One Day

I am tired of wanting to die

A cold winter and my hands are frozen My eyes are weary For a long time they were open There are piles of books Each waiting be open There are pictures of worlds Of emotions left unspoken There is a formula for the writer A certain system to be achieved We must display the characters As neither good or bad Just psychological Significant humans A location A scene focused on it's nature The sunlight pouring through it's trees The drowsy morning of a mid summer The cold walk during the middle of the night in December Christmas lights adorning the trees A girl walks with her arms wrapped around her chest Wishing it was easier Wishing he was here There are things fantastical to be written about Yet there are also those normal, everyday moments There is a mastery of language that is needed A mastery of languages A mastery of diction A mastery of lyric Yet all the same A clear voice So that anyone could read it Original but not too original Enough to se...

I have been reading more of Sylvia Plath's Unabridged Journals and I got to her honeymoon with the attractive, intellectual Ted Hughes. It's not hard to understand why she is attracted to him as I was attracted to S. Them sitting together on a balcony with their coffee and writing together on the same desk seems really romantic. He's her intellectual equal, perhaps even her soulmate. Who wouldn't what someone who shares your passions in life? Even though he treats her horribly as their marriage progresses. Looking back in retrospect after watching the movie Sylvia to reading the journals, it is now easier to see that they were meant to be together. Ted Hughes is as much apart of Sylvia as Sylvia is of Ted Hughes, foe better or for worse. Sylvia Plath is a fan of Virginia Woolf. We have both read her novel The Waves and I watched the movie The Hours which is about Virginia Woolf writing Mrs. Dalloway and the two generations of women who read the book afterwards. Both of ...

Love Love Love When will you notice I don't want to play this game anymore Love Love Love Let's be honest I liked it better when I was pure Love Love Love You filled me with fantasy The idea that true love existed Love Love Love You reminded me to be disappointed You reminded me that true love doesn't exist Whether I am promiscuous or pure It's never coming back I will never get a chance to love again To all the men, I am hopeless To all the men, I deserve it Because who can want a slut? My ex fucked me up but that doesn't matter No one cares about him Hm, I am getting older My wrinkles are growing My hope in everything is failing Life is harder Finances are shorter What the fuck is this feeling? It's Love Love Love You are moving on Leaving me in the dark Love Love Love Maybe some are just naturally lucky I don't feel lucky at all Love Love Love Prescribe the Lesbian pill Perhaps I could be a better man Love Love Love Why...

I don't ever want to be married. Ever. It is a trap. To feel at one moment like the sky's the limit and that you have the potential to be loved unconditionally. Then the next, you are hit with the crushing reality. You are not good enough. Whether you disagree with him or love him too much. Whether you move the relationship too quickly or not at all. You are not good enough for him. Then comes the crushing reality: his girlfriend. She is prettier than you and nicer than you. They have a fun time together and even his parents like her better than you. He's not afraid to show themselves off in public and he believes in love again more than he ever could with you. How could this happen? Is it that I am truly crazy enough that I will never have a man who can love me for all my faults and foibles? It was fantasy. It was believing that I was good enough. That I was deserving of being loved. That was my foolishness. To close my eyes for even just a moment to pretend that I could b...

It's been a while since I posted and since this is a private blog, I have decided I need to turn to it in this moment. Sometimes I look in the mirror and I don't recognize who I see. With my brown hair, green eyes, freckles and tan skin. I keep wondering if I am just in an avatar body because the person I expect to look back at me is Indonesian. I feel Indonesian now that these memories of my past life have come up. Realizing that I was part of a movement to rid of Anglo-Saxon influence in the country puts me into perspective of where I am now - very Anglo-Saxon and living in a Conservative/Christian/Southern family. If I told them how I felt, they would think I am crazy. My memories now stem longer than my actual birth. The things that have happened to me in the past now seem insignificant. Now I am more interested in my people and what happened to them. Too bad I don't know how to speak Indonesian yet! It would greatly benefit me to learn due to the gap between info...