The fastest way to kill a city
is to compare it with another,
for when you compare a city,
the pursuit of your dreams die.
“Chimera,” she said.
But what does it mean?
A hope? A dream?
Or a pie in the sky?
2 + 2 equals 4 is true
and it aches.
It’s the saddest story I’ve ever heard.
sunshine all the time makes a desert.
rain all the time makes a flood.
I must have sprouted kindness,
for I do not have a lot of money.
You were caged in
and I set you free,
but you didn’t know
I made a new key.
you can say I’m malicious,
but it’s partly your fault,
the circumstances were oddly suspicious.
Dear Swimmer Boy,
It was Grade 10 when you first paid attention to me. I thought, “wow! someone actually likes me for me!” Little did I know that you actually did not.
I don’t remember how we started texting, but I really looked forward to your messages. I thought we were going to become something great, two attractive people, sharing the same passion, taking on the
world high school hallways.
I was 15 and you were 18. We were both on the swim team: me as the student, you as the assistant coach. There was something thrilling about keeping it a secret, a mystery, only ever implying the truth, letting people guess about us.
When you sent me a message saying you loved me I felt my soul leave my body and explode into little red hearts. I didn’t want to seem too eager, I mean it was only two months, but instead, I said, “Woah dude…that’s a little too soon”.
The first time you picked me up I had just come back from the gym. You were waiting for me in your little white car. I think it was a Mazda? Now I’m not so sure. I looked at my friends with a smug grin as I sat in the front and waved them goodbye. I thought we were going on a date, somewhere exciting, somewhere great. No, instead you took me to a park and I realized all that it ever was.
I never let it move further into what you truly wanted it to be. You might have thought I was a prude but the reality was a little bleaker. I really didn’t know anything at all. You were the first boy ever interested in me. You took away all the innocence of what I thought was going to be a relationship, what a first date is, when a first kiss is supposed to happen, and instead turned it into another encounter with a girl younger than you.
You were in college, I was in grade 10. The power imbalance was so far and so wide, yet you made me feel like I was in control. I thought I was “mature”. But let me tell you, anyone who mentions they are mature are not mature at all.
We dated, sure, if you want to call it that. But it was nothing more than a hushed secret. I thought you were worried about the age difference, but now I realize you were embarassed of me. How can the star athlete, who raced against Michael Phelps, go out with be involved with me? Who was I?
Two years later you dated this girl and it broke my heart. She was in my grade. She had long, brown hair, brown eyes, a petite frame, and was the complete opposite of me. You made your relationship so public. It screamed in my face. She was all over you, holding your hand and kissing your cheek. It hurt. You made her public, but not me. I was the secret. She didn’t deserve to be.
Four years later I reunited with an old friend who also happened to be friends with you. She laughed at the memories of me flipping my hair and telling her, “yeah swimmer boy and I are dating…”
That was far from the truth. You called our entire experience a mistake when she asked you about it. You laughed at me for falling for you. You told her you regretted everything.
And once again you broke my heart. Three times. Rejected over, and over, and over again.
I have nothing to thank you for except for teaching me to be more cautious when a boy says he likes me. I’ve learned that love and romance are not black and white, but instead a thick, grey fog. You never extended your hand out to me, instead I only tripped over you as we walked through it.
Disclaimer: Letters are an over-exaggeration of real-life situations. Please do not take them literally. Any likeliness to an individual is simply coincidental.
2017 was truly one of my better years.
It started with closing up all the loose ends from 2014 up to 2016. I transferred universities and got accepted into a new program, I saved enough money to finally feel financially stable on my own, I let go of a few toxic relationships and made new ones that gave me unfamiliar but constructive perspectives on life. I learned what it was like to be more independent and strive for goals and dreams based on my own account.
When each piece of my life-building puzzle snapped into place, I also learned that I couldn’t ignore the small gaps in between the puzzle pieces. These gaps, my unresolved issues, have been building up over the years. Emotionally straining issues from past events and beliefs that I held about myself became an uphill battle to overcome by the end of 2017.
In 2018, I’m going to work on improving my mental health.
I struggle with feeling worthless, disappointing, lonely, unloved, and a little bit crazy. I cover up these feelings by ignoring them and focusing on the things that I can control instead, such as my hair (I dye it often), my grades, and going on social suicide rampages. Sometimes, on better days, none of these issues bother me, and I’m usually very motivated and optimistic. When something slightly negative happens, the anxiety is overwhelming and can send me straight into a downward spiral. I’ll get a bad mark on a test, cry about it, call myself a failure, and become a self-fulfilling prophecy of failure from then on. I need to change this, I know, and 2018 will be the year that I do.
So, these are my goals for the new year:
- to get good grades (B and higher) for all of my second-semester classes
- to adopt a healthier diet and exercise more; reach my goal weight of 120 lbs
- to publish my first book by the end of the year
- to write on my blog at least once a week; to write more positively
- to travel more and say yes to new opportunities
- to learn a new skill or to join a new class
- to stop over-dying my hair
- to volunteer whenever I can
- to get my G2 license
- to read 6 or more new books this year
- to make some new friends and branch out from my current friend group
- to enhance my marketing and career development skills
- to take one or two certification courses
- go to three new concerts this year
- start and finish a visual journal
- wake up earlier; to stop sleeping in
And there you have it, my goals for 2018. What are yours?
Moods this week-
I’ll never be the first choice.
Not even for myself.
The soul slithers, snake-like impressions in the mind.
I fucking hate cooking.
Is that disturbed?
Never trust the people who laugh too hard, walk too slow, and talk without saying anything at all.
Ok…but I didn’t ask you too?
Calm sitting on the subway is really panicked fears of impending doom.
An attack on the heart, a panic: Did you know?
I hate her. I don’t know her, but oh I hate her.
A boomerang of feelings: never linear.
velvet, while ugly, is Flambeau.
Oh what a great listener the narcissist is. Oh what a terrible replier the narcissist isn’t.