'Twas the month of December

For as long as I can remember, I've disliked December.
There’s never been anything good about this month- it’s always been the time of the year when people display the worst of their character.

Something about high strung adults rushing about, oblivious to their screaming children left in their wake, has always left an unpleasant taste in my mouth. I worry I may eventually tire of bending over to pick up dropped toys and running them over to frantic parents and screaming kids. The gesture of swiping the soiled object for my hand and throwing it into their child’s stroller is not something I would consider alive with Christmas spirit.

Aside from the obvious lack of warmth from overly crowded spaces, there are the mistakes that can only be made during December. The parties attended with classmates, coworkers, and friends bonded by an overabundance of spirits. At these parties inhibitions are misplaced along with cell phones and promises for the sake of promiscuity and pleasure, providing others with the present of gossip.

Gossip and callousness are gifted in “baker’s dozen” each holiday season, accompanied with unnecessary boisterous fights.

My Decembers have also included the diagnosis of illnesses, the deaths of loved ones, and the requests for gifts that can’t be given.

I don’t celebrate Christmas for gifts and parties, those are superfluous fillers supplied by friends to ensure I’m as happy as them. In my own way, I am. I've learned embrace the celebration of marketable holidays by enjoying plush blankets and thick novels while surrounded by family. My perception of what December should be entails enjoying the company of family, accepting your friends and willing to forget their mistakes, and seeking out ways to be kind to others.

With age I've learned to tolerate December, I've even found ways to enjoy this duplicitous month.

Darling Duality

Ashley and Arial were two sides of a whole coin, they completed each other.
Each girl was living off the other to fill what their genetic composition was lacking. Their only shared trait was a unique alluring appeal; Ashley flowed with fluidity and poise, Arial brimmed with bubbles and mirth. Together, they were utterly enchanting and completely captivating.

Objects can only be whole as long as time allows, and time never travels in reverse. The girls joyous days ended when a severing night separated their souls. Screeching tires and a skidding vehicle was the result of a path hindering bunny, this ball of fluff enforced the discord of their oneness.

Perfectly incomplete, Ashley let Arial enjoy the silky fur of the kamikaze creature, content with spectating. Bunny’s wet nose bump against Ashley’s prettily pert one. The twinkle to Arial’s laughter and sparkle in her eyes as she twirled the undeserving specimen around encouraged Ashley to tolerate the miniature monster’s presence.


The night carried on with Arial’s twirling and twinkling; Bunny was presumed to have affectionate feelings for the girl. Perhaps Bunny did have feelings at some point; but as the night ceased ending, his affections became inverted. Arial’s warm arms began to bore his lusting hunger, so he bit her hard to elicit a shocking release. At his abrupt absence, Arial grew solemn and dilapidated; her radiance was dying. Ashley gathered the fetaling girl and noted her waning warmth. Embracing her, Ashley bartered with deceitful demons for the ability absorb Arial’s affliction. The risk was that one girl would become overwhelmed by the agony and the other girl would be left alone.

Ashley’s poise was always addlepated as apathy because she struggled to share her thoughts and expressions in the same manner as Arial. Admittedly, Ashley always adored Arial- cherishing her cherubic qualities. Aware that if a detachment between them was made, then Ashley would forever be analytic, astute, and alone.  Ashley was certain she could carry the burden of being “agonized” and “apathetic” with minimal emotional adjustment; merely another atomic anomaly, like cancer.

As the night faded, two girls were left huddled together embracing their intimate decisions. They became indiscernible.

Acceptance of Rejection

Rejection, it may be the least liked feeling of any persons-

 it's being forced to acknowledge that someone’s opinion of you is that you're not good enough.

That feeling stings, and it hurts.

If you consider their opinion worth mattering, then you’ll take measures to lessen the pain- as petty as those actions may be.

I'm not confident there is any precaution you can take to really brace for rejection, perhaps when the time comes you just attempt to endure it and try to be rational with your emotions. Although, I'm certain being rational is not the most convenient option.

Maybe feeling that rejection helps to enforce the reality that we're merely humans and we may not always be provided with the outcomes we prefer.

These past two weeks have felt like months! My emotions have soared amongst sun caressed clouds and been drowned in dams of darkness. I've wanted to cry uncontrollably and shout utter madness- and more than anything, I've wanted another chance. My reactions aren't always rational or logical, and maybe they're unpredictable, but that's part of experiencing life- knowing that tomorrow won't be the same day as the one that has just ended.

That's the tragic beauty to a day’s end- despite the hours of one day dying; it provides an opportunity for a new day to be born and new memories to be made.

Honestly, I'm biased towards good memories; I've never been fond of carrying malice for anyone.

This epiphany could be linked to an irrelevant incident which occurred too recently, such as: choosing to not act on an immature action, having a kamikaze bunny appear in front of your moving vehicle, locking up your breaks to save an obviously stupid creature, and sliding into a field- oh yes, the bunny lived.

I don't know- I'm not graceful and one of the most accident prone people to exist. Maybe I don't have long to live. There's a plethora of possible demises I could encounter!

I just don't want to end by using hate to get over rejection and heart ache- to get over you. I tried as fiercely as I could, and it wasn't good enough- it could be the timing was wrong or maybe I'm just not the right person for you.

Still Spitting

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6exsatE-DUk

Because you broke me and now I'm ready to spit you out!

Watch as I Spit You Out!

 Out of all the eyes in this room, yours weighed down on me the most-
I could feel your stare more intensely than any of theirs the moment I walked through the door.

….

However, nothing about your gaze felt warm or welcoming; that gaze is the catalyst for how I feel now-

FUCK YOU!

....

From across the room your words echoed in my head and I tried endlessly to block you out! I could hear bits and pieces of a conversation I didn't want to be aware of, so I fought back! While you were drowning me with your words and her laughter, I sought a petty sanctuary within a friends menial flirtations.

I hope his compliments scorched some part of you because I’m over feeling sorry and I’m finished feeling guilty. You've extrapolated your revenge- you succeeded in beguiling me to like you while treating me like a dependable but deficient fuck toy.

It fucking hurt!

It tore through me in the ugliest ways! There was nothing clean, sharp, or sanitary about the wounds you inflicted- and because of that, I may be the better person. Ironically, I’m using your confessions to accelerate my recovery- I’m using my rage.

I never fathomed I would have to taste anything so bitter but life is all about new experiences.

I know you won’t feel the same way I did two years ago- you will not feel: guilty, concerned, or responsible because you told me what “this” was.

I’m not sweet, I’m not docile, and I’m not passive- I've tried, but that really isn't who I am. I hope you’re prepared to hate me again because I’m going to meet you eye to eye for each sordid incision you left-
for making me feel degraded, demeaned, and demoralized.

Self-preservation isn’t my concern when you intentionally infected me with pain so FUCK YOU!

Thoughts from Within

Everything you have said runs through my brain, I pick each conversation over while I’m alone until the words lose their meanings. I make an effort to refrain from correcting your opinions and store each accusation in my chest as an issue I’ll seek to resolve privately.

My initial liking of you was never a façade and my intent was not to make you endure unnecessary pain-these are truths you may not believe and I've prohibited myself from blaming you when this much time has had to elapse before I could be honest with myself.

I talked to her today, the person who divulged a fallacious truth with you, she remembered the encounter and relieved to me her intent- she wanted me to cease being afraid of acting on desires I felt guilty over. She’s right, it was a complicated situation, and in trying to do what I had concluded to be the right course of action I had left me wretched and you scathed. I did feel guilty and obligated to pay penance for my actions but I should have considered your pains too.

I thought that by severing all ties I was doing the right thing, that you would move on faster- I never intended for you to feel abandoned or to let the rejection ferment and fester. I am sorry, I was wrong, and am seeking out a way to obtain redemption for myself.

I never wanted to accept that I liked you as much as I do, but as she pointed out- I always have.
I would love to be optimistic and revel in the possibility that what I’m doing to correct my mistakes is enough, but I am well aware of the fact that I may be too late.

Of course, I could be too late as the girl I was, maybe you’ll give the woman I am a chance.

Asphalt, Crescendos, and Indiscretion

Tires biting at the asphalt,

I can feel the wheel being pulled.

It would be so simple to let go right now-

To resist the responsibility of being in control.

Half-heartedly, I steer with my fingertips.

Barely on the edge where traction still exists,

and ride out the turn.

Is that what I'm supposed to do?

Just grasp with my fingertips while riding through these moments?

I can feel the emotions of each encounter crescendo;

Altering, becoming more intense!

My control slipping, transfiguring into something more sporadic-

and honestly, I don't think I want to hang on.

It's not the equivalent to wanting to let go-

it's exactly the opposite!
With every muscle in my body, I want to hold on to you-

I want to hold on to the moments where I can let go

…because you let me.

Perhaps my emotions are premature,

but I can’t deny thinking that I could be falling,

into something more than lust, with you.

Post Dramatic Dreamining Dissaray

Sometimes, I remember why I hate myself-

I've deducted that I can tolerate the brattiness

and withstand the immaturity-

but what I absolutely loathe about me is:

that I'm a dreamer.

Perhaps it wouldn't be such a loathsome trait

if it didn't elevate my hopes to a point that even on a pedestal,

I wouldn't be able to obtain.

Inevitably, reality will strike; it always does, and singes me at the spot I stand.

I realize life would be less complicated if I could be lethargic.

Realizations at the Worst Time

Sometimes epiphanies happen when you least want them to occur-
Reality isn't something everyone is always ready to acknowledge.
The realization that the more you like someone, the less they may like you, feels like a boulder sitting in the base of your stomach. Eventually you have to concede that everything you're doing to try to garner their affection may actually be encouraging them to reject you more.
At what point do you accept the best thing you can do is stop trying? When do you know that you can endure the pain of letting them go? What is going to happen to me, to him?

Uncontrolled Memories and Imprints of Kisses Good Bye

Rain, there is no rhyme or reason to predict the pattern in which the droplets meet the concrete, all there is to know is that each droplet will not cease falling until their descent has been obstructed-

Sometimes I feel like my memories are the same. 

The memories I want to forget find unpredictable ways to be remembered becoming the cause for whimpers. If those sounds could be translated to words, they would tell you that I'm not always right and I don't always make the best decisions but for a while I've had to endure the continuous onslaught of your image and the sincerity you possessed. Yes, I've forgiven myself for my misdeeds but my stomach still turns when I remember how I made you feel, and still, I'm naive enough to hope that structures can be built on this unsteady foundation. Maybe part of me has resigned itself to quit pushing so hard for a future you wont let happen and to relish the moments that are happening in the present. Right now, you're here, its unfair for me to demand much else.

Someday I want to tell you thank you for: sharing your smiles with me, embracing me in your arms, laughing with me during my insanely awkward moments, and for letting me kiss you when there is nothing else I can do. 

Slipping Colors

Gulp!

I’m gasping for air because of this image you’re suffocating me with-

Scolding me! Reprimanding me!

-always telling me to behave, to stay quiet, and to smile.

 I’m beyond your portrait of perfection; the thinner I have thrust upon it is blurring the lines and mixing the colors.

Freedom feels so much better than being bound by your rules.

The difference between you and me is that I’m not afraid to let go of everything and plummet because I embrace the freedom of the fall.

Words Cold like your Heart in my Palm

What I did wasn't right but in my mind it was fair. You cornered me once, while I was defeneless and left me with altimatims and fought against my decisions. My mistake was that I concedd.

This time I stripped us both of our defenses, and did not back down. I said the words that broke you and refused to take them back. I watched you fall and felt your hate. Perhaps I am a cold hearted bitch whose void of any emotions, or perhaps Im tired of feeling unhappy. 

I don't love you, I stopped months ago. Nothing is worth this facade and I can't say I'm sorry.

I dont mind taking in all your hatred, I deserve it. I was the one who made you fall.

I will stand here until you can pick yourself back up.

Throw your words at me, and shove your outbursts in my direction; exhaust yourself of all those feelings.

When youre done Ill still be standing, waiting for you to walk away from me.

Decisions Made, But Not Regretted

Sometimes you write things with every intention of posting it for everyone to see. Your pure motivation behind each picked and plucked word is to form methodical composition of your raw emotions. But then you stop when the choices are given to you; should you share with everyone or keep it private. And then you really consider what you’re doing.

Is your own release worth someone else’s suffering?

It's not sane or justifiable to have one's moral stressing at the seams over such a minute decision.

The simple reaction would be to click share; but time slowed down to a pause for a reason. The reason is so complicated and made up of so many events but the conclusion is simple. It’s not worth feeling good for a moment while being aware of the suffering you've caused someone else. The burden of that injustice is unsettling and unforgiving.

In the end, you decide not to share.

Confessions Approached with Tepidation

Sometimes we seek empathy from our peers and expose our scars to acquire their understanding; but we do not do so confidently. Before I confess any of my secrets, an emotional warfare arises inside me against my logical half. When the battle is over, I confess with extreme trepidation.

Today such an event occurred; of course sympathy isn’t always the earned prize. Instead, berating’s on my character that was created to satisfy their stereotype of “me” occurred. 

There is a reason why I don’t always confess what I’m thinking with words; reasons why I stop and stutter mid-sentence instead rushing forward with reckless abandonment. I stop because if I always said what I thought when I felt it, more people would feel like me. I would have to be the ignorantly sanguine person you assume I am to not feel the morose opinions you have of me.

I’m willing to write my thoughts because I’m allotted time to create sense of my emotions (ironic since I’ve been considered to be emotionally void). This sounds like self-pity but it’s merely an observation; if you’re feeling attacked perhaps its suppressed guilt you’re refraining from acknowledging.

Everyone has their own opinions of "me", or at least the adjusted self that was developed to fit into their environments provided for me. 

If you think little of me, then know you’re belittling the "me" you created since you were too adamant in your judgments to to know the "me" that exists.

Shatter Me the Way You Like

How many words does it take before I start to see your lie? How can so many people think the same thing about someone? At what point did I start to become numb to their opinions?

I read your words and hear your voice; do you even believe what you say anymore? I absorb your hate and feel it down to my core. My foundation is breaking. It’s getting harder to look in the mirror.

Fake smiles for forced photos; the charade of fond memories created for you.

Every time you lie to me, I break a little more. Do you really want to watch me shatter?

I'll spare myself from your face, and nurse my own wounds. Don't pluck at my sympathies  or act like you're intrested in my life.

I don't need your friendship, I have myself.

You wonder why I’m so cold and numb; you created this "me".

The Bitter Tide Inside

Looking through photos, I lose myself in the memories of what once was- the bile builds, rising up inside me.

I feel the fist of regret clench around my stomach And I fight to hold the contents down.

My wrist burns with tears I’ve forgotten- Life is overwhelming me like a current and I can’t plant my feet.
My body is being carried from moment to moment,
 

When am I going to be ready to live and move myself forward?