I Bleed Words Sometimes

Posts tagged “wound

The Crowd

And when I let it in, it crushed every ounce of me within seconds.

I was a goner the minute I let my guard down.

 

It was as if the consequence I so feared were unraveling in front me at the speed of light.

And the blow… Oh, it was just too fatal.

 

I took a deep breath, again, in search for some solace. Ha, all in vain.

 

Standing there, in the middle of the square, no one could tell the tornado inside.

People indulged in the hustle and bustle of their own lives.

 

Babies crying.

Old couples holding hands walking in the silence of their love.

Young couples fighting over a trivial deal.

Children rushing to school.

Mothers scolding kids.

Father rushing to earn the bread and butter…

 

Standing there in the middle of the square, no one, absolutely no one, could tell there was a tornado whirling within.

The calm facade camouflaging the crumbling structure.

 

So beautiful.
So lovely.
So picturesque.

 

Yes, life is poetry.

 

And I just hugged the soil beneath my feet.

Advertisements

That Still Night

Denis Roche.

It was the first time she felt the fearsome marvel of a man’s body. She asked him about his deepest darkest terror. His eyes glistened at the very thought of that day. After what seemed like an eternity, he answered her, with every detail and vehemence as though he was reliving that very moment again, once again. They sat there in the haunting silence of their hearts and souls. She had learnt of the most ghastly experience of his life and she could not unlearn it. She did not wish to. She did not need to.

She leaned forward and touched his temple with her quivering lips. And moving slowly like the orange basked sky disappearing into the purple haze of the misty cloud, she kissed his high cheeks, his sharp nose and whispered gently to his lips. And without contemplation, without any resolve or question he responded to her every silent command. She did not wish for him to lead, today was her day to give. For the first time in her life she was sure of what she wanted. She wanted to touch him, caress him and kiss him right in that dark, fearful part of his soul that had been so meticulously concealed, never to be revealed to any being, breathing or deceased.
His pain and terror wasn’t hers to take away. It wasn’t her intention to make it go away because she knew, more than anything, that she could never erase that grisly memory which was a part of him. A part that had been carved and embedded into the bottomless abyss of his very being. Memories can never be replaced, she could not replace his with hers either. All she could do with every sway was attach this memory to the unpleasant one he already owns. And maybe, just maybe when he remembers the original gruesome memory, he will remember this; he will remember her and remember the poetry they created together-alone that still night. It was the first time she felt the fearsome marvel of a man’s body. It was just like she always dreamed of it to be.
~ by Madonna Rozario Jansen

Stranger To My Skin

There's a lonely place inside ourselves.

There’s a lonely place inside ourselves.

Sometimes you got to be a man you are not. Sometimes you’ve just got to take the road you’ve never imagined you would tread.

Sometimes you’ve got to befriend strangers… abandoning friends and family. Sometimes you’ve got to be a stranger to yourself. It’s the only way; only way you can find who you really are.

But no one can promise you it will come to be. And you could travel far and wide and yet never find your place. Never belong and be lost for what seems like eternity.

But you’ll never know what’s attainable if you never try. If you never leave. If you sit at the corner and wait for happiness or even satisfaction to hit you like a wave. It may never happen.

Isn’t that a scary thought? That you’ll go all your life not knowing what you truly are capable of? It scares me to no end.

And some day I’m going to have to pick the pieces up and run, run like it’s the only right thing to do, run like my life depended on it. Run like death was the beast chasing me to a dead end of a dark alley.

It’s the only way, my friend, it’s the only way to know who I am.

And to know what lies within I will have to abandon what I build on the outside.

Knowing well that it took years of love, care, sweat and blood to create. Knowing well that once destroyed, it could take years to rebuild. That if I lose, and am forced to mold whatever is left of me I could lose the will and walk away from the debris my life has become. That I may not have the strength or the power of will to start from scratch. Lethargy could be my enemy. But these are all the ‘buts’ I’m ready to overlook. Because the ‘What could be’ is enticing. Like the tempting devil in the desert of life.

I will have to make my own journey now. Carve out a new path. And meet people I’ve never known. Go to a land the language of which I do not speak. Under a sky that isn’t mine. I will have to leave. And the Now could be Tomorrow, Next week, A month later or Years from today.

What counts, is that my soul is ready to make the voyage.

Maria Aparicio Puentes.

I’ll know in my heart when it is time to sail.

Rembrandt Harmenszoon van Rijn.


Will you still love me when…

Will you still love me when I’m stripped of my words?

When I have nothing to offer?

When I can’t make the ink flow?

When I’ve spilled every ounce of you from my being?

When I’ve forgotten how to bleed?

When I’m devoid of emotion?

When I’ve lost the will to live?

When I’ve lost the will to love?

When I’m bare and unashamed?

Will you?

Nobody ever does.


Love, Is It Over Yet?

Is it over yet?

The ordeal of love?

Or do I need to continue smiling.

Continue defying,

The state of my heart.

 

Is it over yet?

The patient wait,

for nothingness,

for emptiness.

for hollowness?

 

Is it over yet?

Your condescending laugh,

echoing through my head,

resounding through my soul.

creeping through my body?

 

Is it over yet?

your pretence,

your facade,

your false promises?

 

I guess,

It just isn’t over, until you’re over.Image

My 18th Contribution to NaPoWriMo 2013