Love is Misunderstood

Love is misunderstood. I always suspected it was but I could not prove it. My heart betrayed me and kept the truth from me.

Love isn’t electricity. Love isn’t butterflies. Love isn’t a bloody spark. Love is giving a damn or two. Love is making the effort when you have a perfect excuse not to. How do you feel about a person after a terrible argument that pushes you over the edge and makes your skin crawl? Love is how you feel about a person after the person has done something incredibly stupid, something that pisses you off so bad.

Love is not being stupid. It is not about tolerating people every time they misbehave. Love is not being someone’s punching bag and condoning bad behaviour. Love is not letting people use you again and again. Love is not begging. Love is not demanding affection. Love is not making excuses for people who refuse to step up. Love is not silent, and love is not to be felt in silence. Love is LOUD!

Love is in the simple things, but not the way they say. Gestures are nice and romance is cool but those don’t even scratch the surface of what love is and they never will. Romance will get drowned out by the reality of existing around another being who will never see everything like you. Gestures get tiring and repetitive, no matter how inventive you are. Love is not simple. Love is hard and annoying and incredibly frustrating. Regardless, love is not supposed to make you keep bleeding internally.

When you give your heart in love and it gets muddied, take it back, clean it up, put it in a freezer and reserve it for someone more deserving.

Don’t waste your love on people who do not have the capacity to fully grasp its depth. You can kiss with your eyes closed but make sure you love with your eyes wide open. Love is not blind. Know your worth.

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The Plan

The plan was always to bury my love for you

Somewhere deep in my heart

In a place where I could not reach it

To bring it back out.

I know how it sounds

But you have to understand

It was more than a plan;

It was a need,

For my sanity

I needed to do that.

Something About Mystery Bloggers

I was nominated by main man Tony Michele for the “mystery blogger award” here. I’m supposed to thank him but, seeing how stressful it was to complete, that isn’t happening. Here I go though…

The Rules

  1. Put the award logo/image on your blog.
  2. List the rules.
  3. Thank whoever nominated you and provide a link to their blog.
  4. Mention the creator of the award and provide a link as well.
  5. Tell your readers 3 things about yourself.
  6. You have to nominate 10 – 20 people.
  7. Notify your nominees by commenting on their blog.
  8. Ask your nominees any 5 questions of your choice; with one weird or funny question (specify).
  9. Share a link to your best post(s).

3 things about myself:

  • I’m firmly anti-narrative. I value objectivity and 360-facts (I totally just made that up).
  • I love love.
  • I hate fiction with happy endings.

Questions and answers:

1. Any recent article and/or book you read that was enlightening and noteworthy?  Why? Include the link and/or title.

What Great Leadership and Music have in common. – http://ideas.ted.com/what-great-leadership-and-music-have-in-common/

Why? It’s an interesting article.

2. Favourite poem/haiku?

I don’t have a favourite but I absolutely love A World of Poems by Goldenwura.

3. Your biography in one sentence. Not more than 12 words.

I cannot be ‘explained’ in twelve words. I’m bio-less. Hehe.

4. Have you read Malcolm X’s autobiography or watched the movie?

Nah.

5. Favourite rapper/poet and favourite piece from him/her.

Drake. One of my favourite songs from him – Karaoke.

 

Links to my best post(s):

Well, these are my most personal posts so I’d always put them up there.

My Love Is Selfish Too

My Dark Room My Wonder

I Think Being Over You Is Boring

 

My nominees:

Goldenwura

Omooba

Yasmin

Oluwatosin

Doxa

Questions for the nominees:

  1. What is your creative process like?
  2. How long does a poem have to be to bore you?
  3. What are your 3 main muses?
  4. What is the most personal piece you have ever written? Link?
  5. What previously untreated subject matter would you most love to write about?

_______________________________________

 

Buuu…buuu…bye bye.

Moments

Some of my favourite moments with you came during a trip I’ve blocked from my consciousness. I hate to bring it back because it went south at some point but I have to. It started so well. The bike ride under stormy clouds as we went to your art retreat, where I watched you work and create art with your hands. I sat across from you just staring, watching you interact with your team members and friends, fellow artists, creating such good art.

Being around all that was nostalgia for me. I had grown up around that. I wanted to study Fine Art. I was often in the art “classroom” or surrounded by art. My dad bought many art pieces too; he has always been an appreciator. I painted and drew and carved. Ultimately, I fell in love with sculpture and wanted to breathe it. That dream died prematurely in JS 3. Reliving that by vicariously living through your hands as they created art in that place was special. It made me so happy. You were already someone I cared deeply about so it was perfect. Far away from anywhere I was familiar with, surrounded by art, watching you in your creative moment? What could possibly go wrong? I thought. Everything apparently.

One innocent joke here that turned out to be tasteless, one reaction to another reaction there and it started turning sour. Waking up from an uncharacteristic deep sleep to find out you had fallen into some strange illness that night and struggled to make it till the morning, with the hospital calling, was hard for me. Realising I had almost lost you while I slept was hard, realising you thought I wasn’t there for you on purpose because we’d had a little spat the previous night was way harder. It tore into me. Even worse than that was the look you gave me, the look in your eyes that still haunts me. It tore into every fabric of my being. That look; first during the spat and then, the worse one the morning after.

As I walked away that day, from the hospital, to go back to where I had come from, I was hurt. The pain was more about the fact I realised I could do nothing to make you see I wasn’t simply being an asshole all along. For once in my life, I could not explain in words or actions. I could not plead any form of innocence. I was guilty anyway. I hadn’t been there when I should have been. I was mad at myself for that. We talked about it later and made up, of course. I’m still sorry though. Really. I should have been there.

Ultimately, I think that day altered something. I have become terrified of seeing that look. I don’t want you to ever look at me that way again. I’ve been quietly becoming a strange person; someone I do not recognise. I have too many periods when I just don’t want anyone near me. I want to keep a distance. I don’t want them to see this stranger, especially you. Even I don’t know who he is.

I don’t call you enough. I don’t text you enough. I don’t see you enough. But I do love you. I love you enough and more. I’m your number one cheerleader. I need you to always remember this, no matter what happens. I love you deeply. I know you know. I hope you know. And this will never change. Come, let’s go get ice cream? :p

Treason

Chasing shadows on a nameless street

Hoping your faded silhouette will calm my frantic heart

My love is buried in the darkness before me

My tears forming misty pools, shading me from the hard truth

Logic is the myth my emotions battle against

 

I race frenziedly towards the hushed footsteps

With hope as the only companion of my lonely heart

I step out of the shadows and shrink from the rays’ heat

Only to find my love in the arms of another

The heavy puddles clear from my eyes and reality sinks in

 

I have loved

I have laid my heart bare

And I have lost.

 

Co-written with Onyinye Chukwuma.  🙂

Going Back to 2005

I’m feeling a lot of things but I can’t vocalise my feelings. I can’t even write it down. I can’t even put it together. I’m talking to myself and I’m ignoring myself. I’m not listening to what I have to say, because I have nothing to say. What is there to say?

  • I put my palms before her eyes
    And she told me my truth,
    Laid the road for me;
    A rich man’s destiny.
    But she saw it without you.
    She’s a liar,
    She has no clue.
    You’re the one thing I will not lose.

    – Desi Valentine.

I think I’m just mad at myself for allowing myself get into a situation I promised myself I would never get myself into again. It’s really funny that my first instinct was to walk, at just the right time but I ignored it because I wanted to let myself go for once, once again. I never forgave myself for not being more adventurous, more daring, more crazy and less calculated. Now, I am not going to forgive myself for being exactly that. I knew it but I battled myself and won when I should have lost.

  • And I left the footprints, the mud stained on the carpet
    And it hardened like my heart did when you left town.

– The Lumineers.

I’m a bit of a mess right now. I am done, actually. I took a break before, I’m taking a vacation this time. I’m going back to 2005.

Hold

I have too many words to tell you. And I’m almost eager to say it. Almost. But it’s your silhouette that’s present. And she doesn’t deserve it. So I will swallow my words and chew the cud & swallow it again. Until you are here, where you should be.

I’ll never let them leave my body. Words are expensive. And these words are too expensive to give in the dark. These words are too expensive to give to a mannequin. And my words are too expensive to lose to a ghost. I expect to touch shadows when I reach out to hold you. It’s cold because I reach out in vain. But it’s fine.

It’s fine. I expected this when I chose to be the shoulder you cry on when all the shoulders you waste your time with desert you. It’s what I signed up for.  I am a fool for choosing this; I deserve better. I know. But it’s my choice and you have to respect it, like everyone else should. I am a willing fool in love with his foolish choice.

Maybe someday I would finally be wise in other eyes for this choice. Even though it looks like the foolishness or wisdom of this decision is down to what you do, it really isn’t. It’s down to me. It’s my choice. I alone decide the foolishness or wisdom of it, with or without the help of time. I’m stubborn, I know.

I Just Want To Become

 

I have become

A little too

Afraid of heights

In love with lights

Comfortable on the ground

Deaf to our sound

Infatuated with pain

Entitled to rain

Guilty about being happy

Fascinated with failed friendships

Obsessed with memories

Distracted with women I won’t have

Mean to my kind heart

Dead to come alive;

 

At the end of the day,

I just want to laugh and 

Dance on rooftops

Create memories to feed my future obsession

Sing my ‘A Million Parachutes’

Not have to pretend to know how to love

Rub my hair under the rain

Give of myself to others

Come alive in the night time

Never get to feel the pressure

Of just existing.

 

At the end of the day,

I just want to become

What I still haven’t become.

 

 

All I Ever Wanted To Do Was Love

All I ever wanted to do was love. Sometimes, I did not care if it was unrequited, I just wanted to love. All I ever wanted was to love and have my love accepted, even if unrequited. I just wanted you to let me love you, to let me pour out my love. I just wanted you to let me empty myself. You were allowed to do whatever you wanted with my affection and love, whatever you wanted. I just wanted to be able to give you all that I felt. I just wanted you to let me let it out.

Being unable to pour out love that you feel is like starting a fire in your throat just to allow it burn. It’s like bleeding internally, you can feel the effects but nobody else can. I burned with that passion, I bled it. I just wanted to be able to let it out, to scream out how much I loved you. I just wanted to do nice things for you, to call you at lovely times and to be there at your worst. I hate that you felt it was unfair for you to accept that from me, like it meant you would owe me in some way or that it would mean that you were leading me on. I always understood my spot from the start. I always knew where I was on the outskirts of your heart. I didn’t mind. I didn’t care. I just wanted to be in a position to let out all of this.

This love has burned me. Badly. I hate that I had to hold it in for years because you wouldn’t collect it. I never demanded anything; not your love, not your devotion, not your heart, not your lips. I didn’t even need you to love me. It feels selfish in a way but when what you feel for somebody kills you the more you hold it in, you will understand. Sometimes, I just wanted to call you up to tell you I love you and cut the call. It’s a bit of an outlet, a useful one. My only outlet has been my pen, real or imaginary. But I have bled through my paper for too long. I have burned my sheets to ashes. And it remains inside me still.

I don’t think you ever got it. I understood my place on the outskirts of your heart and mind. I just wanted you to hear what my own heart was saying. The plan wasn’t to make you accept the truth in the words or me. The plan was to make you hear them and do whatever you liked with them. It burned, babe. It burned. The passion burned. It was intense. It was real. And it was customised; I could only tell it to you. And it’s a lot. A lot to say. I didn’t care if it blew up your ego, that was your bonus. But you kept me too long in a position where I could only tell trees and walls. You made me kill my spontaneity at its inception every time. You made me conceal fire under my hands, behind my lips and inside my head. What else could it do but burn? What else could it do but burn everything around it that wasn’t about you? What else could it do but elevate you to a pedestal I could no longer take you off with the flame it carried?

You think I’m crazy? I’m not. I’m not even crazy about you anymore. I’m not excited about you anymore. I can’t think of those things. I can’t think about feelings, I have nothing left to feel. My insides are full of ashes of burned out passion. And yet, the fire remains. But it is not the same kind of fire. It has become something else. I ache all over. I am alone because of this fire. Nobody else could ignite anything else. The fire had made my insides its home. I just wanted to let it out, all along. I just wanted you to let me let it out.

All I ever wanted to do was love. Sometimes, I did not care if it was unrequited, I just wanted to love. All I ever wanted was to love and have my love accepted, even if unrequited. I just wanted you to let me love you, to let me pour out my love. I just wanted you to let me empty myself. You were allowed to do whatever you wanted with my affection and love, whatever you wanted. I just wanted to be able to give you all that I felt. I just wanted you to let me let it out.

Penny

I imagined you could float in air

I was right.

Free-spirit

Chauffeur of yourself

Silent fashionista.

I love the socks

And the shy smile.

As I beheld the dance of your pen,

Time stopped.

For a second

It was I

Who made that call from Dial.

I would have told you how wrong you were

That I did care

But another love had killed my “feel”.

That I was willing to try

If you would have me.

Natural hair, glasses, brows and feet.

Words, expressions, a heart and a pen.

You could search for my Utopia

And find a mirror.

And then you’d know

Where this leads.