Posts tagged spoken word
Posts tagged spoken word
Sometimes I convince myself that I’m in need of religion. Other times sex can do the trick. Then there are moments like these, moments when I feel absolutely insatiable. And although they are fleeting, these transitory occurrences seem to happen more often than not. I’m in a constant search for fulfillment, invariably disappointed by my lack of sustenance. I’m a sinner craving for the appetite of a saint yet loitering amidst the hunger of infidelity. I can’t recall the last time I felt whole, but merely the essence of an emotion I’ve since longed for. This yearning, a burning desire relishing inside me, chars the very edges of my heart. Life has never felt more disastrous, love has never seemed so bare and faith has since lost reprieve.
My heart feels empty, lost in this faithless world, trying to find religion. How did I lose so much of myself? I’m constantly battling thoughts of salvation, begging for mercy in the palms of foreign hands. I once found conviction in your arms, now you’ve since betrayed me. What is there to believe in anymore? Faith is nothing but treason on the heart, malice in its deception of such gullible benevolence. And I have been just as foolish, mindfully tactful in a pursuit for creed but blind to its sedition. To think, all this time I’d convinced myself we were making love.
It was the last thing I savored on your tongue
That left a bitter taste in my mouth the next morning
The scent of misuse and intoxication
It was almost blissful
What I can remember
The serene notion of uninhibited passion
The flow of bodies moving on intuition
It was something like a reflex
No thought could interrupt
The last thing we wanted to do was think
To poison the moment with guilt and dread
We used everything but our minds
It was animalistic
Unrestrained or subject to verdict
Like a feasting of needs
Devouring the inner cores of one another
Diving too far into the abyss
We found ourselves drowning
Somewhere in the midst of drunk love
Inebriated by the nostalgia of thoughtless retribution
Sensitive to the desires of our aching bodies
Yet tactless in the way we satisfied each other
We had no boundaries
No margins to conform this inclined high
It was like magic
Outgoing and savage
Consummated by the thrill of sobriety
Fleeting fervor savored in memories
Influencing only this kind of impulse
Found only at the bottom of a bottle
In the eyes of a stranger
In the bed sheets of untangled nightly lovers
He was simple
A less complicated way of escaping reality
His touch routine
Like all the others
Trivial and flawed
But he hit where it needed to hurt
Like a momentary lapse of judgment
A necessary healing
The kind of fix that leaves you feeling broken
And a little empty inside
But it’s a better feeling than lost
Because for a moment you know exactly where you are
Maybe it’s the wrong place to be
Maybe it’ll never be right
But it’s a different kind of feeling, numbing
Instant gratification that makes you lose your mind
And then you end up back where you were
But at least you were satisfied
Even if it was just for that single moment
My heart weary from emotions
Burdens greater than what I can carry…
I’m tired. I’ve fought death and won.
He keeps knocking. Sending minions to make it harder.
It’s hard - life is hard - people are mean and I’m sensitive - always too sensitive for this world. My soul feels the pain and joy of everyone…
I had surgery yesterday. I won’t bore you with details or specifics, frankly, that part is a little private. I know I can be candid, this blog is my venue for tangents and outlets, but in most cases I like to keep a hint of ambiguity even in my declarations.
But I’m here to vent about something more painful than surgery, though it was one of the scariest things I’ve ever had to go through on my own.
There are moments in your life when you realize who is truly there for you. Yesterday was one of those moments for me.
There I lay on a hospital bed, teary-eyed, in severe pain, thinking about how I wish I could’ve had my best friend by my bedside. And in that moment of physical agony I was beaten with a notion that up until then I’d refused to accept: I no longer have that best friend.
Over the course of the past year, my best friend and I had somewhat of a falling out. To me, it was more like her pushing me out of the picture. And I’ve managed to deal with that pain for months now. I made every attempt I could to reconcile the friendship, and every effort was thwarted.
At one point I thought we’d made progress. After months of neglect, she asked to meet. And we did. And we talked. And though I knew it could never really be the way it once was, I expected more than what it turned out to be.
We became something a little more than acquaintances but far less than friends. We would talk here and there, with weeks passing in between. And everyday I realized I was holding on to nothing but still, I was hopeful.
Yesterday was a slap in the face. In spite of our so-called “falling out” I had expected that her promise of always being there for me to be true. I guess only because knowing myself, had it been her on an operating bed, I would’ve made sure to have been there, even if I wasn’t asked. And that’s not something I assume I would’ve done, no, that’s something I know. And it’s something she knows.
Her absence yesterday forged a bigger hole in my heart. During the procedure and after, between tears, shrieks and the under-exaggerated “discomfort”, I had thought about how much less this would’ve hurt, emotionally, if I had her support by my side. And the more I thought about it, the harder I cried and the angrier I became. I was more upset with the fact that I felt I couldn’t count on her anymore.
I think it’s time I gave up hope. The person who used to call herself my best friend disappeared far before her physical presence in my life faded. And I had known that, and it had hurt. But I pushed forward, I fought for it, I did my best and I gave up too much of myself along the way.
I can’t keep myself and still keep you too.
I’m going to make myself excruciatingly vulnerable right now and tell you that I’m scared. I have the worst innate fear consuming me and I’m afraid that I’ll be haunted with this notion for the rest of my life.
I haven’t slept in days. I’ve spent my nights tossing and turning, fighting back tears and attempting to console myself. Struggling with the urge to ask the people who once promised they’d be there… to actually be there.
I try to act strong even though deep down I know just how frail I really am. It’s one of my worst attributes, despite trying to convince myself otherwise. Maybe it’s the reason why I didn’t go through with it this last time. Maybe it’s why I opted for one more week of being whole, competent. Seven days of insomnia and emotional agony aside.
Some say this is just a test. The thing is, I’ve been tested all my life and then some. What this really feels like is punishment, a life-long sentence for not being religious enough, not praying enough, not believing enough. I hate to say this, but I’m left feeling pretty faithless.
It’s nearly 3 a.m. and the furthest thing from my mind seems to be sleep. I find my fingers gripping at my bed sheets, soaked pillows and my mind in the last place I want it to be. Thoughts of then and now. Thoughts of tomorrow. The things I’ve lost before I’ve ever had the chance of having them.
…And now I’m with the one person who’s ever thought of me as enough, the one person that’s never made me feel inadequate. And one day this could be the one inadequacy he sees, the thing that makes me less than perfect, less than enough. And what then? What if I lose him and this thing I’ve lost before I’ve even had it and everything I’ve ever wanted all at once?
I don’t know what the right thing for me is. I’m afraid I’ll look back on this moment and wish I’d chosen the other route. I’ll wish I would’ve asked my mom. I’ll wish I would’ve prayed more. I’ll wish I would’ve had a little faith in something. I just don’t know how to turn to God and ask Him if I’ll be okay, if I’m just worrying for nothing.
I’m tired of having questions. I want an answer.
It’s midnight; I’m now twenty-five. Lying in bed staring into an abyss of darkness, I’m trying to grasp the concept of time. How days can seem to linger but the years are nothing but a blur. Age becomes nothing but a number. Instead we measure ourselves by the weight carried on our shoulders. I feel old, heavy with duty and indignation. Weighted by the abundance of obligation, vitality is merely a youthful idea. This aged soul is ripe with gumption yet yearning for the childlike mellow of ignorance. As time remains fleeting, our hearts grieve the absence of youth while our minds thrive in their maturity. It is an eternal battle after all, whether to appease the heart or the mind.