ambivalent

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Македонија на Македонците!
Tadiii.
10tee.
Bisexual.
LA Babyy.
Macedonian.
Personal Blog.
Finding my way in life.
Don't Always Follow Back.

Perfect? How do you define a word without concrete meaning? To each his own, the saying goes, so why push to attain an ideal state of being that no two random people with agree is where you want to be? Faultless. Finished. Incomparable. People can never be these, and anyway, when did creating a flawless facade become a more vital goal than learning to love the person who lives inside your skin? The outside belongs to others. Only you should decide for you—what is perfect.

im adding to my Ellen Hopkins collection;

i now have Burned, Glass and Fallout. neeeeed Crank, Tricks and Impulse.

You never know when a passing cloud might meet another, and together unleash lightning on thirsting ground. One insignificant spark strikes bone-brittle tinder. Buoyed by the quiet breeze, an ember smolders until evening wind blows, carries smoking wisps upon its wings into the forest, sights into crackling summer leaves until the canopy burns. So take note of every passing cloud, because you never know.

When you weren’t looking the child became a woman, though she wasn’t ready to. Don’t ask how or why. Those questions are not the important ones. Can’t you see you didn’t care enough to notice? How will you feel if we have no more time together? I wonder if you’re sorry now about the way you locked your heart, access denied to the beggar at your door. She’s nobody, only me.

If I come back to you now, can we be what we were before life’s uncertain rhythms tore us so far apart? If I return today, will your arms gather me in, or will I be wrenched away, snatched by a rip-tide I have no power to resist? If I find my way to you, one man standing in a crowd, will I even know who you are?

Still here. At least I think so, what’s left of who I used to be a shadow on the sidewalk. I look up, try to find a rainbow, but the only thing there is a lone cloud, stretching thin and thinner, clear to almost not there, across an upside-down sea. I lower my gaze into a puddle, close my eyes at what I see. Don’t want to believe that ghost is me.

Staring into the midnight sky, starlight defeated by the scream of neon, truth is hard to discern. Does it sparkle? Does it burn? If a weightless moment transcends the gravity of time, what proof is there of its existence? Does it infuse every tick of the clock, each blink of an eye? Which is harder to bear—reality, or a lie?

You stand in front of me, pretending to be solid, but you are nothing more than smoke and mirrors. You said you’d never leave, that you would care for us forever. But now you claim you cannot stay, that you’ve been called away. When you go, who will I turn to when it all crashes down? Tell me who. Then tell me how I can believe in anyone again, if all your promises have been lies.

They say you should reach for the stars, and I’d like to, but my arms are much too short. They say to reach out for hope, but I don’t understand what hope is. They say to reach for goals, but I don’t know how to define mine, and so I won’t listen. But if you only tell me how to love you, I’ll reach into the depth of me and find a way to hold you.

I whisper and you close your eyes. I speak and you turn away. If I scream, will you finally hear me beg you to hold me close to you, promise you’ll never let go? Do my tears upset you? Can you see them fall on fallow ground—the soil of your heart? Fear is a better friend than you, who feels nothing, beneath the weight of my pain.

Some days I think I’m losing my mind. What seems so clear most of the time becomes a big question mark. Am I really the way I percieve myself, or is the person others see the truth of me? I wait for answers, but inside I know I have to go out and find them. And answers, like knowledge, are not always where we look first for them.

There is no me without you. Is there a you without me? And if we’re truly one, how will I breathe when circumstances pries us apart? You are my oxygen, my sustenance, the blood inside my veins. When we touch, you are my skin, hold all my joy inside of you. When you go, I wither.

I wear many faces, some way too old to fit the girl glued to the back of them. I keep my faces in a box, stashed inside of me. It’s murky in there, overcast with feelings I don’t allow anyone to see. Not that anyone cares enough to go looking. No one wants to know what bothers me. Too hung up on their own problems. Sometimes I think I have to see the real Ginger, so I open the box, search inside. But no matter how hard I look, I can’t find me.

I only have one question, scraping the inside of me. Answer it, and i will stumble back into her shadow. Shut my mouth, never ask again. I’ve tried to ignore it, but it won’t go away. It haunts my dreams, chases me through every single day, and I don’t have the strength to turn around. Face it down. So please tell me and I swear I’ll never again. It’s in your power to make it go away. And all you have to do is tell me why you love her more.

It was the kiss in the dream you never want to wake up from—-sultry, fueled by desire, and yet somehow innocent, because brand-new, budding love was the heart of our passion.