All the things I feel
I feel a lot of things. You may put it down to my upcoming period and you may put it down to the fact that I have too much time on my hands. In which both cases, you’d be right. And yet you’d also be wrong because I have always been like this. But circumstances have a way of dumbing things down or playing things way up in its own very convenient way.
I don’t want to talk about it, just because doing so makes it real. And being the superwoman that I think I am, I always keep it in and I simmer it and I simmer it because I think it will eventually evaporate into a mere puff of toxic air. And toxic air I can bear. I keep it in because I believe it will go away because things always work out in the end.
But what I cannot bear lingers and it lingers deep. It lingers and backfires into a thick, heavy upwelling of molasses which eventually congeals into an impenetrable surface, like a pill in a body which takes seven years to digest.
“Why don’t you do what makes you happy?” (such an innocent request to take forgranted)
And I want to type in long sentences which will form into nice, neat lengthy paragraphs which goes against my long standing habit of writing in stanzas when I am upset only because this time it’s different. This time I want my words to be comforted, I want my words to be enfolded and embraced and to be part of a group even if it is a squeeze. I want my words to be what its author can’t be and won’t let be. My words will be confident and eloquent and worked to its full potential and made to be whatever it was born and set out to be.