And who is this figure,
Talking,
Talking to find his voice,
With his body,
Not as fragile
That big, ol’ body –
Praying to be felt,
With them big, ol’ shoulders,
That don’t quite fit,
Hanging,
And dangling around,
‘Cept the words,
Them big, ol’ words
– what about them?
Well, words,
They’re just words.
The giver,
The one who gives too much
The one who has too much to give
Lies curled up in a corner
‘Cuz all he ever wanted
Was to be given the same amount.
To not second-guess myself,
To let things go
To allow myself love,
To articulate and to connect
Living with myself,
Taking care of me.
For long, I’d been having a sort of an identity crisis – with my name being the culprit here. Maybe everyone who’d been named something essentially a combination of two different names would know. Being too long, typically people either call you by one, or the other. And sometimes, you are given the liberty of getting to choose what you’d like to be gone by. Like most others, I wanted to be known by the cooler-sounding name – and try to live up to it. But it was only later on that I realized you can’t really change what feels like you and describes you to the most honest degree. Now I am no longer confused. No more crisis. No more double lives.
Running thoughts. All that could have been. All that could be. Doubts. Mistakes. Self-loathing. Fear. Withdrawal. Matter-of-factness. Cluelessness. Regret. Repentance. Loneliness. Determination. Moving-on. Frustration. Anger. Acceptance. Hope. Optimism. Steel-goddamn-stomach. Will-fucking-power. Super-duper strength.
Privileged little f*cker,
Gets everything he wants,
Has everything he needs.
Privileged little f*cker,
Complains about life,
Dissatisfied and grumpy,
Lustful and tenacious.
Privileged little f*cker,
Contemplates stuff to do,
Gets everything he wants,
Has everything he needs.
Privileged little f*cker,
Distraught and weary,
Energetic and vibrant,
Distraught and weary.
Privileged little f*cker,
Scared and disillusioned,
Waiting to get off the bandwagon,
Emotions and people,
Emotions and darkness,
Emotions and emptiness.
Privileged little f*cker,
Alive and kicking,
Restless and raucous,
Vibrancy in his bones,
Lulls in his brains,
Vibrancy in his bones.
Privileged little f*cker,
Too good for his own shoes,
Not one to want to get involved in others’ –
Dusty shoes,
Shoeshiner’s luck.
Privileged little f*cker,
F*ck this, f*ck that,
Done all that, yes siree,
Creepy conversations, creepier smiles,
Drama magnet, inner turmoil.
Privileged little f*cker,
Privileged as they come,
Not so little anymore,
Gets on by –
A scrape here, a tear there,
Oh, look, candy!
Gets on by.
To get a Tetanus shot or not,
To eat that next cookie or not,
To give a fuck or not,
To watch one more video or not,
To make an effort or not,
To force yourself or not,
To try to be funny or not,
To trust or not.
I want to know how you’d touch me,
I want to know you’d feel me,
I want to know how your breath would feel on my face, when you’re caught between two worlds, waiting to make a move, almost done fighting the urge
I want to know how your hands would feel me, as you’d brush your lips against mine, a fiery tension and a Godly gratification embracing each other
I want to feel the life surging through your veins, as you’d take me with your all-indulging desire
I want to feel your flesh tingling, as my hands make their way through you, igniting centres, previously unfathomable
I want to feel your ever-slight tremble, as I let myself touch you, the mere grazing of skin enough to make breathing just not so easy
I want to hear your fading moan echo in my ears, as we let ourselves into uncharted terrains, all the suppressed unquiet unfurling
I want to know if you want me the way I want you.
As loneliness starts creeping in, I’m starting to doubt my own being and the very fabric of human interaction. How does the whole system of friendships and relationships work when you’re supposed to be on your own and have an iron will and mental strength. Why don’t the people I like reciprocate my feelings? Am I naturally unlikeable? And what if they do? What difference does it make really? I mean, why am I not just able to find the will to go on within myself? Why do I need other people for that? Is it just a feigned interest to get caught up in other people’s lives, as an excuse to take a break from one’s own? Or is it the sorry good feeling I get when I project myself and my dreams a hundred times more exciting as they really are? Is it some form of acceptance I crave, from any person really? What else? What is it then? I wouldn’t mind getting back on the dating horse right now. Life’s real lonely.
I know I shouldn’t be thinking of you. But yet I am. Why am I in such a daze? How are you doing? What have you been up to? How’s life? Meet anyone interesting? Are you able to get by? Do you not miss those endless arguments? Tell me. Tell me everything. I want to know it all. I’m sorry I put you through hell. Is this the end of it all? Do we meet no more more? Are our lives no longer entwined? Was it not meant to be? Was it all for nought? Was the bond we shared all a lie? Do you not miss me?
A Sight into My Psyche 