…who all know what their respective pseudonyms are on my site.
My thoughts are mostly poetic, but my words are not always. I incessantly try to see the beauty in things and people.
Monique had a bad day, but did very well in hiding it. I am very good at noticing these things, because I don’t care for hiding it most times, but I am always sad, the reason for it just changes often. “Is it something you can fix on Read the rest of this entry
A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.
But I want to.
“You said that was the last one.”
“I know,” I say, “I just Read the rest of this entry
Which means highpoint, or highest point. I’m not sure. I’m not sure about a lot of things these days. I am however sure that I have used the “these days” line before. It’s really not that bad. I just like exaggerating things.
Lisa and I are grabbing ice cream on Saturday. I don’t know if it’s a date. Sometimes describing things makes them more difficult to do. Sometimes it Read the rest of this entry
Ritter said that I am normal, because I confided in him I was afraid I wasn’t.
Last year in February I broke up with my girlfriend. She was lovely. She was kind, sweet, and passionate. We were compatible at the time, but I didn’t like who I was then. But I did like her, a lot. And I still think about her from time to time.
I wish I could choose what I think about more often. These days it’s like I have no control over the thoughts which occupy my mind; or maybe I meant the say the ideas which occupy my thoughts. I’m getting bad at words.
I don’t necessarily think I’m having a relapse further into depression per se, but there is definitely something afoot.
“Why would anyone ever love you,” the voice in my repeats. She’s laying in my arms in the backseat of my car. She brought a blanket. We’re busy talking about something. I can’t remember. I don’t care. I’m never sober when I see her. The reason for that is to subside the incessant flapping of wings which decide to feather the inside of my stomach. “She’s sick,” it continues. I kiss the top of her head. The radio isn’t on. It never was. I could lose sleep over her voice. It soothes me. The sound of her breathing is consistent; unassuming. This is nice, I want to say, but I don’t. I wouldn’t want to spoil the mood. “Your overthinking would ruin a relationship, if you even ever managed to start one.” I’m not listening. We enjoy one another’s company. Nothing needs to be said. We are certain the other one understands what is meant. “You’re a failure.” I hold her tighter. I don’t want to let go. She needs to leave soon. The warmness she radiates goes through my body straight to my heart. “Just leave. You’re going to get hurt.” I love you, I say. That’s stupid, she replies, you don’t know me, you’re only in love with the idea of me. “She’s right.” You’re right, I say. I love you too, she adds. She kisses me and then leaves.
-Charlton, 12 May 2019
Charlotte recently read all of my blog. Even the parts about where I confess my love for here, repeatedly. “It’s so beautiful,” she said. “This reads like a great novel, but the fact that these are your real experiences and your real life makes it so much sadder.”
Lisa likes poems. She likes poems about her. She likes poems I write. She likes poems I write about Read the rest of this entry
My lover’s eyes are nothing like the sun,
coral is far more red than her lips’ red.
If snow be white, why then, her breasts be dun.
If hair be wires: black wires grow on her head.
I’ve seen roses damasked, both red and white,
but no such roses see I in her cheeks.
In certain perfumes is there more delight,
Poems don’t have to rhyme
as long as they fit into a certain time
which is enjambment.
Much like my life:
A loose collection of puns
and wanting too much
and being too little
and loving too hard
fit terribly on her face
they’re like obscene
drawing the attention away from her stupidly average body
and her big forehead
and her ugly smile
down to her deep brown eyes.
But those censor bars sometimes
make you look at the hazel eyes
which make up my favourite leaves
and beautifully green to whatever,
and I fall… too fast
for a soft smile
and kind voice
and warm hug.
And I become eager to share the things I do
and do oh so well
which she enjoys
so that I can hear her unfeigned laugh,
time stands still then
her insecurities fall away
and each other
and I fuck it up
When someone tastes like hope
my heart beats less erratically
I am at peace
I am then more of a man,
more than less of a man.
I attended a party with Jodie. Her friend was slightly inebriated and suggestable and Jodie mentioned that she might be susceptible to my charms, but it just didn’t feel right. Sometimes I wish I had less of a moral conscience and didn’t care so much about other people. Sometimes I wish they cared about me as much as I do them, but alas not.
I have a colleague/friend who we’ll call Cass. Cass knows a Read the rest of this entry
Konstante hoofpyn of lighoofdigheid, duiseligheid, moegheid, angs.
Ek moet met iemand praat wat sal verstaan hoe of my beter sal kan verduidelik wat ek voel.
Ek lees nounet dat mens nie bang moet wees vir verandering nie, want jy kan nie verbeter sonder om te verander nie. En dat daar niks fout is met Read the rest of this entry
… but not just lately, for a while. I feel myself slipping, and when I talk to my psych on Tuesday she might ask why I didn’t come in earlier. It’s because doing things is hard, that’s why I sleep most of the time.
I wish I was more, so that I didn’t disappoint my parents so often. I don’t ever wish myself non-poetic, but I do wish I could take my trauma more seriously. Every time I think of something upsetting or of any type of inconvenience, I invoke a subconscious urge to make my sentences rhyme, or Read the rest of this entry