#shhhwrites

[silentwriting]

Poem in Progress

I hate myself

You could tell through the smoke 

In the dim lights

Drink upon drink 

Starting with vodka and redbull

Ending in jack and coke 

It's too big to be cramped

But there is no air in the room

Just suffocating on social presence 

Dancing all alone

Trying my hardest to look cool 

I think if I were you

I wouldn't even be here 

But the sun cannot be the moon 

Heavy clouds will block  the light

Yet the sun will always rise and set

And the moon will wane and wax

Just as predictable as a ticking clock

We had now met 

And cursed forever more 

Maybe I’ll message you

Maybe I’ll respond

Maybe we’ll wander around Sydney 

Maybe I’ll show you where I work 

When I’m not cramming for uni

Maybe you’ll tell me what you ponder

When you let the facade drop

Maybe in the dark frigid night

Your dry cracked lips

Will find warmth on mine 

But I’m not a girl of maybes 

I am a woman of truth and responsibilities

I have a long distance lover in Canberra

Who is actually now in Newcastle

Drunk on bottles of shiraz

Corked in Barrosa 

And you’ve run away 

From your own tangled mess 

From a girl whose photo is your phone’s background  

Who’s holidaying for a two weeks in Paris

Before going to Singapore

For her sister’s engagement 

“We can be friends”

Neither can remember who said it first

But we can both lie until it ends 

Quell the companionship that we thirst 

Replace relationships we cannot mend 

I lose a part of my beating heart,

In my mind I rewrite rationality,

Everytime I hear you laugh 

And I catch you staring at me

Although Miss Swift, I do critique

With my full heart I silently agree

"What if the way you hold me,

Is actually what's Holy?"

But this is just a lust filled crush,

I can only be entertained for so long,

And pretend I like the artificial flush,

in my soul I feel something is wrong

I crave my love as someone drowning

Drinks in water praying it is air

Once rescued never once stopping

Their admiration for an entity that is always there

My love will come back to Sydney

And reside where he truly belongs

In my arms cuddled next to me

Since the last time I've seen him has been too long

[silentwriting]

Another poem

I kiss boys because I can’t kiss myself

In parties where I don’t know the host, 

Or even on the commuter train home,

Where rationality and pain rooting me in reality

Disintegrates at the taste of his lips

With his hands in my hair, hips and ass

I am finally beautiful in (t)his fantasyland 

The grey cloud congeal like sour milk curdling

The breeze grows stronger into a gale 

Eyes fluttered open, pulling away

Infront of me stands half a man, half a mirror

And I’m standing on the broken shards 

The rain must be cold against his flustered cheek 

Chewing on my lip, half swollen, almost blue

“I don’t have an  umbrella,” he says

And there is nothing else left to do

[silentwriting]

May 18th 2023

I feel restless; my muscles twitch spontaneously, there are thousands of millions of hundreds of thoughts pouring out of my mind and into every crevice of my body. But I can't focus on these superficial thoughts, they barely escape my pen to my page. I don't know what I’m feeling. I don’t know what I want to feel. There is a wavering twinge of anticipation for my future; going to away, seeing my therapist again, my training session and of course seeing him. But there is a stagnancy of tiredness, the anxious ever looming notion of the uncertainty that comes with making your own decisions at this age. There is annoyance towards assignments but there is also a never ending craving for something sweet; yet to congeal all these emotions, pulling me in different directions, leaves me with this polarising state of experiencing every complex nuanced emotion I think I have ever felt. 

But I also feel nothing at all. 

Perhaps, if I look past the pretentious vocabulary and over dramatised phrasing, truly at their fundamental core that is what my emotions are.

Nothing.  

These emotions are nothing at all.

[silentwriting]

To the Owl My Eyes have Not Yet Met

To the owl my eyes have not yet met

But haunts when all is asleep

Listening to tears I should forget

Hoping  secrets privately he keeps

Fair freckled fowl, steady and unfazed

Please don’t waste such admirable strength watching

The moon will shine longer than you can gaze

Precious time and longing youth will escape without you realising

Nightly servant, do you ever yearn

To betray your fundamental biology?

To feel the pain the sun brings and burns?

To feel the love the sun gives, good and holy?

Moonbeams curses my thoughts and I feel like I’m in limbo

I love you owl, please leave, please go

[silentwriting]

The Second Goodbye Letter

Context: He was my soccer coach

Dear ****,

I write these letters when I think I’ll never meet you again. 

The first time I tried to write this letter I couldn’t, because I couldn’t see my laptop screen through the tears. But I’m not crying now. Instead I push back tears when I think of all you had said to me, encouraging me, supporting me, at the very least pretending like you cared. And even so, ever since the moment I knew, for certain, I would never see you again, there has just been this constant, unwavering, dull ache. 

When I wrote the first thank you card for you, I was embarrassingly and stupidly lovesick for you. Actually, I still am but not the same way I was two years ago. I can get so angry at the thought of you and things you’ve done and the words you’ve said. And yet I still choose to look past that and think of all the things you’ve said to support me and make me feel like I was an amazing player. 

It frustrates me that almost all your good qualities came down to a job description. It frustrates me that this intense overwhelming emotion I feel for you is simply a reflection on me; my attachment, my need for praise, my desperateness. Maybe if Jeremy, or Rhys or literally anyone had been in your place I would be writing this letter to them. You can wonder all you want. But I know for certain I wouldn’t be. 

I can go on, and on about the crying and the angst you left me with but somewhere deep deep down I think I knew you would leave. I wasn’t surprised but instead a distinct feeling when the dread in your stomach is confirmed and slowly settling down. I always knew you had to leave at one point, I just wish it wasn’t like this. I wish we had a better last game together. I wish I could thank you one more time because the fact you left without even an email makes me feel like you don’t understand how much you’ve helped and meant to me.

I never once exaggerated when I said you are the best coach I ever had. And with the standard you set, the best coach I will ever have, for a very long time. 

You left my life just as abrupt as you entered it and I will forever love you and hate you for that. 

Regards, as kind and as intense as you were on the 11th of May 2021,

[silentwriting]

The First Goodbye Letter

Context: He was my English Tutor

Dear ******,

If you said that you hate me, I wouldn’t be surprised. I’m not very smart, I say and do dumb things without even realising but that’s why I appreciate you so much; you are one of the most empathetic and reasonable people I have ever had the delight of associating myself with. I  wish that everyone else that you meet acknowledges your kind and genuine personality because I find it a very rare trait amongst people I know; including myself. But you never cared I guess, I mean if you did you never let it show. I also appreciate the way you see the potential of what we could be, rather than what we are today. I appreciate what you have done for the class and I over the little time we had with you. Apart from teaching me how to write basic English, you are the result of hard work; teaching me that you should never rely on luck and how to enjoy learning. I appreciate that immensely. I appreciate you.

Have you realised how interesting you are? You have a preternatural vocabulary and knowledge on some of the obscure things ever. You are yet to explain your extensive knowledge on Scientology. I would call you a nerd but you’re too epic for that title. I just really want to know how you’ve almost memorised the entire dictionary and why you haven’t published a book yet. Your writing creates a new dimension and catapults the reader there; even after the final words have jumped off their tongue, there seems to have been a permanent tear in the worlds from which your words flood the reader's mind and linger there forever. It’s a drug, I swear.

I often find myself wondering why I have this attachment to you; I don’t have an exact answer and I’m okay with that. Maybe it’s because of how much you seem to generally care, or maybe how much we have in common. I reckon it’s because you gave me a sense of hope; before this I felt like I knew I would be a lost cause and wind up as a barely above minimum wage 9 - 5 temp. But here I am convinced I can change the world thanks to you.

I feel like I could write essays about how much you’ve helped me grow over this year but frankly, I do not know that well which is simply sad. I wish I had known you for longer or emailed you more because you are someone who I aspire to be; (I’m sorry if I repeated myself here but) hardworking, have a constant fascination for learning and kind, so very kind.

You leaving is probably one of the worst things about this year but what’s even dumber is the fact that I’ve only met you a couple of months ago and the fact that within those few months you have painted a masterpiece of yourself in my memory of who you are and who I aspire to be is incredible. You are incredible and I really hope you never forgot that.  I hope to meet you again, in a circumstance where I get to know you better. 

Until we meet,

[silentwriting]

Goodbye Letters

Do you ever meet people who have had an unexplainable effect on you as a person?

When I meet people like that and then they leave my life with no chance of coming back, I write them a goodbye letter of everything I would say to them if I was shameless and the actual chance of seeing them again was 0%. Listen life works in strange ways.

I'll blur out the names and post them on here.

I think the most tragic part of these letters is the reminder of how much they meant to me, but they have probably forgotten my name by now.

Oh well, if this is how life is then what other choice do I have than to accept it?

The List of Letters:

The First Letter

The Second Goodbye Letter

The Third Goodbye Letter

[silentwriting]

TW: shinji kin moment

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I disappointed a lot of people.

[silentwriting]

It's strange how things work out. Originally I was going to say funny;

It’s funny how things work out

But it's not. 

There isn’t much humour in the way the world ticks, and how everything will fall into a place, hence working out. Even if that place is tight and uncomfortable and not all suitable, it does not matter because everything will fall into a place, it is not required to fit into that place. 

Now, at the end of April I’ve come to realise a few things which I should’ve known earlier and acknowledged earlier.

There are two things in this world:

1. Things which i know

2. Things which I don't know

There are things I will never know, which is for the better. If I knew it all it would be hard to find purpose. Not that my purpose is to know it all. 

Purpose. 

Purpose. 

Purpose. 

Purpose

Purpose

Purpose

Purpose

I had always thought that an individual’s purpose in life was to find and assign their purpose. The Greats knew it. And The Greats were born with the same two arms, and brain as I was. 

What if I fail to find and assign a purpose to myself?

There would be no consequence as I would have only failed myself. And after years of failing myself over, and over, and over again I am used to it. That gut wrenching feeling, like my stomach has twisted itself inside out within me, I am very used to it.

I feel that feeling when I think of my parents who invested so much time and money and effort in raising a successful child, only for the child to fail at everything. I feel that feeling when I read my diary from when I was young, a child with so much potential who squandered it all and now every waking moment feels like it's too late. 

I feel that feeling (The feminst guilt is what I call this special flavour of anxiety induced stomach pain), when I know that I should be aspiring to have some kind of groundbreaking, awe inspiring career but instead my only aspiration is to be loved and to have a secure knowledge that no matter what happens or what I do, I will always be loved. 

Love. 

I sound too pretentious . Even when writing in a diary I know will only be read by me, I sound like I’m giving a performance; is this the complexity behind the male gaze?

I'm not this ostentatious, one dimensioned, predictable, character; I'm an irrational, unexplainable monster.

I am human.

[silentwriting]

Don't call me.

Trying to sleep my life away.

Not that anyone would call me anyways.

[silentwriting]

A Few Extracts from another abandoned WIP

20th Of March

It was a sleepy kind of afternoon; the washed out cerulean sky, the lazy pastel green gum leaves which just hung there. It's moments like these where I think I'm possessed by the ghost of a romantic; I'd like to hope it's John Keats but it's more likely Mary Shelly, although I don't mind either.

But life isn't a story, even if I write it down or type it up, so although the afternoon looked lazy it was tense. A shock or static could bolt right through it.

Sometimes I know I'm delusional but the very concept of this distinct flavour of insanity means that I shouldn't be sure of any of my thoughts.

So I'll settle with, "I think".

I think I'm insane and/or delusional. Or perhaps I have a very specific communication disorder. The most rational of all the probabilities is that I'm just a terrible person who, given my over-privileged up bringing shouldn't be this much of a self-pitying failure, so maybe I should just blame my consciously self destructive life choices on something outside my control.

Maybe I'm bipolar?

And yes, I have been on the internet in 2021 (honestly where else can I go? ) and that mental health problems are not an excuse for anyone's behaviour or actions and the individual is fully responsible blah, blah, blah all that Greta Thunberg but honestly people underestimate the power of sympathy.

S Y M P A T H Y

Tiring is so tiring to say. My nail polish is chipped like pieces of a puzzle, but that's alright, it looked bad anyways.

[silentwriting]

First Post

Hello,

I don’t completely understand how Tumblr works yet but I’ll get around to it. I’m using this blog as a way to just put my thoughts somewhere and document moments which matter to me but not really to other people. I want to take advantage of the freedom that comes with online anonymity and try to be the truest part of myself. ❤️‍🩹 💞

[silentwriting]

I hate the fact that in the future I'm going to think about the things I'm doing now and find it really really really cringey

[silentwriting]

An abandoned WIP.

Not long stretches of time

Just fleeting moments

Which I dwell on for too long

Missing something I never had

A prominent absence

That throbs and claws

Never existed but I long that it will

A warm hand on my hip

Soft lips on lips

Only soft because it theirs; theirs only

But will I be loved back?

- A.K.V

[silentwriting]

Holding my friends hand >>>>>>> literally anything. I'm not even joking.

[silentwriting]

ew.