Writings of a Phobophobe.
Love is like art.
Uncertain strokes,
Building up confidence into a masterpiece.
Like photography,
Forever immortalised in that moment.
Like a concocted scent,
Familiar and fleeting, leaves you craving.
Like aged wine,
Best kept in the memory cellar —
To be appreciated,
And savoured in the present.
To create beauty lasting of all time,
How many false starts do we take?
Slow, peaceful art —
Are we running out of time?
Tippety tap, tippety tap
Footsteps hurrying.
Tippety tap, tippety tap
Raindrops fighting.
Tippety tap, tippety tap
Fingers stimming.
Tippety tap, tippety tap
Her heart thudding.
Sometimes I give up the exact fight I want so badly to win. I give up right before success because I want to be chosen. Just to convince myself I didn’t fight in vain, yet, ironically I still did.
Sometimes I give up the exact right I own, just because someone showed me they wanted it more badly. It felt like I was helping them, but I wasn’t actually doing so.
Sometimes I confuse tiredness and laziness. I thought I was lazy but I was just too tired to fight. Perhaps the tiredness made it easier to give up entirely.
I hurt myself in the process. Giving up opportunities in love, career, finances, everything. I’m flawed and I only can blame myself so much for not being able to own my right and own my fight.
Counting each time
You made my heart race,
Like needles on the sewing machine,
Thumping in and out.
Fast and slow
Then turning the edges,
Whirring along the outline of us
Slightly hurting yet seals us complete.
You’ve forgotten how to love.
You’ve forgotten your own worth.
Suppressing your needs for another,
At her beck and call.
Money, time and pride
You gave it all.
The beauty of love,
Is that it is mutual.
I’d show you,
If you’d love anew.
Why don’t you move on
Why are you not asleep?
Why don’t you move on
When he’s just a freaking prick?
Why don’t you move on
Why are you not asleep?
Why don’t you move on
When he makes you so damn sick?
Is it greater pain,
To have found true love and lost
Or to never have found before?
Face,
I wouldn’t forget
Tenderness,
I’ll give to beget.
–
Battle of the wits,
We’re two wholly misfits
Others could jeer,
But I’ll stay with you here.
All is still,
When I’m with you.
All I feel,
Are the layers you peel.
All will heal,
You’ll be the only best view.
Perhaps we will,
Down the aisle with your unveil.
He should’ve known better.
That hunger
Was not an unsatisfied desire;
But rather
A temptation of an emotional encounter.
killgwen 