The Platonic Breakup

“He’s my brother. And not by something as accidental as blood… by something much stronger. By choice.” —Wolfgang (Sense8)

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No one talks about a friendship ending.

No one talks about how its feels to lose a friend.

It might sound dramatic, a bit silly, stupid even. But think about it… how does it feel when you to lose someone that was so close to you? someone who almost felt like family? someone you thought was going to be there for all of your achievements and you for theirs? someone that you’ve known for years and was convinced they would be there for many more?

I was watching Sabrina Benaim spoken word poem called “On Platonic Love Being a Real Thing”. Contemplating what she meant, and how the universe somehow knew that I needed to watch that video at this very moment in time. Where I was starting to lose faith that people knew what true friendship meant. That I even knew what true friendship meant.

There is such heavy importance on when you breakup with your significant other. But everyone seems to dismiss the importance of platonic relationships. How they shape your views on relationships altogether. How they affect the way you love. How they affect the way you view other people. How it feels to breakup.

I’ve experienced many platonic breakups. It feels as if the older I get, the more painful they become. The more aware I become on how much I care about the people closest to me. Like any normal breakup, you consider why the other person doesn’t care as much as you do. Even though you instigated the breakup because you no longer felt cared for, listened to or respected. You thought… at least they would fight. To then come to the realisation that not everyone has your heart and not everyone deserves a space in there either.

How to deal with a platonic breakup is to allow yourself to feel hurt. Allow yourself to reminiscence. Allow yourself to be grateful. Allow yourself to stop being angry at how it all ended. Remind yourself that there are people out there that know and understand the true meaning of friendship. Remember that you don’t always need answers, sometimes it better to not know why.

Most importantly, you have learnt something. You have gained knowledge. You have grown and maybe the breakup was a message from the universe to remind you to trust yourself. To never second guess your choices. To remind you not to love less, but to love wisely.

To ensure that you will always value, love and care for the ones that stayed. Even when they didn’t have to.

 

Once a Home.

a poem.

a breakup leads to a broken home.

where the hurt resides and survives

not matter how hard you try to leave it behind.

I just find it difficult to say goodbye.

 

I know this is the time.

To switch off the lights in the house we once kept alive.

I was the only one still paying for the light.

while you were standing outside,

busy admiring the house on the other side.

No matter how hard you try,

to keep food in the fridge,

the house clean and warm,

the garden full of life.

You can’t stop the power going off,

the food reaching its best before date,

the house collecting cobwebs,

the garden slowing deteriorating.

You can’t stop the love from dying,

even if the love is still there, hiding, inside.

 

I want to destroy the house we built.

Rip it apart, brick by fucking brick.

Set it on fire and watch everything I love and hate burn.

But I decided.

To let the house stand until it falls.

To let the paint strip itself,

to let the cabinets get all dusty.

The house is too valuable to destroy.

I still want to walk around sometimes and reminisce about the good times.

 

But at the end of the day,

I’ll pick up my bag,

put on my hat,

walk away with my head held high, and a smile on my face.

Knowing that one day,

I’ll stop visiting

and never open that door again.

 

At what cost?

Lately, as per usual, I indulge in the chaotic media. Bombings in Syria. Pulse. Manchester. A hung parliament. London attacks. Grenfall Tower. Race politics.

I wonder at what cost?

How many lives have to taken away for people to tap into their morale, for people to tap into their hearts and realise this isn’t right? Its always those lowest on the social ladder that feel the consequences of those above them.

Victims. We are all victims. Victims to the system and its values. Victims to the choice of others. Victims to the actions of those who deem themselves better, who seem to always go unscathed. Its funny how those who we put into positions of power don’t care about us or our wellbeing. You allowed a 27 floor tower, to have no smoke alarm, no sprinkler system, cheap plastic installed and never thought or cared enough to see how it will impact all the working class families living there. You allowed, loads of little girls and their family members into a concert when France is still playing in everyone’s mind. You allowed Transgender people to feel isolated and forced after what happened at Pulse. You allowed a transphobic, homophobic, sexist, racist billionaire to be President of one of the biggest western powers in the world. You allowed the unarmed killing of black bodies. You allowed the ageing population to determine the future. You allowed governments to drop bombs, killing thousands of Syrians. But the only murders that matter are those that are close, close enough to feel. Then cry, scream and shout ‘terrorist’ after you created them. I bet your thinking who is this ‘you’ you keep referring to… take a wild guess.

Do you know what creates a ‘terrorist’? Do you know? Its pain. Its suffering… its feeling as if their is no other choice. No one else understands how it feels to be so low, in a war ridden country, where your government doesn’t care and cannot stand up to western powers. They ransack your country, killing your family members with no remorse or concern for human life.

The worst part is the desensitization. Death is inevitable. But this, this is the wrong way to go. I wonder at what cost? at what cost? at what cost?

Horror Stories

a poem.

Was always so blind.

I didn’t comprehend…I didn’t see

That all I wanted and needed was right in front of me.

Waving, smiling, laughing, shouting , running, reaching

Fingertips nearly touching,

Hearts nearly close enough to perform a synchronise beat.

But eyes looking past,

Eyes wide,

Eyes blind,

All the things I couldn’t see.

I let them just walk right past while I focused on only me,

My dreams,

My aspirations,

Scared.

I can read you horror stories about being scared.

I can swim oceans,

jump off cliffs,

run for miles,

and it still wouldn’t be enough to tell you about the magnitude of fear.

Scared is when you realise your dad has left and your all alone

Scared is the crazy heart wrenching fear of the dark

All the things you don’t want to see, manifest and show themselves in the dark

Scared is blaming everyone but yourself

Scared is letting life pass you by

Scared is severing sacred connections.

Scared is almost saying ‘I do’

Scared is almost crying

Scared is almost showing emotion

Scared is almost saying ‘I like you too’

Scared is never moving

It’s never ending

It’s forever blind.

It’s forever losing.

It’s forever alone.

Writers Disease.

a poem.

recently I lost the will to write.

the words that once flowed like water,

no longer seem to flow from my mind.

I contemplated,

maybe this is the last ever time,

that I will be able to paint beautiful pictures with the words I write.

Is this disease curable, doctor?

Is there anyway to save me?

I feel like I’m going insane,

The words I try to write no longer translate,

my mind a black abyss the words just cant seem to escape

is there anyway to take this pain away?

I remember people asking why I write

In response I wrote a sea full of poems and stories

eyes blazing, pen scratching,

now I can no longer answer that question.

Why didn’t anyone tell me doctor?

this disease is more than my pen being unable to hit the paper

its more than my mind drawing up blanks

its more than the burning desire to rip every piece of paper to shreds

its being stuck in limbo,

its being stripped, naked with no where to hide,

help me. help me. help me.

why wont you help me?

you told me it would only last a week and now its a year and I still can’t seem to move this block.

I can’t seem destroy this block

this mental block

this disease.

I screamed. I screamed. I screamed.

and all he had to say to me and all he ever said was,

time.

“Next time we f**k, I don’t wanna f**k, I wanna make love”

How many people nowadays can honestly sit down and tell you all the times they had sex, it was more than just sex? How many people can tell you that every time they got intimate with someone it is because of an undeniable connection they both shared? How many people can say that they don’t just want to have meaningless sex anymore? How many people told you that messing around doesn’t make them feel better? How many people want to make love? How many relationships last???

I was conversing with my friend earlier, about society, sexual expectations, intimacy and most importantly connection. I find it crazy, absolutely mind blowing, to comprehend giving up apart of your soul without connection there. I find it crazy how people can actually find honest connections in the 21st century anymore. Maybe its because I’m 19. Apparently everyone has a ‘hoe stage’, I’m still to have mine.

What has happened to building relationships? what has happened to dates? romance? falling for someone for who they are and not what they have to give you?  What’s happened to loving someone’s mind so much, that the physical isn’t what’s important? Yes, I’m making generalisations, I know people in beautiful relationships. I can say I feel slightly envious, confused to how they found that kind of love but scared it will never last. Because these day’s love is never enough. Love doesn’t save marriages, sex doesn’t make them stay, love doesn’t ensure loyalty and honesty. I guess the beauty of life is to take that risk… maybe someone is actually worth hurting for.

All good things are hard to find. But, right now, it seems almost impossible. I want that Drake loyalty. I want a Bella and Edward kinda love, a Catherine Heathcliff kind of obsession, a Sephy and Callum commitment and lastly a Hazel and Augustus ’till death do us part.

Is that too much to ask for?

“Spent my whole life trying to find what’s at the end of the tunnel I should have realized it was inside…”

“…So lately I been trying to get what’s inside outside.”

As you might have noticed, my posts always start with a quote. Which is the undercurrent of my whole post. Quotes are inspiring, they teach you something, show you something and causes you to reflect on your own life. I gather quotes from anything, songs, books, people, Tumblr, etc. Quotes ignite inspiration.

Today’s post is inspired by Big Sean’s song “Light”. Big Sean talks about the light being inner strength. I see the light as not only inner strength but what makes us, its a part of our souls, its beauty. We always here about finding the light at the end of the tunnel, but never about the light inside. As if it doesn’t exist. Haven’t you noticed the light inside children? Don’t get me wrong, me and kids don’t mix at all. But there’s an obvious light inside them, not only their innocence and hope, its within their dreams and imagination. They believe in magic. I’m not talking about witches and broom sticks, I’m talking about the wonder. Its in their eyes. They shine. But the older we get the more the light dims, we begin to slowly lose our innocence, our hopes, our dreams, our imaginations, our magic. We start crawling through a tunnel, then we walk and when everything hits the fan we run, towards a light, we hope is there. I know it sounds quite pessimistic to state that “we hope”… but how many people reach it? how many people touch it? how many people taste it? This light at the end of the tunnel. Maybe there is no tunnel, maybe its just another way of cushioning the blow of life. Maybe its what keeps us running, in this endless routine of being in education, working to 9-5, trying to survive in a world that doesn’t care about your wellbeing but how much money your contributing to those that already have too much. Or its the idea that once you touch happiness you can keep it, or maybe you’ll achieve the American dream, 0r find your ‘soul mate’, or that evil doesn’t strive.

But instead of spending the rest of you existence searching for this light in this ‘tunnel’. Why not familiarise your self with the light inside that you lost? Your self love, self worth, your dreams, imagination, your magic. When you are enough, and have always been enough. That your soul shouldn’t be boxed up and contained but shared. Show everyone how beautiful, you are inside and out. Let it out.

Don’t let people dim your shine. Keep your chin up and your head high.