APM Basement - My Life is a Box

SMM Dilemmas

We all have moments in life
When it's time to make  choice
One decision that could change all
One move; either way, it's your call
You decide, you choose your fate
You pick between relief and hate
One way or the other, you're stuck and you know it
You're losing your mind and you cannot show it
It is a curse of society
The diktat of propriety
Should I - Could I do that?
Can I ping him?
Do I dare start a chat?
Would he respond, would he ignore it?
Would I look at the ground, hope to be swallowed up by it?
Distraction won't work. Eyes stray to the page
Where they tell me he's still online at this stage
Start typing
Stop typing
Start typing
Delete
And he's still online, making this harder for me
Maybe that chat will result in something more by and by
The thought gives me the strength to finally type "Hi..."
And the crazy voices in my head
Scream that I should have ignored him instead
And now I stare and I stare some more
Hoping for a reply, hoping I'm not ignored...

Storms

You never stand under a tree when there’s a storm coming

You run for cover, run home to a warm cup of coffee

You don’t stand around, waiting for the storm to hit, enthralled by it’s whirling, swirling gusts of wind

Pushing you around, the rain and thunder engulfing you till you’re the only one you know exists because the rain is hiding you from view

It’s only when the storm passes and you walk home, sodden, squelching water at every step, ears still echoing from the wind and thunder that you look back and realise that you’re storm-washed and storm-drenched and you’ll never be that person again

You marvel at other people standing around marvelling at your ridiculous choice or bad luck to be caught in a massive thunder-lightning-pouring-rain-storm

Because they, who ran away, safe at home, doing the right thing would never know the delight of being alone out there and feeling all the dirt and grime be replaced by a light-headed, freshly-washed fuzzy warmth that no amount of coffee can replicate

That’s what I was thinking once, as I walked up to perform

This… This is like standing outdoors in that storm.

You’re alone up here, with everyone watching you take on the forces of the stage.

It’s lights, sound, action as you breathe in deep, it’s just you and your words and your thoughts as you keep time

As you keep count

As you keep pace

As you keep track of the words and the thoughts…

As you perform

It’s a temporal, beautiful, nerve-wracking ordeal

It’s stress like no other, it’s love like no other, it’s a high like no other

And it’s something people might scoff at you for, they’ll tell you that you’re wasting time;

That you’re betting on a losing horse

That you’re heading for a fall.

They’ll tell you that you have priorities,

You have responsibilities,

You have duties,

You have families… But you run out into the storm anyway

Because when you step off that stage, aware of every squelching step away from the spotlight,

You know that the person who stepped up to take on the stage is not the same as the person who walks away.

You feel that light-headed, freshly-washed fuzzy warmth that only comes when you’ve faced up to a storm.

Sapiosexual

The more I heard about him, the deeper I fell
"He's smart!" They told me; "He's sweet!" They said
In the flood of his smart, sweet, intelligence
I dropped, swimming with the fishes, weighed down with cement

Like the bottom from my world
When they said he loved another girl
They told me numbers don't lie
They don't turn a blind eye
That his heart, although broken
Was irretrievably taken

They showed me shadows in his eyes
And hidden pain in his smile
They told me he'd never returned
Forever shy now he'd been burned

The more I heard
The more I yearned
The more he said
The harder I fell

His bruises match mine now, one for one
They said his love was forever gone
They said it was hers, he'd never be free
They told me to walk away but nobody could see

That was harder than anything else could be
I wanted to cure the hurt I could see
The more I heard, the more I fell
For him; sweet, hurt, intelligent.

Stories

What will I do when I miss you?

When nights are hard because the day didn’t have you in it?

How will I deal with day after day

Dealing all alone with life’s shit?

Because even on the most selfish level

Soon we’ll be in different places, and I’ll miss you like hell

So what’ll I do when I miss you?

When I want to drink and talk about work?

What’ll I do when I feel that need

To go out and eat way too much?

What will I do when I want a hug?

What on earth am I to do

When you’re alone there and you might need me too?

I’ll miss you like hell

You know me enough to know that well

In you, cheesy as it sounds, I’ve had it all

I’ve found a poet, a best friend, a sounding wall

I’ve had hugs and love and fights

I’ve had chilly bike rides and unforgettable nights

We have stories together, you and I do

When I miss you, that’s what I’ll do

I’ll write out our stories

I’ll write them well

I’ll keep them to remember you and me

When I’m alone and I’m missing you like hell.

LHS =/= RHS

When the LHS and RHS disagree
There's a problem where it shouldn't be
In school, that was the issue
The only thing that bothered you
Math sums that didn't add up
Equations that refused to be solved
Marks that never came in
An enmity with math you never resolved

But that was then
And this is now
When people die
When equations
Don't add up

The sign
That defines
Equality
...is a pair of lines
Carbon copies
Mirror images
A pair of lines
Both the same

But that
That's math
And math?
It's about fact
It's about school
It's not reality
It's a tool
On your way
To adulthood

Unless the calculation
Needs revision
Because somewhere
Someone decides
That you exist
To prove a point.
You're the LHS that the RHS can't stand
You're the means to an end
You're the pivotal part of their plan

To rebel against math
To take revenge against someone
You don't even know
It's about authority
It's not school
It's a tool
To prove a point.
You never cared about anyway

Happy Endings

Real life is not a happy ending. In fact, there really cannot be a single, black and white ending to real life. There’s no clear-cut phase which you can really identify. So when this is true, and it’s obvious, by “Elementary, my dear Watson” that all romantic products created by authors, writers, musicians and any other dream-sellers are fiction, why do we still produce them?

Isn’t selling a Rom-Com essentially just selling a lie?

Probably. But then again, if life’s so bleak and the future is so grim, then is there any harm in dreaming a little?

Think about it this way: If your dreams become nightmares with glimpses of work and traffic and bosses and screwed-up love-lives and… You get my drift… If dreams are nightmares and reality is fuelling your nightmares, then where do you get to take a detour and a breather?

Eat, sleep, work, rinse and repeat; this is the way our lives function today, so where do we relax? Where do we get to slow down and glimpse dreams as they were; a world where love and peace of mind are not distant castles in the sky, where do we get to refuel hope and positivity?

I am a writer. I sell you pictures I paint through my words. And you know what? I’ll sell you fiction wrapped up in rainbows and fairy-dust because I need to do something to refurnish dreams. I’m stuck in a world where there’s no time for love. Relationships are a waste of time and passion is too slow for the pace at which the world is going. So I build dreams of my own. I like to imagine a world where, just for those few moments, life isn’t waiting with Karma around the corner to stab you with something else.

And this is why I sell you dreams.

Because I want to at least believe that I can help someone forget about the crap life throws at them for a while. I want to further escapism. You can call it what you want, you can say that I’m helping people live in denial and furthering stereotypes and building a pretend world where everything is just an illusion. But I will do it anyway.

Because there’s no point in living if there’s no hope, no starry-eyed dreamers and no dreams. You can’t survive on a sleep peppered with nightmares.

So I am a writer. And I will sell you happy endings.