What’s going on with the world?
How is everybody at peace?
The depressed are sent to therapy,
But who make no sense are those that are happy.
Your unsuspecting well-wisher,
Wonder what they do, when you’re not around to hear.
Have you ever wondered what everybody thought?
The angel in your mind is someone else’s thot.
You ever try to make a change?
Made empty self promises to never be dubbed deranged?
You ever feel so proud?
Then watch your strength shatter as you’re shot down from that cloud?
Why try when you’re guaranteed to fail?
Hope is all too common an ail.
Even the middle of a mob can be a lonely place
To a self proclaimed misunderstood soul
Do I not know what to say?
My words seem to reach their ears
But all meaning simply echoes away.
Do they live a life so different from mine?
We all feel, bleed and heal
But somehow I feel less important pain.
It’s funny how,
When you’re dealt a bad hand,
And you’re looking for someone to blame,
The first victim is always on the other side of a mirror.
Its tragic how,
You give your all to someone,
And receive nothing in return but shame,
The expectant fate of an obedient giver.
In this particular lonely corner of a crowded room,
I ask myself,
Can a soul be so misunderstood it doesn’t understand itself?
Afraid to love;
It is a tremendous burden to bear,
To have somebody.
Afraid to lose,
It is a pain unlike any other,
The soul’s malady.
Happiness is a precarious possession,
To a heart soon to be destitute of love.
For there is a fate worse than death
To live, but never whole again for another breath.
Every morning like clock work
With the rise of dawn
Arises my need,
The need to cover up.
A few strokes of brushes,
A few dabs of paints,
When I’m done and look in the mirror,
What did I spend all this time covering up?
Imperfections or my identity?
Too bad they don’t make concealer for your personality.
To all the writers out there:
It’s not real unless it’s obsessive.
We all dream. But, you don’t deserve it unless every minute of your life is somehow a journey towards it.
We all love. But you don’t belong together unless you share a passion that drives you insane.
You can write pretty words, think easy thoughts. It might even please the crowd. But you’re not really writing unless every word you write is a window to your soul. The truth is ugly. It doesn’t rhyme. Sometimes it doesn’t even make sense. But the moment you stop caring what others think, you will discover yourself. Maybe they’ll like it, maybe they won’t. At least, it will be real.
So darling, stay obsessed. Make every choice like there’s no consequence. Live every fucking moment like you’re about to breathe your last breath.
– The Obsessive Writer
So many people rant about self-love, and I don’t know about you, but I often wonder things like, “They’re just saying that because they have someone” you know? I’m skeptical to people who have millions of loving people in their lives who talk about self-love being the only love that “matters”. And then there are those perfect, flat stomached, curvy girls who say looks don’t matter so don’t hate your body. Love it for what it is.
We all are in this journey in life to find someone to complete us. Some of think we already found them, some of us never stop looking and some of us hate our lives because we don’t have that someone. What is this someone for, you ask? It is to help bury all those insecurities. Am I pretty enough? Am I skinny enough? Am I funny enough? Am I lovable? Am I fun to be around? We want someone who’s going to answer all those questions in a positive way for the rest of our lives to feed our growing insecurities.
What if you’ve already got that person and you’ve no idea? What if I told you I know who completes you?
Yes, I’m starting to sound like those people who talk about self-love too, aren’t I? Well times have changed and I’ve had some growing up to do. It’s not just one or two but almost everyone who loves themselves seems to have a lot of people who love them. Everyone who feels confident about how they look is often perceived as beautiful and gorgeous. Are you seeing the common denominator here?
Be that person who sits on the bed with yourself and hold your own hand and stop those tears. Learn to cheer yourself up. You were born as a whole and you don’t need someone to complete you. Once you’ve reached that stage where you love yourself whether you lose that 10 kilos or not, those petty things won’t matter. And when you’re around people you’ll start thinking about how they make you feel rather than panicking about whether they like you or not. That’s the day you’ll find love, and friends and people who accept you for who you are. And that’s the day you’ll feel beautiful inside out.
– The Obsessive Writer
A raging ball of fire slowly slips into the shadows. The darkness embraces the light, and gives birth to the night. The gold turns to silver, all the noises now merely a quiver.
I hear nothing.
I see no-one.
I am relieved.
Little by little the dark fades into lighter shades, the moon leaves to light the sun ablaze. The world comes to life and with it, it’s strife.
I hear lies.
I see liars.
I am betrayed.