The Optimist

I admit it damn it

I’m a pessimist okay?

I said it.

I don’t have much faith in humanity

I don’t have much faith in myself either

Negativity is like a moth to a flame

I keep it very close and dear to my heart

I don’t care about a lot,

I don’t care about a lot of people

empathy is a battle I struggle with

why should I walk a mile in your shoes

when you haven’t even attempted to undo the shoelaces of mine?

why should I feel your pain?

attempt to feel how you feel

when you turn a blind eye to my own suffering?

and yes.

I’m selfish

its a disease, just like procrastination and laziness

In this world you rather eat or be eaten

and I’m nobodies chew toy.

 

But recently,

I’ve had a spark of optimism.

not an ever burning flame

pessimism isn’t disposable

or easily treated.

But I met you.

And maybe,

I’m well on my way.

 

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hopes and dreams

I have a lot of hopes and dreams

dreams of you near

hopes of you staying

dreams of your existence

hopes for dreams to become realities

I do a lot of hoping and dreaming

hoping you care

dreaming of love

forever hoping for dreams to become realities

because i want you in every reality

because I dream more than I hope

I dream of someone who likes the same tv shows as me,

someone who understands me,

someone who will risk it all for me,

someone who likes hot sauce on chips

someone who’s stars aline with mine

the comfort to my blanket

the seed to my soil

the hopes to my dreams.

Consequences

slowly, ever so slowly you kill me

its like I’m messed up on heroin

your my own personal drug

the best crack I’ve ever snorted

so toxic

our love is so toxic

if god could hear me now

my knees dripping with blood,

choking on the fumes of devotion

sick on pills I just took

high on the feeling

stuck in the moment

stuck with you

high as kite

but lower than I’ve ever been.

the consequence of your love

is that it hurts

I tumble

crash

fall

crumble.

if god could see me right now

would he love how much I love love

how much I love loving you

that even the temporary high is worth the underlying pain.

 

Lottery Ticket

I would die for you,

take a bullet straight to my brain,

a knife in my chest,

lay down my life,

take my last breath,

venture into the unknown which is life after death,

if theres even a life at all,

let myself fall into the uncertain.

would you do the same for me?

would you take a bullet straight to your lungs,

a knife in your leg,

hoping for a heaven and even a hell.

its crazy.

absolute madness.

how certain I am that I would give everything up for you,

and how unsure I am that you would do the same.

it like buying a lottery ticket,

its like answering a 22 mark question and praying you got it right,

because in the end you either get what you want,

or you fail,

life is a gamble,

and sometimes it always feels like your losing.

 

There was a time,

when I thought I knew how much I meant to you.

Now it just feels like a knife in the back,

and a bullet to heart.

 

even now.

with everything I now know,

with all this knowledge I have acquired,

with a firm grasp on how much I mean to you

If the bullet were to fly in your direction,

if the knife was to pierce your chest,

if the angel of death was knocking on your door,

I’m sure,

that I wouldn’t think twice about my next move.

 

 

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

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.

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.