we texted or how much I talked about you. And in the end we hardly fucking texted so we know which one it really is.

I was worried I couldn’t cry and so I started to write this. Told myself it had to be done cause it’s half eleven at night and I don’t wanna be bursting into tears tomorrow at lunch or anything (you’re really not worth public humiliation). And so I thought by typing this out, expressing what hurts and shit, maybe I could bring those tears to the surface. But when I’m talking bout this the only words that make me wanna cry is the shit about me not being enough for you and honestly I think it just hurts cause I’m not enough for someone. Not necessarily that it’s you I’m not good enough for. But that someone who I was willing to put the effort into looked at me and couldn’t be bothered. That shit hurts. Yeah. Makes me wanna cry yeah. But fuck you man. Fuck you and your cars and your camping and your “maybe it’ll work down the track” and “I still wanna be friends”. We can still be friends. You’re not half bad at that. But you’ll never fucking catch me in your trap again. I was sure dumb the second time but the next time this bitch puts effort in, she’s getting results and they’re not gonna be the half assed ones you give. I really hate you atm. But I’ll get over it.

I haven’t cried. Feeling good at the moment. And when morning comes I’ll be even better. But it’s 12 now. And I’m not going back to you and you’re not coming back for me. So I’m moving on. Leaving you in the past. I’m not focusing on finding anyone new cause fuck man. I fucking love me. And the best moments of my life have always been when a boy wasn’t in them. So I know what I’ve gotta do now. Remember who I am. Remember that I’m hot and smart and that I’ve got amazing friends and a future and it’s nearly summer. Life can’t get much better than this. So fuck you man. Honestly. I hope you find your girl but suck it real hard rn. You didn’t have much of my heart but the bits you did hold you broke pretty well. So just watch that you don’t catch yourself on the sharp edges.

Sincerely,

Not fucking good enough yet too fucking good for you x

[mywordsfromme4me-blog]

Preludes Remix

Inspired by stanza III of T.S Eliot’s poem Preludes 

Night falls across the street, dampening the lights from apartment rooms and clouding the vision of the few clustered upon the streets. The cold grips my heart, beats into my brain, and I lay upon my back, frozen, to outwait its life. A thousand sordid images dance across my ceiling, the flickering night revealing what my soul consists of. Sleep awaits me, but still, I lie, hopeful for when all the world will come back. 

The streets hardly understand the visions that play out across my eyes and why I am curled at the end of my bed, but I chase the journey of the stars and moon, watching and waiting for when the light will brighten my mind, creep along the gutters and awaken all those that surround me. For when the music of the sparrows will squeeze past my shutters and remind me that I am alive. I clasp my soiled hands together. 

Light would come.

[mywordsfromme4me-blog]

And Upon This Ceiling

At night, when it is only me awake

I face my fears.

It is not the physical entities that frighten me

Or hinder my will to live.

Rather, for a brain sunken in its own imagination,

It is thoughts that truly terrify me,

Control who I am.

Thoughts so loud- that haunt and scream their every

word.

My own to be exact.

The ceiling in my room is painted 

A generic white

For every one that enters it.

But for me, it is upon this ceiling

That I have stared and stared.

Here that I have projected my every nightmare,

Blemished who I truly am into the grains.

And, for god’s sake, it is upon this ceiling,

that I have thought.

Yet she still holds back from answering me.

My mind has been tricked many a time,

Before,

Yet I am always surprised when another 

Comes along.

I seek a clock that will show me a time

Opposite to what I so desperately desire.

I don’t know if it is actually possible 

For this pain to swallow me.

It is only early.

I have created for myself,

a place

That I can no longer stand.

But I cannot escape.

Through futile attempts, my ears have bled,

My efforts at hearing nothing,

Seeking silence, 

To save my sanity.

This I never win.

The music that pumps, through my ears,

requires a certain mind frame.

And every click, signifying a louder beat,

Brings me closer to what I know is surely my end.

The veins that run through my arms

Can’t understand what this frustration is built from.

They shake, confused.

I wonder when they will connect with my brain.

Selfish though I am,

I am still wrought by that fear.

Old scars stretch countless along my heart.

And deep within my chest.

There it is. Swirling. Swelling.

Suffocating.

It is this that has ruined (created) me.

With burning skin

I will look at my shameful ceiling,

And read the inevitable time

On my lying clock.

 I will stare with lifeless eyes,

think with my pained mind and

hear with my bleeding ears.

Upon this ceiling I will feel myself

Fall apart,

And I will let myself remain torn.

And it will be, in these endless nights 

And upon this infinite ceiling

That I will drown.

Sinking into my own darkness 

[mywordsfromme4me-blog]

Hogwarts Post War

Fire ignited hot within his veins, tearing at his skin and willing for him to give up. Convincing him to give in; let the heat and pain and fury of the world and its inhabitants have their indicative and wicked way with him, leaving him a pile of shameful grey ash on the rocky floor. Harry heaved a deep, mournful gasp of air and forced, with all his might, to remove himself from the conniving throes of the nightmares that haunted him whenever his eyelids so much as fluttered. There was Voldemort, in the distance, beckoning him with fingers so white, they were verging on translucent, Nagini at his feet, sliding in between his legs and disturbing his robes. Panic seized Harry, grounding him to the scattered debris of his home. Along the whispers of the wind, Harry could hear the murmured “as quick and as easy as falling asleep.” From Sirius, Remus, his mum and his dad. It rang throughout the blurred night sky, and though he couldn’t feel his body moving, and certainly hadn’t told it to, Voldemort’s figure was getting closer, the miles between being eaten up by some unknown force. Magic? The wind picked up pace, now a swirling, heated vigour that threw those words around, twisting them into something much more sinister, even more painful. Images were now being hurled into the sky; obscuring Voldemort as Harry was shot ever closer to him. Dumbledore falling, hands outstretched for someone that would never come, someone that would never save him. Ron devastated on his knees as another version of Harry, a ruthless version, with harsher words, watched as trembles attacked at Ron’s limbs. Hermione’s blank stare as blood trickled a delicate, silent journey along her forearm. His dad’s fighting stance, his mum’s protecting body; Sirius and his laughing eyes and Teddy, Remus’ son, growing up just as Harry had, with no family.  And, abruptly, the sky changed yet again, new additions of personal pain conveyed; Oliver Wood, howling as his broomstick and quidditch posts crackled to the ground. Professor Sprout, hurrying for her plants as her glasshouse windows boasted the greenlight of cursed fates. And Draco Malfoy, his face having lost its complimentary sneer, bleeding to death on a cold and abandoned bathroom floor, as Severus Snape stood, ignorant of his favoured student’s agony, staring unseeingly, into Harry’ green-as-death eyes. His skin was blazing even hotter, and through Draco’s blood melting into the tiles, Harry could see Voldemort’s emotional grin, so wide.

“Noooo!” Harry screamed as more images danced through the wind, Hermione lighting up with green, body forced up from the grimy floor of the Malfoy Manor. “Ron!”  He yelled again as, this time, Ron was forced into a standing position by death eaters that joyfully celebrated their discovery of a third of the golden trio. Neville, Ginny, George, all illustrated with green. And there Voldemort was still, just grinning.

Unexpectedly, Harry was shooting into an upright sitting position, chest heaving madly as he distantly registered someone gripping his shoulder. Various moments passed before Harry could register anything other than the blood thumping painfully in his ears and the colour green always obscuring his vision, but it was to the soothing voice of one, alive, Ron Weasley, whose eyes peered worriedly into Harry’s own.

“Harry, Harry, mate, you need to calm down, it’s okay. You’re here. Hogwarts.” He paused. “Home.” They still liked to call it that, Hermione and Ron, but never had Harry felt even more distant to a place as he did to the one that had watched as so many of his friends and family were murdered, falling in their crusade to save it. More deep gasps and Harry felt his world right itself. Ron was still there, rubbing his back, and Harry could now notice the singed edges that were present on his bed sheets and the holes through his own shirt.

“Thanks, mate, I’m fine.” And though it was evident that Harry was still having difficulties breathing, and the smell of smoke was incinerating his nostril hairs, and that he really, really wasn’t fine, and that he wasn’t sure he ever would be again, Ron nodded his head and shuffled to his own bed to sit down. After all, Ron wasn’t fine either. They would both continue to ignore the rising issues in each other’s life because being raised by war did that to you. Haunted you, waited to pounce on you. Worked its way into your nightmares. Separated you.  

Ron gave Harry a timid grin and stared at him momentarily before he rose and began his routinely bustle in preparation for school. Harry leant back onto the wooden headboard of his bed and stared at Ron’s back. He didn’t feel strong enough to face the pulsing crowds, eager to see the saviour and his blessed (curse it) scar. And he wouldn’t. He was an adult done fighting for the public, fighting against his desires. He wouldn’t face the crowds. But as Ron turned the door handle, imploring at Harry for the last time for the rest of the day, he did feel a little disappointment in himself as he shook his head.

 Ron nodded and headed out the door, shoulders stooped as they had been for every day that had passed since May 2nd. Harry laid down in his bed and rolled so his own back faced the door. He would only be staring at the wall for 8 hours, but it was better than always waiting for someone to walk through the door that wouldn’t.

Voldemort did that to you