Canvas For Welling Tears.

I finished The unnamed girl series roughly a month ago, and it was received better than I expected. For those that don’t know, it’s a six-part anthology expressed through the lenses of a character going through (to avoid spoilers I’ll say) “many things” that are open to interpretation. You can check it out here if you wish to read it; links to all parts are within the post.

The past few days I’ve been reflecting over something else. The Unnamed Guy Series, I never planned on it but it felt like a missed opportunity in retrospect. I obviously don’t want the characters to mirror each other, but I feel I’ve done enough character building to piece this one together. This might be a once-off, let me know what you think and if you’d like to see more of it in the future.

18+  Sexual Themes, Language, Suicide.

 

I don’t talk about my failures.

Not all of them. Can you guess why?

You know why. Because failures are for losers.

It feels good not to think of them;

Don’t give me that look. I don’t want to feel weak.

Nor would you.

 

I hate myself, yet I scream “I love you”

— On the inside —

Hoping saying it enough times will make it true.

A running gag really— I won’t deny it,

Unless you say it in front of my mates.

 

“Also, also, if I may add — you latch onto hurt like an entitled child”

Who the fuck are you?

 

“What? You think anyone would stick around for you?

The REAL you? The best untold joke”

 

Hey, no-one leaves me, I leave them

Looking back. None of them were worth my time anyway.

 

“Sure buddy, Listen — you choose poorly because deep down,

You know, that’s exactly what you’re worth — You say you don’t need anyone

Because it will make living with yourself a whole lot easier”

 

You don’t get to tell that to me unless I do.

When it comes from anyone else, no matter how true

To me, it holds literally no value. 

 

“Loving you is your biggest complication

You wall off — it’s what you’re good at

When people get too close, you push them away

Because it’s getting too real — it terrifies you,

Losing your power.

You want control”

 

And what’s so wrong about that?

You say it like I’m supposed to give it all away.

 

“You’re a good bullshit detector

Because you’re a naturally gifted bull-shitter

I’d tell you to slit your wrists, but knowing you,

It’d be a miracle if you even manage to do that properly.

Remember that night, when you were called a ‘disgrace’?”

 

Would saying “yes” stop you from bothering me?

 

“Don’t interrupt me,

I can rightfully confirm you’re exactly that

But don’t worry — as if you ever do —

You weren’t taught any better,

It’s all about getting the girl and giving her a hard fuck, right?

I know how nice it is, to have an excuse to fall back to

When you don’t act right”

 

That doesn’t sound anything like me!

“Of course! But you sure as hell wish it could be!”

How can I or anyone like me be any better when you only speak of the ugly!?

“Because that’s all there is to fuckin’ see!”

 

You know this world does not reward being real!

Only the best idea of it! So what if I face a hiccup?

I fall and I stand up again! That’s how it works!

I own up and make something out of it!

 

“Hah! Your little tantrum means shit!

You’re nothing! Your worth is in what you have.

Celebrate ‘this’ because that’s as good as it will ever get

-For you. 

Natural selection baby! Life will continue to bend you over

And give you a hard one from behind

And you will learn to like it, maybe even enjoy it — talk about it? No.

Who wants to hear about your limitless failures,

What kind of man are you anyway?”

 

You’re wrong! There’s more to being a man than that!

I’m allowed to have feelings, to be vulne –

 

“Fucking sensitive, god! Have a little grit!

THIS is why people leave. You’re not a pillar.

Talk to me when you learn how to wear pants in relationships alright?

Till then, get under your covers — tug and pull

And when you eventually leave your shell and don’t get loved back?

Make like an incel and blame everyone around you, except you.

Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone”

 

You’ve said a lot. I’ll be completely honest about one thing.

You’re the voice I dream of killing.

 

“I’m you, so you know exactly what that means”

 

– O.D. ©2020

 

Art by:  StephanePellennec

This Alphabet Is Missing An “F”.

I’ve never liked living in the same space with other people far longer than I have to. Sometimes — *scoffs* who am I kidding saying sometimes? I ALWAYS prefer staying alone. Just the thought of hearing someone fidgeting in the other room annoys me to no end. Living alone means I can hear myself better. Also, My home is set up in a way that makes sense to me, there are things I’ve placed in questionable places. ‘Questionable’, according to a stranger’s standards. But who cares what the stranger thinks of my home? I see my thoughts and headspace the same way — don’t enter unless you’re invited. To be fair, people are rarely, if ever, invited.

Sure – check out the entrance, scope out the terrace — use the bathroom if you have to. But while you’re at it, don’t ask me why the green door is locked. It’s locked — correct me if I’m wrong but, that’s none of your business right? What are you? The door police?

[insert laugh track]

I have good news though. If you don’t like locked doors in other people’s spaces — Leave. then go to your place and initiate a ribbon cutting ceremony for you, the stray cat and all your neighbors. I’d like to believe we’ll all be happy that way.

I hear its unhealthy for me to want to be alone this much. True, I’m open to accept that, but if its about choosing which hell I’m willing to go through. The hell of being stuck in solitude is far more favorable to me than being stuck with a bunch of people. Far too many variables. Nothing against people in general, but I find them incredibly frustrating, annoying and at times boring. If you have a halo floating above your head — that was your cue to know this isn’t an entirely wholesome prose piece. I’m not exactly known for being the best light bearer, but believe me I try, but there comes a point …

What was it that Kurt Cobain said?

“I would rather be hated for who I am, than be loved for who I am not”

That quote — that quote comes the closest to describing how I feel, about pretty much everything. I could tell you all the things you want to hear, make you happy, but at what cost? My sanity for one. Spending most of my time alone means I don’t get the chance to ruin someone else’s day or whatever expectations they have of me. I kid you not, the only motivation I had for leaving home and venturing out on my own and doing my own thing was just to have a place to call my own. To wake up and decide how I’m going to ruin my day as opposed to having someone do it for me. It was never about getting a big house, a big car, a wife and whatever else society considers as the best sequence of events. I am completely hard-wired to be me, kissing up to people just isn’t part of my dna. And you can damn well be certain that anyone is expendable in my pursuit to continue being myself; don’t try and stop me, because I will never change myself for anyone. No-one is worth that much to me.

I don’t have friends, I have people I know. This means I talk to a lot of people, but I wouldn’t call them friends. Honestly? I’m not really trying to find any. I already wrote my reasoning for this here if you want to see, not looking to say it again.

Meeting people as an adult feels like a lotto draw, sometimes you get lucky, and sometimes you find duds. Judgmental, superficial, manipulative, narcissistic, one-track minded people who — admittedly — have worth, because they serve as the best examples of what not to associate yourself with.

Look, I’m an idiot, I know this — I say it all the time — I can even laugh about it — but there is only so much stupid I can tolerate in my life. I’m constantly working on my myself, trying to find the best ways to improve. Reining in as much stupid as I can so it doesn’t cause unnecessary harm to others. Or worse, add to the stupid that has already been allowed to enter existence. I try and avoid harm that could easily be avoided if I took one minute —- just one more f*cking minute to think about what I’m about to say. But you know what, for some people, one minute is far too much time to be wasting in your head, gotta get that clumsy thought out there while its still hot.

I have many colorful words to describe what those people are to me. But I choose not to use them (Who knows, I might change my mind mid-piece)

I can get extremely critical of others. More so in the company of hypocrites/pathological liars — worse if I’m pushed into a corner by said hypocrites/pathological liars. Judging me, from what pedestal exactly? Calling me selfish for not sharing my inner thoughts? Do you really care or are you just curious. Your answer won’t matter, because you’re a chronic liar, remember? The reason you think you’re so clever is because I don’t call you out. Why would I take it upon myself to dive into your cesspool of acid, especially when I don’t feel like it, to sort out your mess. If you’re feeling miserable over there, don’t come over to me so you can web me into your misery. If you feel inadequate, do it waaay over there, not anywhere near me.

How can you get offended when you learn I don’t need you to live; were you in the womb with me? Didn’t think so. How can you ask me why I don’t share my opinion when your low self-esteem beckons you to always try and get a one-up. When you turn simple conversations into competitions. Is your entire perception of existence shaped like a ventilation shaft?

Apart from being labeled as an alcoholic. What do you call it when I need some kind of vice to go through an entire conversation without feeling compelled to point out how ridiculous some of the things I’m told sound? I hate (not dislike) hate confrontations. Especially when I’m trying to help but it’s misconstrued as an attack. You have to go through the rigmarole of proving why it’s wrong first, and if you are oh-so-lucky, you get to go back and forth with the person till they become comfortable with the idea. Look, I’m not saying people should change what they feel about something just because someone says so. But I’m also saying I wont go through the hassle of correcting people when I rarely (if ever) feel like it. Its exhausting and at times futile. What next? Pinning their diaper. Ugh, I don’t have time for that. You’d be surprised how many logical inconsistencies you can avoid with a little research. But no, it’s much easier when you choose to be lazy to think.

The other day I laughed to myself, thinking about how If something were to happen to me, anyone who decides to check my browser history would be in for a surprise. Might even see something they didn’t know they needed to see. Also, the Google searches I’ve had to input in the name of researching for my manuscript would leave you in a, uh, “state”, I should say. But I’m getting side tracked …

I can be called toxic, harsh or whichever word makes people feel like dolling out justice on my personal truths. But don’t mistake me for someone who will look at your words and re-think their life choices. Starting my blog in 2014, I cared so much about how many followers I had. I cared about how many people commented and liked my posts. Of course I still do, to some extent — but only as a way to see my growth on this platform and not as a conveyance of my success in life. Noone wants to do something for absolutely nothing.

I was hooked on the high, because it was nice; seeing your post booming. Linking my worth to the amount of people that told me how good my writing is, seeking validation, you name it. Now, none of that applies. I don’t give a f*ck what anyone thinks about what I do and who I am. But it’s rude to say it out loud, so I keep quiet when they say whatever they consider to be reprimands of my character.

This change isn’t something that happened over night. Many things happened to warrant this. Some of which I have written over the years.

My co-worker asked me one morning “Who broke your heart?”. Funny question, welcome one too. I told her “No one in particular“. I’ve just come to learn a lot growing up. And I fear what else I’ll be learning past this point. After all, I’ve learnt that no-one is reliable, according my ridiculous and definitely fictional standards. I’ve learnt that love is conditional; I’ve learnt that even when you keep an open mind, even when you love someone far more than you should (in my experience) that’s hardly ever enough. Which, to me, makes romance a futile venture. Your heart doesn’t pay the bills, does it, darling?

I’ve learnt those I called ‘heroes’ are only human. That cheating has become a rite of passage and that charming mentors can sometimes be aspiring cult leaders. I’ve learnt no matter how much I may try to be kind there will always be a moron out there who will see it as weakness. I’ve learnt not to blame the world for my mistakes; to be responsible. I’ve learnt that those you value can sometimes cherish their belongings far more than they do you. I’ve learnt that the world is full of people who wish to be other people; sometimes you. I’ve learnt that those who ask you to trust them are usually the least trustworthy. I’ve learnt that words lost their meaning long before I was born. I’ve learnt that no matter how bad things get, it can always, always get worse. I’ve learnt … … I stopped myself from going deeper. It only gets darker down there and I don’t want to bring anyone down with me. Though if you’ve read this far you were probably aware of the risks involved.

Sometimes I look in the mirror and say. Yeah, I’m done. F this world and whoever thinks there’s an easy solve for every little thing. F that guy who always wants the last say in everything. F that moron I’ve caught one too many times about to let the N-word slip from their lips in my presence (No, you didn’t get away with it. But I now know you at the very least say it in my absence). But you know what, you’re not that important to me anyway.

… Sometimes, before I walk away from the mirror I say maybe…. maybe, not yet. If I’m going out, it won’t be because of those losers. Surely I’m worth more than that.

– O.D. ©2020

Art by: AngelGanev

Broken Keys And Missing Dial-tones.

“No. I wouldn’t dream of going ahead with it.

… Can’t bear the thought of leaving you alone.

You know that — right boy?”

*Woof!*

– O.D. ©2020

Art by: snatti89

Mind Reading Error.

Deep down, I like to think of myself as a good person.

So I’ll do you a favor and save you the trouble

Of trying desperately to trace my shadow.

No matter how many times you try and tell me who I am;

You’re wrong.

– O.D. ©2020

Art by: CaringWong

Unpopular opinion: You can never know someone to the core; you don’t even know yourself. So to think you can narrow someone’s personality to your limited perception of them is a little stupid moronic idiotic foolish ridiculous …don’t you think?

But what do I know, I’m just a guy who loves writing.

Undulating.

Proclaiming shamelessly that those who commit suicide are weak

Beckons me to give you news that will split your mind in three.

The good: Today, you learn something new.

The bad: You get to learn that you were far smarter a second ago;

Far smarter in fact, before deciding to lampshade the mushroom cloud;

The mushroom cloud that is ….

The ugly: … Your overbearing ignorance.

– O.D. ©2020

Art by: CaringWong

People who attempt suicide are not weak, they are in psychological pain and are in need of help. You may think it’s irrational for someone to end their life when looking from the perspective of someone who has yet to go through similar pain. And how could you? We’re all different.

Suicide is an act that comes from pain, not weakness. People that attempt/ commit suicide are in fact afraid to die. But the pain they will be going through will be so overwhelming that they see no other way to stop it. I understand how easy it may be for some people to judge and make light of someone else’s pain. After all, I grew up being told the remedy for being depressed was to simply “cheer up” and to stop being “so sensitive, like a lady”

“You’re feeling depressed? But you’re so young, Wait till you’re an adult then you’ll know what true depression is”

True depression? What the f*ck is that bullsh*t? Like there’s some kind of absolute depression that blankets all other forms of depression. F*cking morons, the lot of them. If you have no knowledge to impart because you don’t understand a particular issue well — or rather, if you have nothing constructive to offer, Have the decency to keep your mouth shut.

What pisses me off is how many people commit suicide because they are afraid to open up to all these judgy idiots. These idiots who feel they have suffered more than anyone else. How many more people would we be able to help if these idiots weren’t so flippant about how they address issues regarding suicide? I don’t like cursing, but this issue really gets me heated.

I never told my parents this story (only my sister) because I was afraid they would worry. But at the start of 2020 I was flooded by suicidal thoughts. My poetry did nothing to hide this. I don’t need to get into the particulars of how it reached that point, but, well, everything sucked. It’s like, try as I might, when looking all around me, all I saw were ways I could kill myself in the least painful way.

These thoughts are “gone”now but I know they could just as easily come back. I’m at a point in my life where I no longer know if I’m depressed or not. Take that however you wish, but it has helped me empathize with those in pain. I may not know exactly what they are going through, but I’ve felt and understood a similar pain in my own unique way. And i’ll try, in any way I can to give them a listening ear, and if my writing lights up their day, even better.

But much like everyone else, I have good and bad days; and that is, at times, reflected in my writing. Despite trying to help others, I need to make time to help myself; and this might mean writing a piece that carries little to no positivity.

I believe in helping people help themselves, not saving. Fostering self-reliance; not co-dependency. I’m a teacher, not a cult leader.