Relatives, get out. I'm not in a good mood.
Ok so I'm pissed. So mad, and at nothing that I can publicly describe, that I feel like I don't have a face anymore.
I hate the way people take control of my life- and what hurts, is that I let them.
Just because I don't talk about it all the time, I slip further into that shell that was never there. Sorry to bring her back- but that 14 year old looks up to me and asks me- Where the fuck do I figure? When was hate all about you?When was love so conditional? WHEN DID YOU DEMAND YOUR KISS BACK?
I have to answer her. I have to sit down and cry- funny thing, is that tears don't come anymore. A face that no one found special but adored itself now contorts with a fury that twists all its features so much, it scares the heart inside.
I want to hurt. I want to hurt so badly that this love-foe falls to his knees and begs for mercy.
And I fall to mine and cry.
I want to cry. Please let me cry.
I can't wait till the day comes that I get myself out of this. Suddenly the person who would rather be heartbroken than not fall in love has given up- and the bleak expression of the day award is in store for the one person who she looks to to make her feel like a smile could break the chaos that she's asked for.
Just because a person falls for the 15th time, doesn't mean that you shouldn't still offer that him a parachute.
I was right- I am scared this time, and I have every reason to be scared- my moods, my feelings, my belief have been shaken by this time.
Imagine Pankti Gandhi asking me, someone who was the emotional twin of Radhika of 15 asking me- 'You're moody?'
And the world thinks I just am that way.
No, I am not, morons.
I'm unbelievably a happy person. I live for the rain. I smile at the sun. I stare into it. Now I can't raise my eyes anymore.
It would have been less painful if I'd changed- my soul has changed, and my conscience doesn't sleep anymore.
Friends, fiends, family- they bow down after the drama ends- but that's when the drama starts. That's when I need the hands, not just the audience.
Writers are unbelievably lonely people. I thought I could change that. I'm crippled. I am not lonely- I just can't tell people stuff.
And man do I have arrogance- to claim to want to tell people everything, yet not say a thing.
Where did the self-love go?
Where did you go?
In that room, the other day, someone asked me what goes on in my mind when I get all 'moody', a term I've come to accept as a pseudonymn for Radhika.
I had it figured then- I push away all the people that I want, just to hope that they come back. I test, and I don't believe.
I'm a cynic, and I will kill my heart. That one thing that stood strong.
My imagination has run out on me.
Take me, or kill me.

1 comment:

  1. uhh..all I can say..
    you line says it..all
    " I am not lonely- I just can't tell people stuff."

    and of course you are not lonely...at least not on this blogsphere.. you can tell...some bits..to us..

    well the best way to get rid of rage is to vent it...so after writing did you feel better??

    moody is the word people use to describe people whom they dont understand...so ...there.

    so cheer up!! and keep blogging!!


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