This day was chaos. I ripped myself to shreds and blamed it on you and You. Her fairy lights and ever-welcoming doormat hospitality brought me home, reminded me. Companionship. For it, I’m desperate. The extroverted lonely socialite, trapped in a crowed room, trapped in my charismatic tales and plastic smiles, struggling to stay afloat in the depths of my sea of tingling emotion. But, let the ocean rise. I may be trapped under the waves, but as the water floods my lungs, I can’t feel it anymore. It’s oxygen to me, I’m safe.

I guess I romanticise the world. People with their ups and downs and mostly ups in my mind. I’d care, I’d worry like the usual onslaught of tossing through the night, twisting my crinkled bedsheets around my overstretched limbs. But, not for this. 
He had a garden of sharply mowed stubble, smoothly covering the curves and waves of his muscled jaw. There was a luscious neatness to the falling of each lock of darkened hair over his carelessly squinted, yet careful eyes. They searched for mine as I found the plastic lid for my soy cappuccino in the rippled, red cup. My eyelids flicked upwards, turning on like a light-switch and they locked on his. His smile was an explosion of pearls falling from their shells. His perfect face crinkled into joyful shapes. 
I dragged my stiff legs through thick sand as I left that coffee shop and risked a pursed look over my left shoulder. He was looking, but my legs kept pushing through before my shuddering heart pushed me back towards the counter. His magnetically drawn body was snapped back to mine, separated despairingly by a marble red bar. I clung desperately to the surface with my lips slightly parted in astonishment at my courage. He smiled down on me.

“Ciao, bella, have you any inclination to dine in with that takeaway cup?”

I shivered in adoration of his vocabulary and blessed indentation. His voice was better than I’d expected.

“I’m just about to go on my break,” he added as he slowly glided out from behind the counter and led my now weak and lifeless legs to a booth. He stood strongly until I took a careful seat. He joined me. Placing his chin carefully on his fingers, intertwined, his eyes scanned mine and I’d somehow made it home.

is spending next year here a bad idea? shouldn’t i be pursuing the cambodia dream of my fifteen-year-old self? i have all these desires to plan out trips and go abroad and i honestly think the main reason i don’t carry them out is because i plan them with you. you’re not motivated enough to get a job and pursue your dreams and you’re holding me back from the things we dreamt of together. you’ve always been my safety net. i’m so glad i’ve finally learnt to untangle myself from you and branch out, but i’m terrified about leaving you. you say you’re happy to be sad, but i think you’re lying to yourself. or maybe i just don’t know what it’s like to be that introverted. i feel so guilty every time i leave you in your comfort zone, but i can’t not live my life simply because you’re too scared to. you’re hurting people with your fear and it scares me. 

please, just realise how great this world is beyond your bedroom door and don’t yell at me when i try to open your eyes. 

The nights gleam down on me with their pointed teeth.

A white and wispy battle melts above us, beckoning hearts.

I beg for you to leave,
You climb back.

I descend from my tree’s withering branches with every overpowering stare, wanting, yearning.

Until i’m cut off again,
Clinging
on to what i know is best.

I’ve cut the connection until the only hope is for it to be rejoined,
A triangle,

The hopes are higher than the sunset battle above us.

Ha. I reblogged this yesterday and now am laughing at myself over how ridiculous it is. I related to it in a feminist-type I AM MORE THAN ORDINARY SO DON’T TREAT ME LIKE SHIT- kind of mood, but looking back on it now makes me realise that it’s one of the stereotypically stupid things you’ll find on my Tumblr dashboard.

I’m such a hypocrite. One of the MAIN POINTS of Christianity and following God’s word is to ‘love your neighbour as yourself’. Aka. love everybody and treat them equally no matter how they treat you. Turning the other cheek. If someone treats you like you’re ordinary, like you don’t have feelings or are an unimportant piece of shit, fair enough. You have the right to be irritated, but not the right to decide never to love them. I don’t know, it’s incredibly difficult to love someone who does horrible things to you, but I think the most guaranteed way to get someone to change their attitude towards you is for you to change YOUR attitude towards them and the way you act. 

Despite this, I’m less than an fan of the ‘doormat’ technique. Waiting hours for someone to show up when they have no good reason to be late is a no-no. I’ve started setting myself a 40 minute limit unless they’ve called me and let me know what’s going on. This sort of stuff is where I believe it’s okay to stand up for yourself, but we still need to forgive the mistakes and love people, even if they treat us like we’re ordinary. What did Jesus do when he was being nailed to the cross? Pray for the soldiers and their forgiveness. He was being treated, to say the least, like he was less than ordinary and still managed to ooze this amazing, constant love.

I am so sick of symbolism. Sure, it’s lovely in poems and films and whatnot, but when it starts messing with your head in everyday life, it feels like every minute action contains inescapable scrutiny.

For example, sometimes when i’m playing a tennis match against a younger girl (who is most likely whipping my arse with her irritatingly well-coached technique), my mother’s voice runs through my head, screaming “YOU CAN SQUISH THAT LITTLE ANT JOSIE!!!” whatever, great. But all of sudden i’ll see a bug or ant on the ground and step on it and the notion that i’m going to win is placed in my mind. Simply because i squashed the ant under my foot, CLEARLY, im going to squish the little girl im playing against. Then a ridiculous mental battle goes on during the match where i wonder whether this symbolism is real and if the world will explode if i dont live up to my metaphorical expectations. This keeps happening with everything in life. Better start breathing again, living in the metaphor is a pain in the arse. xo

There were hints of moss peeking through the red-bricked wall as they forgot all critique and stumbled over piles of beautiful literature, scattered on the concrete. It was slaughtered reading material, perfectly moulded to the desires of my eyes and ears and this fantastical man in a pitch-black skinny suit whispered low and grumbly tones of description in my ever-willing ears.

Gumleaves caressed his temples as we stuggled through the immense wonderland until reaching a canopy of white flowers. Lilies, lilies, marking the resemblence of our overpowering minds.

A threesome of unity whispered through several clouds and became my headspace for the late afternoon, never to be knocked back alive to a world where fear leaves us trembling.

Well love is just plain confusing.

But oh boy i love psychology and old women that can ramble on with a glass of wine and when my feet are toasty warm in my thick socks and supervising chris swimming in the freezing water by himself and following it with a dnm and using my special blue pen on a thick book of fresh paper.

Nomnom.

i realised i was suddenly allowed to feast my eyes on the wondrous fifteen year old with thick, floppy dark hair, lusciously tanned skin and eyes that poured themselves into mine like lava from an erupting volcano. the worst realisation came ten minutes later, when i realised that this young boy meant nothing to me. i had no desire to tip my head, slightly, to the side and drool all over my clunky, unappealing black tshirt. all i saw in anything, anyone, were the tiny pieces of you that i yearned to hold again, scattered amongst humans and inanimate objects through my daily life.

life is too short for this. the week beckons, justice and mercy. music holds insane appeal at the most crucial of times. it can be a pleasant side note or a skull crushingly beautiful addition to persisting through the caressing of my eyelids by the uncomfortably warm sunlight.

ticking, clicking, wasting away. while in need of beckoning plays.

stuck in fantasy, wishing for the best things, the simple, blissful, gorgeously challenging parts of this chapter. i can’t seem to pluck myself from the strengthening covers, re-energising for what will never be done. motivation, ENTER MY SOUL DANMIT.

i simply wish i could write beautiful things at any time of day in any place which is quite obviously possible but when looking into things more deeply, i think we’ll all discover the lack of creativity in my midst. if i could only weep for days while clutching classy beverages it would eventually become evident that the sun heavily underweighs the moon. but the moon holds far too much allure and by the time i’m trapped, you’ll be snickering and maybe the beverages will be a polite possibility in the not-too-distant future.

i don’t even care that we yearn for so long. the little recieved fills the collosal holes left gaping in my heart. you’re filling me up, knitting back together what i’ve torn to shreds in my own gluttinous self-loathing.

love me before you? why live by quotes? i pick and choose, like they said. if you choose to live your life by certain poets, yet neglect the words of others, you’re not a hypocrite, you’re trusting what lies in the veins of your true self. the wisdom that appeals should run your story, not the tales the rich and poor find appealing.

so, im not inclined to love myself before i love you. the quote “if there’s love, just feel it” makes far more sense to me than “one must learn to love themself before saying ‘i love you’”. so there’s love, i feel the energy, im swimming, floating, dreaming in your midst. i was never one for following ridiculous rules and this vortex has sucked me in far too far. hold me tight, hold on tight,

i hope this lasts.

So let us swim in our dissatisfaction and moan about our unfulfilled dreams while we gaze into the eyes of a nose-pierced ‘thirteen’ year-old. She holds allure in her midst, encompassing what we dream of clasping through our fists that forever yank the empty air. Biting off chunks with her teeth, the flesh, bread, vegemite grins. Only to revel in the blood-spotted lips as she smacks them together, although merely in her mind. Could this be? This span is far too long.

we are striding,

i am strong.

but, without you,

i am wrong.

spit me out

or swallow me whole.

pull me closer,

“sorry i stole.”

mornings glisten,

night-times haunt.

the dark-hidden fears,

make my wish gaunt.

still undecided,

forever inclined.

moaning to crawl

while my skin becomes lined.