heart

 

the world is poking

the little heart

inside my chest

 

collected teardrops

remain unshed

and pound my breast

 

my aura wavers

unsteadily

around my frame

 

i’m not sure how much

longer my heart

can play this game

pang

The games we play with each other drain me.

 

Why all the power plays? Why the hurt? We believe someone’s wounded us and we strive to wound them back. Why?

 

An unanswered call. His mind goes into overdrive: Why is she not answering? What’s she doing? Is she trying to get the upper hand in the relationship? Is she purposely making me wait around for her? I don’t like the waiting around feeling; being the one with no power. She’s discovered how much I actually yearn for her. I’ve been found out; heart laid bare.

 

I know: I’ll hurt her back. Feign indifference. Stop calling her. Make her wait. Make her think the rest of my life is suddenly much more interesting than the part with her in it. Make her feel like I couldn’t give a rats whether we chat or not; edge my voice with cold. Then I will have the power and she will be the one waiting, wondering, weaving stories in her head.

 

See how she likes that.

 

 

It’s so childish. It makes my heart hurt. I don’t like it. Stop it.

symphonic understanding

I’ve been watching some of the WASO concerts online (West Australian Symphony Orchestra) and it’s taking me back to my days playing in the school concert band and singing in the choir during my music scholarship years - the shivers up the spine when the whole orchestra reaches the same level of passion for a massive crescendo, the joy of a perfectly harmonised moment in a favourite piece. Ah, good times.

 

I always preferred to sing and play the harmonies rather than the leads.  I preferred to be the flavouring rather than the main ingredient; be the counterpoint. I hated it when I was thrust into the first clarinet position (probably by default) and had to plod along in the main melodies.

 

I never wanted to stand out, never wanted to be the soprano in the limelight, or the acclaimed soloist getting the glory. I always thought the harmonies had the more interesting parts. Even now, humming along to Beethoven, Tchaikovsky, and yes that old chestnut, Handel’s Messiah, I’m singing the harmony instead of the tune.

 

I’ve only now realised the correlation between that and the rest of my life: I always thought I just didn’t like to lead, I liked to follow, but that’s not it at all. I just prefer the second fiddle because it’s so much more interesting.

 

The main melody on it’s own is ok, but with harmony behind it, it pops.

 

Lately I’ve been thinking I had a character flaw by not having the drive or urge to sit at the top of the tree, and now I realise it’s because I prefer the much more interesting life in the middle branches.

 

Missing out on a job for a higher position last week has made me question my whole character, and I’m so over it. There’s nothing at all wrong with me not wanting to take the lead. So there.

 

Alto for life.

i am

a shell, hollowed, spray painted grey

left with only breath. inert. glassy-eyed.

 

an ember, dulled by a layer of ash

buried under sand. fading. unnoticed.

 

tired, and empty, a powered-down machine

essential functions only. dim. blinking light.

 

removed, disconnected, sight without feel

everything is dull. boring. bland.

 

numbness, thorns, a hidden shadow corner

the apathy of daggers. aches. muffled.

 

i am disinterest. misery.

a walking dichotomy.

i am my own before and after:

 

i am my own before and after: my time laid bare delineated. photos of a me suspended there for all to look upon; my happiness of sometimes joy, my smiles of often painful hiding, blush of health and pallid grey - it sucks to be so on display.

the study of nothing happening

I need a good cry. You know the kind of cry you need to have not because something’s happened, but because nothing’s happened? I need one of those cries.

 

I didn’t get a job I applied for last week, and in a way I’m relieved, because the next step would have been to go through months of suffering and hard struggle – it would have been one tough slog I’m not sure I’m up for right now.

 

It would have also meant cancelling my long overdue holidays, working much longer hours, and taking a pay cut of at least $5K but most likely more. It would have meant leaving an office full of people I love, and a view to die for.

 

Among a shitload of other things.

 

So why with the crying?

 

I went for the job almost because I had to; I felt obliged. I looked at it as a possible fix for my malaise, and went for it almost as a way to let the universe fix everything for me.

 

I think a lot of people thought I was a definite for it. Except me. Heart wasn’t in it. Heart told brain. Brain turned off at crucial moment.

 

Now, I haven’t moved anywhere. Nothing’s fixed. Nothing happened.

 

The universe has given me a big “oh no you don’t”. I can’t take the easy way out of my general dissatisfaction with life. I still have to strip myself bare and study everything to find out what the hell is wrong with me. I have to fix it the long and hard way instead of trying the geographical approach.

 

I just wish it could have given me that message in a less humiliating way.

life is not a disclaimer

 

life is not a

                 disclaimer

,an asterisk like a

    beautyspot of promise -

a thing to come

                          :addendum

 

life should be a

                       simile

  without

  the box

              ing-up of it;

a free-ly roaming thing

 

a horse

          gallo-

                   ping.

unexplained

unjustified and

                    unapologetic