Magic is her middle name.
And rarely, she plays by the rules of the game.
Rumbles of leaves sing to her everyday.
“Junk is art,” she used to say.
On the fragile phase, she hid.
Repeating “I am not a kid.”
Iridescent lights flash between her eyes above,
Encased by grief is the girl who has never been in love.
((suggested song with this vibe: Georgia by Vance Joy))
(Image from http://www.grafolio.com)
Please break my heart.
Break my heart so that I will write about you. Break my heart so that the whole world will know who you are. Break my heart, love me once more, then leave and haunt me again.
Please tell me you love me.
Because I know that you don’t.
Please make me wait.
Make me wait for nothing. Tell me to be patient. Tell me that destiny chooses the best timing, and that one day we will have what we can call “ours”, so that I will have something to hope for.
Please keep me away from the world.
Don’t tell your mom about me. Don’t even mention my name. Hide me in the darkest corner of your mind, so that somehow, I will feel special—only thought of by you.
And one day when you realize how kind of a person you are for doing all of these sincerely, please come to me. I will be waiting for you.
I will be waiting for you to break my heart again.
(image source: WeHeartIt user @Pink_Slippers)
I’m made up of broken pieces.
I’m emotionally fragile, intricately made. Most of the time I wipe my tears off using the back of my hand, and I lock my true self away in the back of my mind. My vessels have question marks streaming inside them to feed my self-curiosity. I tend to get hurt a lot. I tell them that I don’t take things personally. That I’m not the kind of person who jumps to conclusions. Because who would want that, right? I know. No one. But deep down in my restless nights and my shattered thoughts, I really am that kind of person. A really horrible, emotionally unstable person.
I am very tortuous.
I’m a girl obsessed with words that form despicable feelings. That’s why I read and write a lot. It takes me to worlds which are not mine. I long for the exploration of the ideas that other people have.
I’m an ocean full of secrets.
My definition of happiness varies in the depth of the situation I’m in. I drown people with all the love I give. I get jealous easily and I lose my self-esteem whenever I see my ocean treasures floating away from me. The burden I feel is like when I remove stickers and/or price tags from my prime possessions, and it leaves a mark. That also reminds me that everything I have now wasn’t always mine.
I feel things I shouldn’t be feeling. I think of thoughts they told me not to think about. I fall in love with words instead of people. I’m both very stubborn and really obedient. But I’ve already told you, it depends on the situation.
Sometimes my way of thinking is all about self-hate.
However, I wouldn’t go to the deeper part of this article to rant about how I loathe myself. Well, I was about to. But I changed my mind. I admit that I’m not physically and mentally perfect. I have flaws encased in my personality that travels with me like a luggage I carry. I’m the connotation of complicated, but that’s just who I am. I’m walking down a familiar path full of autumn leaves. I’m still trying to find my old self again. This new one requires taking multiple leaps of faith. I’m going to abolish my darker thoughts that will soon cease to exist. I will bloom, I will rise, I will soar.
. . .and I’m starting to think that maybe, just maybe, this time I’m going to be enough.
(image found on http://wht-u-see.blogspot.com/2012/04/rainbow.html)