say goodnight and go
to my ultimate lover and hater, i see you reading this... and stop typing this out, it's embarrassing throwing out your emotions to the internet !!
I fear I speak far too much. Every moment of my life is spent whisking out a syllable in a millisecond to get my thoughts out of my scurrying mind. I love talking. I think talking is one of the most enjoyable things anyone could do and, honestly, if I had no mouth, I would scream, that is, if the sounds could even reverberate out of me.
The point of me even saying this isn’t just to say that “i like” and “i love” but rather, to emphasize on something I’ve witness myself doing for far too long. Every time I speak, I hold myself back. I immediately retreat to the dark, deluded and dreadful area of my brain, the part that cradles my inner hatred for myself, my jealousy of the world and my need to be different, the part that eats at my tissue, when it feels safe and warm in the body it was composed in, the part that fights against the axioms of positives i hold for myself and most definitely the part that could never right my wrongs.
When I speak too much, I break down, I sit in silence, I wonder where I went wrong, where my words fumbled and where I got to this point. Is it because of how scared I am of telling people how I truly feel? Is it because I’m scared that others will leave when they hear that adored name slur out of my tongue like sweet nectar? Or maybe the time on that Monday night when I destroyed ones ego and watched you run and catch others in your hands, even when I needed you the most?
Kendrick once said,
“I care too much, wanna share too much, in my head too much
I shut down too, I ain't there too much
I'm a complex soul, they layered me up
Then broke me down, and morality's dust, I lack in trust”
And it resonated with every part of my entity. One thing about me is that I’m too quick to break my train of thoughts for someone to like me. I’d rather die than speak. I’d rather let others speak over me to keep them happy. In a world where happiness equates to pleasing others, how many more times must one do it to reach the ultimate peak of life and happiness? Had I already reached it when I let society walk over me, when I sat in those washrooms and I cried my heart out, just to hope that I could be normal, but came to you telling you that I was ok? Or when my nights were left with pondering about why I act the way I am?
I will forever quiet myself down when the brazen metacarpi begin to plunge their nails into my brain, scooping up the propositions of my mind, even when they were ready to slide out of me. But why let it slide when it may fall on deaf ears? Why let the floating rock on space and it’s adornments of nature hear you murmur when it never listened to you?
The world never listened to you when you came out of the womb, except for that one single moment. That little wail that would protrude out of your vocal chords to make sure that you are sentient, when you were in your terrible two’s and you needed your mother there to kiss your bruises and your need to be like others, when you were at your engaging eight and you moved to the new house and moved to the new bus and got too close and too engaging and too much and you stopped talking and just let others speak for you… and now you are frightening fifteen, feeling, falling, frailing, focused on others and not yourself, because you want to speak, but feel that whispering your words was never as good as sitting in silence.
So what now? Will you speak? Or will you push everyone away because you’re far too scared to let anyone leave, but do exactly what makes everyone leave? You may never believe them when they say they’re listening or that they want to hear you, but you’ll work through it… you will work through it. For now, I will say goodnight and go from all of my feelings towards hatred for myself and slumber under the blankets of love, i hope.
