EyesWideShut

Some things are best left undefined

Insecurity — September 27, 2015

Insecurity

I don’t believe in happiness…I believe in fleeting moments of high adrenaline and heady excitement.
I don’t believe in equal love…I believe in one person loving the other till the point of death and receiving half a love in return – Because there is such a thing as love. I should know. It’s what been keeping my heart beating every day for years. God’s been good; very good.
I don’t believe in temporal promises…As someone wise once said, “Promises were meant to be broken”.
I don’t believe in friends…I believe in people who occasionally cause your adrenaline and excitement levels to spike.
And I know this is drifting off topic but…my biggest fear is being invisible. And sometimes I wonder…Am I that insecure that I cannot live through people seeing past me? The answer to that would be yes. I mean, think about it, I can’t even stand it when someone takes over three minutes to reply a text. It kills me (figuratively of course).
My insecurity – because I am, very much insecure – may come across as clinginess or to some; “ahoshing”. But it’s just one of those things that make me who I am. My insecurity and slight inferiority complex permeate every aspect of my life. They make me behave a certain way, think certain things and live a certain kind of life.
My insecurities make me me. So sorry if I don’t live up to the “standards” you’ve set for yourself and those around you. And sorry if I don’t fall in your category of “acceptable” people. I wish I could say I didn’t give a flying fuck what you think of me. Truth is…I do. But I guess that’s just me. If you looked you would see.
#EyesWideShut

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Who Are You… — September 13, 2015

Who Are You…

“Every child is an artist. The problem is staying an artist when you grow up.”

-Pablo Picasso

I am an artist. An artist isn’t just someone who draws or paints. An artist is anyone who is able to expand and stretch and explore the very limits and boundaries of their creative abilities. I may not draw or sculpt or paint but if there is one thing I can do, it’s to write.                                                                                                                             Now why write?

“I write because every single thought of mine is poetry. And poetry deserves to be written down; to run off the tongue and be lived by the masses.”

C.A.B

Poetry is beauty. Poetry is life. Poetry is art. Poetry CANNOT be faked. Poetry CANNOT be forced. Poetry is something and everything. Poetry is the little things and the big things. Poetry is the whisper of wind and the sound of traffic. Poetry is seeing – not just with your eyes- with your very heart and soul. Poetry is feeling. Poetry is exuberance and eccentricity and everything in between.

I write because the pen IS mightier than the sword. I write because just as my words heal me they also touch others; inspire them to aspire for greater things. I write because writing is art and art is facilitated by creativity and creativity is a prerequisite to innovation.

And so in the end, writing makes me an innovator; helps me add a little something to the world i’m in. Writing is the road i’m taking to reach my purpose. Writing is an integral part of who i am. What i want to ask is…who are you?

The Fault In Our Stars — May 17, 2015

The Fault In Our Stars

The fault in our stars..

“The fault then, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings.’

That’s from Julius Caesar, in case you didn’t realize.

The fault is NOT in our stars. A typical Ghanaian will attribute a sad event to superstition aka the witches and wizards in his family. A typical American will attribute it to bad luck. Oh please…But nobody stops to think about that bad decision they made that led to the sad event. The poor drunkard father who is lamenting the fact that his rich daughter no longer wants to see him and is blaming it on witches and wizards forgets that, once, in a drunken haze, he slapped her and told her she would never amount to anything. The woman whose business has collapsed and is blaming it n bad luck forgets that she was rude to one of the drivers of her supplies without knowing that he was the only son of her main supplier.

The fault is NOT in stars…but in OURSELVES!!! We decide who we want to become. We can either make or break our future. There is nothing you cannot do if you put your mind to it. And there is nothing you cannot fail if you leave it to the stars. Don’t let a couple of shining balls of gas decide who you will be.

Pave your destiny….

Prove you’re not an underling…

MAKE IT.

Love, Elsa — March 23, 2015

Love, Elsa

I know it’s too late. You don’t have to tell me. I messed up, I did. I know it’s all my fault. But here’s where I have a little problem. My love, I clearly remember. You held my hand, one cold night in September. And told me that everyone deserves a second chance. Sometimes even a third. This was my first mistake. I know it hurt. I said I was sorry. I pleaded. I begged. Heck, I grovelled. I knelt before you. But you still don’t believe in my love for you. That day when you left, you didn’t let me explain. I won’t say it wasn’t what it looked like. Because that would really be a lie. But I’d still like to let you know exactly what happened. So that I’ll be at ease. And we’ll both know what this means. For us. For our love. For our dreams. For our forever. For our dreams of love and our dreams of forever.

We both know you weren’t always there. Not that it’s an excuse. But here’s the problem: it was just me in that big empty house. I was all alone. Just me in the couch. And when the lights would go out, my heart would beat. And every time the floorboards creaked, I would scream. I was scared. And here’s the case where I needed a friendly face. I was desperate, please try and understand me.

When he walked through that door, he came bearing gifts. A little rum and a little coke. Harmless, or no? Soon, inebriation engulfed me. And the room swam before me. It was only natural that he bent down and kissed me. Right beneath the mistletoe. Unfortunately for us, it was nowhere near Christmas.

But fate was mean. And just then you walked in. To meet your best friend kissing me. Beneath that nonexistent evergreen leaf. There was such silence as was deafening. With downcast eyes and crestfallen expression, he walked out past your stormy demeanor, and left me to your volatile anger. Suddenly, I was stone cold sober. But not a word did you utter. You walked right by me. Upstairs and into our room. Closing the door loudly behind you. And there I was, back to being alone. My heart shattered, cause i knew I’d betrayed you. And as tears ran down my face, there grew in me a deep seated hate of the words love and loyalty. Those words that hit me right where it hurt. And of the word friendship. Whose true meaning he never discovered. Not that I’m trying to play the blame game….sigh.

But what hurt the most was when you came down the stairs. And the look in your eyes said it all. We were done. Over. Finit. I opened my mouth but no words would come out. And you left. Taking my heart with you. For weeks I called but you didn’t answer. Till three weeks later I called and she picked up. She told me to forget you. She told me to move on. She told me she was your new boo. She told me you were done with me. When I found you I apologized…or at least I tried to. Because you wouldn’t even listen. You just walked by.

So what happened to the undying love you pledged to me? I’d really like to know. I’m not saying I wasn’t wrong. But love, where’s my second chance?

Love,

Elsa.

Glass Walls — March 4, 2015

Glass Walls

Have you ever watched something from behind glass walls? For a second you can almost believe that there’s nothing there. That if you keep walking, you’ll walk right through. And the molecules that make up matter won’t be able to stop you.

Truth is, no matter how thin it is, it’s still a glass wall. It’s still a barrier that won’t let you pass. It doesn’t matter that you can see through it. Or that you can ALMOST walk through it. No matter how much of a farce this seems. A glass wall will always be just that. A wall.