sleep well

Listen.

You’re not wrong for enjoying times with guys. Not all of them are going to last more than memories of a good night. Not all of them will ask for your number. Not all of them will talk to you the morning after. And even if they still do all these things, not all of them will keep talking to you, unless fate smiles upon you and you meet again.

You see you’re young, and being young means having a good time without any attachments, and yet having a good time without being reckless. It means exploring your tastes, diving in deeper into conversations, satire and minds you have never seen before, opening yourself up to a myriad of tumultuous experiences that should shake you up from rock bottom, or leave you where it found you.

Don’t try to hold on so tightly to anything. Just be easy and let it go. Enjoy it for what it is and let it go. Do your own thing, explore in your own way. Don’t be limited in your thought and yet, do not be too generous with it.

Having a boyfriend is okay. Dating is okay. Having a casual fling is okay. As long as your dignity, priorities and self-interests are not compromised, you should have a good time. You should be reserved enough to really highlight the moments when you let your hair down. Be economic with your speech, think before you say it and then when you do, speak to make impressions. When you dance, dance wholeheartedly, warm up a bit, and then really push at the boundaries, don’t be afraid to go for it. It’s a dance, it’s making up for what you can’t say in words, or do with actions.

Don’t feel like you’re constrained. Be open. Be mature. Be bold. Your confidence is beautiful and so are you. You’re only as good as you think you are. You deserve to feel good, as long as you work for it. And you are working for it, so don’t be afraid to be assertive, flirt a little and have some fun.

You’re young. You’re young. You’re young.

unnamed

this feeling is inescapable.
its in the tips of my fingers,
its in the roots of my hair.
it burns in the palms of my hands,

its everywhere i go,
and nowhere i can't see.

its in the way i walk,
like ice cracking before an avalanche,
or the tingling feeling before the flame hits,
it poisons every string and fibre of my heart
and crushes against the soles of my feet.

its the blackest river that creeps into a virgin stream.
the only sedative to chain the only dream.
its like cocaine.
taking over my blood.
it steals my senses.
no, it bought them over.

i gave in.
with all my knowledge, and my values.
i gave in.
with all my faith, and my religion.
i gave in.
with all my complaints, all my fears and worries.

even if the universe blanketed me in all the stars,
even if the galaxies gave me their immortal colours,
even if the sun burned me down to the shred of an atom.

you'd still see it.
you'd still be able to see the words painted in red, across my face.
i'm on the other side of the line now.

you were never a victim. 
you have fallen.
climb from this bottomless pit.

its called regret.

drunk

it felt like flying
gliding, sailing,
fleeting away from you.

the other half of me.
the right half.

you saw through me,

this incongruous feeling.

this breach of a parameter.

i crossed the line.

i turned off the lights.
and danced in those laserbeams.

invincible rebel.
come to me.
feed on your weaknesses.
feel free to be anything but 'me'.

i thought i wouldn't be able to remember. but i do. 
i remember everything.
screaming out for you.

inside. all on the inside.
and then the curtains open, 
and there you are.
standing centre stage,
spotless.

and then the mask 
falls off, and they all saw you.
my demon.

the other half.
the wrong half.