eight days to 20

I am so scared. 
So afraid of failure, 
of obesity, 
of someone looking at me 
in repulse and disgust, 
mortified to find 
the blemishes on my skin
and even more repelled 
by the open sores 
of my heart.

I'm afraid of being misunderstood,
understood perfectly, 
being laughed at for being 
eccentrically extraordinary, 
and at the same time in my hovering frame, 
traditional values are the bones
that make me, I'm afraid of being boring
and old-fashioned. 
I'm afraid of that rancid undertone in your voice,
laced with scorn,
when you say, "It's okay, I understand. 
You don't have to if you don't want to."

Sometimes I wish I could skip out 
on parts of life altogether;
much like an acne-scarred, 
buck-toothed, 
fat, 
bulimic, 
awkward 
tall girl 
wishes 
she could skip out on high school. 

But where is the fun in that? 
Relief is only momentary, 
temporary 
and solitary in such things, 
and 20?

20 is coming my way.
Whether I like it or not.

made to love

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z6SGeaQrIU8

hey you,
help me.
peel the lethargy from my body,
reveal strips of unblemished skin
transformed under the pressure,
the heat of experience.
smooth.

you, 
wipe these wounds clean.
please.
wash them out, blow kisses with that 
soft fabric, your fingers
feel like peace to me,
my gashes are closing,
your sweet kisses
sealing them.

stroke my limbs,
ease them down,
draw their length in the pull
of your lips,
contour them
in the movement 
of your hips.

rejuvenate me.

my bones,
my bones remember now
what they're holding up
my frame is clothed,
my shoulders covered,
my legs wrapped,
my arms entangled,
in you.

with the air that
exits,
a wish escapes,
a sigh hits the roof of
my parted mouth,
eyes shut,
still awake,
to hear
to listen to the sounds
of your presence
regardless of the form it takes

i will stay awake for you.
do all or nothing for you,
healed,
i lay afresh,
i've been waiting for this.

with patience,
i've been led out of the abyss,
as you tended to me,
your sustaining touch,
holding that kiss.

in the morning when i wake.

i'm willing to wait,

wait for love.

i realise the curves of my body

don't match the curves of my mind.

i realise the strength of my conviction

doesn't amount to the time,

or dedication and commitment

he'd deserve.

not yet at least,

i don't to keep anything in reserve.

i want to be able to pull it out,

like a love letter on a bridge,

handing it to you,

with all of me within

it.

i want to be stronger than i am now,

to know that not every moment is special.

moments happen, but there are some only that are special,

some only that stand out.

i want to be able to appreciate them,

without trying to sap them of their magic.

i want to be able to wait,

wait for someone to press play again.

i want to be able to be okay with waiting.

right now,

my impatient young blood

still has a lot to learn.

i need to be a little less kind with my time.

i won't ever get these years back.

i want to lose myself in trying to 

discover all the hidden parts of me,

scattered all across this city.

i want to say with confidence,

i love you.

not to the silhouette of a man against a wall,

a paper curtain reflecting the sincerity of the moment.

no no, i want to be able to say that to myself.

so one day when i look back
9 months heavy,

9 months thin,

i'll be stretched over the depth of those memories.

i'll tell my kid i lived to see myself grow up.

how many adults do you know that can say that?
how many adults remember when they grew up?

that's the thing.

i want to be older, wiser, calmer, better.

but i don't want to be bitter, lonesome, jealous and hurt.

i want to say that i gave myself the time i needed

to grow into a relationship, mamahood, and that 9 to 5 job.

i want to be happy whether i'm average or super-sized,

i want to be happy where i am.

right now,

i'm too discontent.

i can't stay in the same place for too long.

so i'll move, like a vagabond with a secret,

i'm journeying far beyond all my years, and yet

i'm standing awkardly, two feet curving into the

pull of those broad shoulders, those scarred knees.

i'm here, i'm taking myself along with me, on this road i'm on.

i made a promise not to be deserted a long time ago.

but what about the promise not to desert yourself?

what about the time you need to give yourself?

to wait,

to be willing to wait,
for love.

the special ones

in the middle of all the action,

the lights go off,

and they flicker.

suddenly everything becomes a scramble of limbs,

a snapshot,

a glimpse,

gone.

those are like the memories with you.

with all of you.

digging deeper into the closets of the incubus,

i find that all that i clothed myself with were

the shadows of a life worth living.

the reflections in the mirror

should be worth seeing face to face.

yet, i'm still so confused when it comes to you.

to all of you.

attraction, it's predatory on the rational values of my soul,

it encroaches on the private borders of my mind,

it brings me back to edge,

it tapdances on those lines,

drawn out in chalk,

they're fading.

i'm trying not to seem shifting.

where's the concrete to lay down the slab

on my chest, on my feet, on my hands,

on my heart.

letting the city swallow me.

keeping myself from the everchanging,

still, my mind runs too fast from the cage

it knows too well...

there isn't any life after this hell.

"hell is a state of being" and being in love is "glamourous hell".

let me know when you're being genuine.

when you're really in love.

because all of them felt the same,

so either i'm fickle, or i'm really good at lying.