Untitled #12

I don’t remember where I wrote this.

“Oh, you want too much!” she cried to Gatsby. “I love you now- isn’t that enough?”

Someone is going to call you their soulmate 

Hold you like the answer

And rejoice that you are finally here 

To make the world make sense 

And you will want to be

For a moment, a month, a year

For them, the answer

To be the saviour, the muse, the angel holding them from the precipice of darkness 

You thought this is what you were made for

You thought this is what you wanted 

For him, this is what you could be 

If you can be perfect to him, you can be perfect to the world 

And yet.

As with everything the universe deems as inevitable 

Something will remind you that you are not the fixer 

You cannot be the answer 

There’s no way you could be

Because we can only be parts to each other 

Parts for each other 

He can only be a part of why you are here 

You can only be a part of his life 

 If you want to consume me whole 

Then what has all of this been for?

I cannot be the beginning and end of you

I do not want you to end me. 


All the Ways

I want you

In a primal, insatiable way

Full of tongue and heat and grips still not tight enough

I want it to be filthy

I want you

In an immaculate, chaste way

All buttoned up, not an ankle showing

But your heated glances run me ragged

My intentions towards you are entirely honourable

I want you 

In a complicated, painful way

Full of passion and conflict and frenzy

I want to ruin you

I want you

In a simple, comfortable way

Where we talk about everything

Or absolutely nothing

And still understand each other completely 

I want you 

In a loud, ostentatious way

Shout to the heavens 

Of your affections for me

So I can never forget  

I want you

In a silent, sure way

Secure in the knowledge

That I’ve found my partner

I want you 

In a selfish, covetous way

Love me, worship me, adore me

I want you

In a generous, lavish way

I do love you

I’ll worship you

I adore you

I Won’t Settle

“I am so hungry for a big smashing creative burgeoning burdened love: I am here; I wait.” – Sylvia Plath

This is truth for me. This is undiluted, raw truth.

This is truth that I hide under practicality and reality and distraction and frankly, a lack of viable candidates anyway.

Because whenever I think of all my hopes and dreams, especially the really steep ones, there’s always that voice ‘but you gotta be realistic though’ , telling me not to think too outside my scope. That’s the ‘real world’ talking. And I’ll concede, that voice is very necessary. It stops me from flying off rooftops and such. But I have to admit, reality breaks my heart.

But what about this ‘big, smashing, creative etc..’ love? Is it so far out of my reach? Maybe the type I’m thinking of. Because all these movies and novels and music sell me bullshit that real life can never live up to. Nevertheless, I’d like to think that, even with all that bull clouding my judgement a lot of the time, I can still reasonably want some of that. Love. Or unreasonably want all of it, because anything is possible. I mean, these love stories, what draws me isn’t so much the grand gestures or the ever-occurring love at first sight, as the connection. The fact that you can connect so deeply with another person that you just want to know every part of them. That I can also share every single part of myself and know that it’s appreciated. I don’t want to be in a relationship just to be in one. I want to be in a relationship because I cannot stand to not know you. One where I know you feel the same way. Not passive love, active, very active love. Heat and depth.

Like I said before, there are no viable candidates as at now.

I wait.

But hey, I’m sure I’m not really selling myself as much of a candidate either. Because on a normal day you won’t see any of ‘this’ part of me. I don’t go around spouting literary quotes or musing out loud. I don’t have my nose in a book walking around, ready to bump into my soulmate, and honestly, most of the time I’m holed up in my room anyway. I can be veryyyyyy basic. I can store all this away. I know where I learnt how to hide all this.

And as a result of a low sense of self-respect coupled with desperation and the unfortunate fact that I don’t have a lot to work with anyway, I fall for the typical guy. I generally fall for the guy that everyone falls for. There’s nothing particularly original about you if I like you. Because all I really need is for you to be cute and a little flirty and funny and pay attention to me. I don’t even need you to be single. You don’t have to work hard. Because I’ll take you and change and distort you in my head into who I want you to be and who you could be if only I could work on you. I take all the things I’m really looking for in a guy and inject them into the little things that you do.

I used to wonder how people could just settle for any old person, when your potential soulmate could be out there. Your great love story waiting. But I could see myself settling. It’s very easy. I get it.

But I won’t. That’ll be my new mantra, ‘I won’t settle, I won’t settle, I won’t settle.’

Scarce Amounts of Love

I spend a lot of time ragging on myself. It’s not self-loathing, but I am aware of a lot of my flaws and, I try to call myself on them. Perhaps I do this a bit more than is necessary, perhaps I don’t do it enough of the time. I don’t know. I have no life manual so I have no idea which is better. Either way, it helps me remind myself that I’m not perfect, far from it. It helps me get a little deflation when my ego’s starting to take up space. On a side-note, I find it funny that with self-esteem as wobbly as mine, I’m still capable of an ego, what with all the hits it’s taken. It’s annoying because sometimes I think I’m a fucking awesome person. And then I come crashing back down.

Anyway, with all these constant reminders of imperfection, I find there’s a gap that needs to be filled, generally with a certain amount of self-love but, if you’re a bit prone to melancholic states like me, something darker. Maybe sadness, hatred, hopelessness? Try loneliness? Flat out depression? I don’t drown in these feelings the way I used to, because I’ve let go of a lot of my insecurities, as well a lot of the people and environments that generally went along with these feelings. Also, I think I’ve just grown. So I don’t feel these things as intensely as I used to.

But I can’t really say I love myself yet. I know I’ve said that sometimes I think I’m friggin awesome, but I don’t really believe that, and even when I do, it’s usually because of something superficial that I’m praising myself for. Like, oh, I look so pretty today, or oh, I lent her money and I don’t want it back, how great of me. And besides, I always come crashing down from that.

And when I’m not drastically either loving or irritating myself, I’m neutral. And not neutral in the ‘just the right amount of self-love’ kinda way. But neutral in the sense that I just don’t think anything of myself. Because I see all these cheesy inspiring quotes everywhere saying ‘love yourself first’ and ‘you’re the best’ and I’m always asking why why why but that part’s never included in the poster. I mean, really. Why should I love myself? Because I’m God’s child? Yeah well everyone’s God’s child and not everyone’s great. So come up with something else.


‘This is from a few months ago, but I never finished the post. Finally have!'”

“Love makes you a liar.”
Disclaimer: that’s from TMI:City of Ashes as well as many other lurvveeee novels I’m guessing.
A lot of quotes stick with me and I elaborate on them in my head. Or sometimes I don’t elaborate but I refer to them when I’m feeling in a philosophical mood. Anyway, as I stumbled on this yesterday (as I was casually reading city of ashes at 3am, RIP my sleep schedule). And what better place to share my thoughts on it than my very own blog that’s all about me, me, me and what I think, yada, yada, yada.
Now, I haven’t ever been been in love. Like romantic, sexy, lovey love. But I’ve read so many books and watched so many movies that I’m pretty certain I know what I’m talking about (right?) 😉
I can totally picture love making me a liar. It’s that instinct to protect, I imagine. Love seems like such a strange thing. It makes you do all these bad things that suddenly seem okay if you say it’s in the name of love. I don’t think love would make me a liar. I’m a liar, period. Not in the name of love but in the name of life.
You see, that could be why I’m quite anxious to experience l’amour. Not because I need a guy or whatever, I’m honestly just curious to see if I can actually shape myself to include someone else on such a personal level. Plus I wan to see if I change. Maybe I could be a liar in the name of love.