when laughter isn’t enough

Bitter

I’m generally doing okay in the state where I’m in right now but sometimes at night I miss the feeling of tears falling down my cheeks. It’s weird but at the end of some days I find myself longing for the me from months ago, anxious and crying effortlessly because of a lot of things, or the lack of some. Is it just me or does pain really grow into you that you’d go looking for it at times when your life seems boring?

Daily Prompt’s Laughter.

P.S. I wrote this October of 2017, I don’t know what got into me. Anw, it would be nice to hear your thoughts about it!

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The Night I Walked Away

Poetry

Then the stage lights dimmed
As slow as my heavy breathing
A band of nine started to sing
As I walked farther from him

It was a night of pain and glee
Though the songs hit me badly
All my illusions became blurry
Then I turned light and free

The band stopped playing
But the lights are still dim
I casually left on a whim
Without him even caring

unnamed emotions

Poetry, Strange

I believe there are more emotions out there we don’t even know the name of. We try to associate them to a certain feeling so other people could understand, but they couldn’t; not even you could understand it, let alone people who don’t really care.

I believe love is all the emotions out there we don’t even know the name of. We try to associate it to a certain feeling so other people could understand, and they do; because everyone understands it, let alone people who haven’t loved at all.

P.S. A (stupid) theory I wrote October of last year. But seriously I was just waiting for a prompt to publish this, which I know isn’t how prompts work. Lol oh well

some seem stuck

Poetry

After all the pain
we inflicted in ourselves
though some are assumed
we are still both passengers
in the idea of us.

P.S. I had a hard time with the last line of this tanka poem so I wanna share some alternate versions (where I get the title) you might like:

seemingly stuck here on Earth.
who seem stuck with each other.

Read it again and tell me what you like more!

You Can’t Force Art

Sweet

You can’t force art.

That statement has long been in my mind since I skipped blogging for a month, I just can’t seem to bring the words straight out. Since then, I have published three posts which imply that very thought. And two of them share a connection surprising enough for me to write about it.

October last year, I wrote “the pen ran out of ink,” sharing how I kept writing but stopped publishing for a while, the reason being I barely get to finish a piece I could proudly put out, and claiming that my ink needs to stop bleeding from time to time, just like my heart. February of this year, “Inks and Pain” came out, and in it I talked about struggling to produce bittersweet or sad stories because my heart stopped bleeding at once—almost as if it’s feeling no more—driving me to ask for pain when it rains, so my ink could bleed again.

It’s not just because of the ink that the connection was made (I just really like that word) but more so with the contrast of emotion from both posts which affected its bleeding. The abundant feelings of last year obstructed me to write but the emptiness of today doesn’t make it any different. Even this post took me a while to make!

Now I rarely write down ideas on tissue papers and receipts or on anything I could take a hold of, my Notes don’t receive sudden thoughts I could turn into poetry, I am lost for words and my mind is probably still on vacation.

You can’t force art, but you can force yourself not to think too much about it and try out other things and just live. And maybe then, art will introduce itself again.

my moon

Strange

And it just dawned on me that we’re halfway through the year.

I wonder if I’m anywhere near my dreams, if I can reach my goals, and if my feelings are valid and real.

Some days are full of doubts, some are blooming with colors, and the others sound just the same—the monotonous life that we lead to survive. 

This night looks similar to the nights before, when a simple fact or idea that entered my mind will make me look at my life, the past, particularly. And then comes a rational female voice which reminds me that what I have right now is more important than dwelling with what’s gone, with the past. It will also whisper something sweet, that there’s something to look forward to in the future.

And right when I’m about to sleep, the stars will put me in awe, especially the one that’s closest to the moon. It kind of tells me to hold on to my life dearer, or even as much as it holds on to the sky, just to see the moon. 

And maybe that’s why I wake up each day, to get closer to my moon.

pieces of ourselves

Sweet

Empty, that’s being nothing, feeling nothing. 

Reading the quote above though makes me wanna believe that the emptiness we feel from time to time doesn’t go to waste. If we leave traces of ourselves in everything we love, then feeling empty is worth it. But that’s not to say that being empty is okay. For if we really leave traces of ourselves to those we love, then we also get traces from those that love us.

And if that’s the case, which I’d like to believe it is, then no one will ever be empty for a long time. We just need to learn how to accept the pieces from the others, and how to give our pieces only to those who deserve them. 

This is in response to the blog event Writer’s Quote Wednesday and Daily Post’s prompt Empty

Bus Rides Home

Strange

Whenever I ride a bus home (which isn’t my usual mode of transportation) after meeting my friends or watching a movie by myself, there’s a different kind of air I breathe in. Something with a hint of sadness for being alone, of feeling proud and courageous for traveling late at night (coz you know, rape culture), and of getting along with the noises around me (which is mostly the reason why I don’t bring earphones). I’m always lucky for getting the window seat because thoughts and realizations come naturally that way. And what better background music can I have than the soft voices of the bus people chattering and the blaring sounds of the cars from time to time. The ride home gives you your moment—one the people you know don’t see much, and it’s up to you on what to make of that.

As for me, the heavy traffic rarely matters, I’m going home anyway. And I enjoy looking out and seeing the world go about, oblivious of my existence. A timid smile will creep in when I notice something familiar or when I see sweet gestures of strangers. There was a time when tears formed in my eyes, for I remember a memory I hold dear but can’t bring back or I realized again that thing I cannot have. I would crinkle my nose whenever embarrassing moments flash in my mind or when my silliness reminds me to have fun. And I also get excited when I think of the events I’ll go to on the coming days, when another idea that will make the ones I have better comes, and when I’m nearing my stop.

Although they’re the most beautiful, sunsets aren’t the only the thing that could turn your day around, bus rides home could, too. It’s what you make of your moment, after all.