If My Tattoos Could Talk, They’d Bleed A Novel So Heartbreaking — Thought Catalog

Tim GouwI’m not one to openly share my feelings with anyone but if the stories behind my tattoos could come alive at first glance they would bleed out a novel so heartbreaking. There are many moments in life in which I’ve wanted to capture the essence of every single emotion that flooded into my brain…

via If My Tattoos Could Talk, They’d Bleed A Novel So Heartbreaking — Thought Catalog

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List of things I don’t understand

Just a list of things I don’t understand based on what I’ve experienced lately.

1. Why do people like eggplant?

2. The purpose of Instagram. (Specifically why do people create private accounts besides their public one)

3. Why do some drivers swerve in and out of lanes?

4. Having a stats exam.

5. Why do people do things that they know is ethically wrong?

6. Why do we fall for the wrong people all the time?

 

Just so if you were wondering

I’m still alive, though I’m on the brink of insanity where I’m about to fall into a gutter of uncertainty, waiting to drown me.

Exams are in less than 2 weeks and I’m still not done with my readings. I am freaking out but the readings this sem are driving me mad. They’re full of contradictory shit and I get that the authors are exemplifying the complexity of social issues, but it seems to me these authors are as confused as I am, as to which paradigm to undertake.

Basically the mods this sem are pretty shitty and I can’t wait for this phase to be over.

But again, SPWM has been a dear in trying to lift my spirits. Way to go, (unsung) poets.

Chameleon

It scares me

when I realize that our values have started to differ,

and how malleable our habits actually are.

It turns out they change,

faster than how a chameleon changes its colours.

And that scares me,

because when I thought you were the epitome to what they called realism,

I was wrong.

No matter how flexible we tried to accommodate and compromise,

the rope holding us together is thinning

and we are both running out of breath

to catch up on each other’s life,

when our footsteps used to be in sync.

 

Like an anchor,

you once put my insecurities to rest.

And I try to do the same.

I grappled with ropes,

only to find my hands tangled in them.

Red, bloody scars,

stung like skin marked with paper cuts

following with every drop of tear,

while you sailed further away from me.

 

We function like a one-way mirror now.

Reflections where we see each other in ourselves

are dissolved in our sea of memories.

You stared at your own reflection,

smiling in ignorance

while my eyes meet yours

trusting –

that in the remaining telepathy we have,

you will sense my urgency

in alerting you of the high seas.

(Note: this actually wasn’t meant to be a poem but I ended up writing one (maybe?))