Turn off the alarm clock on your phone, love.
Your phone, that's buried somewhere in the middle folds of the blanket on your bed because you fell asleep waiting for a reply.
Any reply! From your ex, from your supposed best friend, from someone you talk to only because there is nobody else or from the douche who thinks you use him to flush out the sadness from you life, or even Tinder. Can someone please reply to my messages with the same amount of swiftness that I reply to theirs with? Wouldn't that be true love, or would that be just two lonely blind souls seeking comfort and validation in each other.
My parents love me. My sister loves me. I'm sure I have at least 5 friends who love me more than I give them credit for. But there's no end to this blood lust of mine. I can't control it when it takes over. Is it a sin to be wanted, loved and taken care of? Is this why I endlessly give only to the people I will never receive from, because it's the only way of love I've ever taught myself? Reject what's genuine and clasp on to those who mistreat you. Because you have no right to be treated well. At all.
I remember putting my heart on the line for the first time when I was 12. I loved him, and his pimple clad catfish face. By loved him, I mean I'd let him take all my stationary and let him make fun of me till his eyes watered from all the laughing and my eye bled from the time he stabbed me. Even though the events of me asking him out, him hurting my eye and getting suspended were entirely unrelated, I think there was a bigger lesson to take back. I hate being rejected or denied something. To the extent I'll procure it myself through any means necessary. I hope this serves as a reasonable explanation to my then latent kleptomania (it's gone now, I hope.)
Isn't that the essence of this lovely life I've been blessed with. It's been lessons on lessons, as opposed to Big Sean's hit song 'Blessings', I think there's more in this for me. Let me find the exact lyrics for you,
Blessings on blessings on blessings
Look at my life man that's lessons on lessons on lessons
I want more than just lessons and repercussions. I want experiences and days that are perfect, straight out of movies. Thank you to whoever runs this universe for my first kiss to be in the rain with fireworks and mild ass slapping but whatever followed was something I wasn't prepared for. I'm done taking the bullshit argument that 'I'm only given problems that I'd be able to handle'. Well, obviously I'm going to learn to handle them because I was raised to be that sort of a person, and I shouldn't be thanking God or Allah or Jesus for making sure I survived that vile time. I should be thanking and worshiping myself, my 2 friends who stuck by me and every asshole dimwit nincompoop that judged me, because if it wasn't for them tearing me down to the ground with every passing day, I wouldn't have ever realized how much strength I have in these two weak arms of mine, to roll me off the ground and handle a machete whenever needed.
If I ever have a daughter, I'd give her a machete for when she first falls in love, with a boy or a girl or whatever form of life that kids that age will be working with. You see, in the 20 times I've fallen in and out of love, and the other 10 times I've involved with people romantically, only to disappoint them further with my lack of my emotional articulation and the 2 times I've wanted to end my life because of people who mattered to me, more than I mattered to myself, I wish I had a machete with me to draw out a drop of blood from myself and those who I was with, so I could mix it in a centrifuge and smear it on a glass slide. And every time I'd look at our cells under a microscope, I’d see the cellular repulsion. How every cell of my body rejects them, yet my mind, my silly, stupid, naïve mind just doesn't let go of the thought of them.
(If you want to be exposed to more such amazing pieces of literature or you have a talent of your own that you can showcase on a mic, drop by our Open Mic at Coimbatore. Register at https://www.townscript.com/e/fightnight)