dear diary...

Don’t Lose Yourself

You spend hours in front of a computer

till your eyes begin to water.

Cherry-picking words

that you think best flatter.


Nouns

/naʊns/

Do they make me sound hip enough?

Exotic places

Underground bands

Book titles so unheard of,

you’ve got them penned down on the back of your hand.


Adjectives

/ˈadʒɪktɪvs/

The bigger the word, the bigger the impression, right?

An eclectic taste in music

A Flexitarian foodie

A sapiosexual nerd who embraces all things geeky.


You take the bits and pieces of your life

and your self

Curate them

Examine them

Process them

Until they don’t look like you no more.


Arrange them in order,

like pieces of artefacts in a museum.

And you,

play the docent who walks them through.

Exhibition after exhibition,

room after room,

spinning stories that you know aren’t always true.

A haphazard patchwork of tales.

And like a chameleon,

your opinions turn from red to purple to blue


Sand down the rougher edges,

the distressed voices,

the disagreements.

Polish the panes till they glisten

with a glare

a little too bright

for those who stare.


When you get back home near midnight,

graceless,

and hollow;

after being touched all over,

scrutinised and

consumed,

and the ice of the marble flooring slowly bites away

at the antecedent warmth of

loveless cuddles,

you peer at the three strangers in the mirrors,

and wonder,

“Who the hell is this?”


 

Standard
Just quotes

The Wind-up Bird Chronicle: On the inextricability of life, pain and identity 

“‘A life without pain: it was the very thing that I had dreamed of for years, but now that I had it, I couldn’t find a place for myself within it. A clear gap separated me from it, and this caused me great confusion. I felt as if I was not anchored to the world — this world that I had hated so passionately; this world that I had reviled for its unfairness and injustice; the world where at least I knew who I was. Now the world has ceased to be the world, and I had ceased to be me.'” — Creta Kano 

p.99

Standard