Where can you put all the negativity? I hate complaining to others. As rare as it is for me to rant and vent, it feels like I’m being a child. I could write it out, run it off, sleep it away, but I still feel it. I feel better when I open up and just talk to a friend. I just don’t want to always bombard them with negative vibes. I need to relieve myself though. I’m not trying to say my life is flooded with problems, but we all have our fair share of personal struggles.
I believe conversation is the best way to blow off steam. The difference is I’m being listened to. It’s good to be listened to. That’s all we ever want right? For some to listen to us. Not just heard but LISTENED to. The thought isn’t just sitting in the back of my mind or laid out on a piece of paper. The load feels so much lighter when someone else is there to help you hold it. To be understood is a relief. I don’t even have to be understood, just listened to. Not out of pity, but genuine concern. Shit, even if I didn’t have words to express my frustrations, presence and acknowledgment would mean a great deal to me. Sharing my struggles with another person makes the relief feel so much more real. I don’t know how to explain it exactly. It just feels better when someone else is there. I find comfort in that. That acknowledgment makes me feel all the more better. Someone knows and the thought isn’t just floating around. Someone was present. Someone listened.
That’s what I need. Just someone who can be there and handle the negativity with me. Always.
Help me hold my weight and I’ll help you hold yours. I’m a good listener. Swear.
Signed,
Pseudo
Tags:
scattered thoughts
write to solve obstacles
They’re deceitful. These characters. Double sided. They say one thing and mask the other. You can’t distinguish what’s said from what’s meant. What’s felt. Fabricated in text, the context is misread. Fed phony lines of “I’m fine” when what is really meant is “Why?” The words are seen, but the ears are deaf to the trembling voice that said- it all. The voice makes all the difference. Hear mine.
Signed,
Pseudo
There’s no worth in telling the world you feel like shit.
Signed,
Pseudo
2 notes
If love were a person, I’d say we have this hate relationship. Love and I just lost that connection a while back. She doesn’t show me the affection she once had. If love were a person, I’d send her a ‘fuck you!’ for every crack my heart has. If love were a person, I’d give her the silent treatment, because she refuses to speak to me. If love were a person, I’d stop the treatment out of frustration and scream about the hell she put me through. If love were a person, I’d sit down with her and ask, “Why did you disturb my peace and cause certain people in my life to leave?” “Why aren’t you as loving as stories make you to be?” “Why are you so confusing?” “Why did you take me so high up and push me to plummet from the peak of my emotions?” “Why do people die for you?” “What did I ever do to you?” Love, if you could listen to this, I’d like to let you know you can be a bitch.
Signed,
Pseudo
I was good enough for a moment. Now.. I’m just here.
Signed,
Pseudo
These nights are the nights that give our lives definition. The nights with familiar faces and strangers by your side. The nights that engulfed in city lights. Intoxicated friends passing out during the final car ride. We’re all faded, fading away with the night as the sun rises. 4 a.m. and you can never go wrong with an order of carne asada fries. After a night like this, I believe everyone, at one point in their life should walk up and down the strip with a little somethin to swig and some bud to get lit. You remember this shit. Sometimes.
Signed,
Pseudo
Association? What an asshole. Picking at holes I’ve already filled in. Such a hassle. It’s hard to enjoy the many joys of life when He keeps reminding me of things that are already behind me. But it could just be me. I do it to myself, I look at old pictures that used to be on my bookshelf. I come across old notes I forgot I had. Reading them line by line, I tell myself to stop, but my eyes are so engrossed in lost words projecting forgotten ghosts. From time to time I open up a box layered with dust. The shit reads ‘US’. Why the fuck didn’t I get rid of this stuff? I peruse through the items just.. to relive the moments with Memories. Fuck - Her too. Time spent with Her is time wasted. She drowns me in Herself and I get fucking wasted. She tastes so bitter. And the next rounds never get any better. She could bring anything up and I’d be fine, but when she touches the topic of you, I’m reminded that good things eventually die. Whenever I’m with Her I contemplate on everything that has withered. But it could just be me. I do it to myself. I keep too many things that trigger you, and it just backfires. Shot to hell. Don’t get me started on Hope. She’s always selling her self out false and I ain’t the only one getting ripped off.
I wish that I could just forget it all, but it’s embedded. I lay in bed and it makes me wonder, “what happened?” It’s engraved and I can’t put it to rest because there’s a piece of me thats still not at peace. I don’t know if I’ll ever find closure. Memory’s gotta visit me at my window to remind me that this shits history and I’ve toured these sights far too many times.
I’m guilty of Hope with Association. We’re all chained together sharing the same life sentence.
Signed,
Pseudo
The art of denial. I’m aware of how I feel, but I keep pushing it out the window for the wind to blow this whole thing away. I tell myself it’s just another phase see, but the feel is strong enough to still phase me. It’s never that simple. I create excuses, associate the thought of you with cuts and bruises so I could just learn to stay away from the thoughts that generate pain, but damn.. there ain’t never a good enough substitution - For you, I’m still waiting on a final conclusion. How the fuck did this happen? I’m not angry, I just wanna know what gravitated me to you, cuz it definitely wasn’t there the first time it was me and you. And fuck, I know the answer to that question too. The art of denial.
Adrenalin crush and shit..
Signed,
Pseudo
