Let me be the ghost that drives your pen
the one who gives rise to the words you write;
I’ll be the one that dots your “i’s” and crosses your “t’s”
I’ll become every punctuation you’ll need
to break you narratives…
to separate your sentences and their elements;
as you share your deepest thoughts,
as you free yourself from the reasons why you bleed…
to reveal one or two of your secrets
and to realize your greatest truths…
suf·fer·ing /ˈsəf(ə)riNG/ (noun): the state of undergoing pain, distress, or hardship.
Suffering is ultimately a choice, albeit a difficult one. It is difficult in the sense that although we are aware that suffering usually equates to heartbreak, pain and hardship, we turn a blind eye to logic and plunge ourselves head first into a situation or a choice which would bring us some form of suffering.
This is usually the case for aspects of our lives which heavily involves our emotions, such as (but not limited to) love, friendship and family…most especially love.
Love – romantic love to be exact – is probably the one emotion which rewires our logic, clouds our judgement and our sense of right and wrong. When love is involved we make decisions or actions which cause us to suffer or make others suffer. Sometimes, we break our own hearts or we break others; sometimes we bleed on others because of our suffering or others bleed on us because of their sufferings.
So, can it still be considered love if one is suffering for love or because of it? Some say that we sometimes mistake attachment for love and we suffer because of the attachments we’ve formed throughout the course of a relationship. We suffer because of the memories we choose to keep and the moments we choose to chain ourselves to…
So how do you know it’s genuine love and not merely a form of attachment, or a desperation or a loneliness which we think can only be filled by another person’s presence? We suffer or some of us choose to suffer because of love…so if love and suffering always go together, should we reconsider before we love another?
I saw you standing against
a graffiti-covered wall
looking aloof, seemingly uncaring…
And i thought
You looked like James Dean –
a headful of disheveled quiff-like pompadour hair,
white shirt, ripped jeans,
a Harrington jacket;
a stick of unlit Lucky Strike between your lips.
Clearly you spelled trouble –
a rebel without a cause;
but such was your allure –
casually indifferent while yearning
for love…
And I couldn’t help myself
from falling deep into the intensity
of your stare;
walking straight into your chaos,
intertwined with the scent of romance.
It’s usually the quiet ones
whose minds chatter endlessly;
engaging in a never-ending argument with themselves…
they wrestle with their demons
bred by countless thoughts
and incessant over-analyzing…
It’s usually the broken ones
whose eyes see through
every pretense…every lie…
they replay conversations endlessly
to find the answers to all the whys of their brokenness…
The quiet and the broken ones…
they’re the ones who see and feel too much;
they weave monologues with
hopeful longings and dreams
that are stitched with emotions
much heavier than most…
Today was one of those days…
the kind where you smile through whatever chaos
was going on deep within you
and you grit your teeth and keep pushing…
Today was one of those days…
the kind where you find out that we are all liars
and we all make excuses
to avoid hurting others…to keep up a facade of being nice
or at least that’s what we think…
Today was one of those days…
the kind where you realize
that it’s better to keep your circle small
and that sometimes
loneliness is the best company
onefrustratedpoet 