New blog

To my beloved and neglected readers,

I've started a new blog. I've been thinking about this for a while now and I've finally done it. I will be moving on from this blog which I've kept for nearly 4 years now. In a couple of weeks, I'll be deleting this blog.

If you're interested in following me over at my new blog, here's the link:

http://louddreamings.blogspot.com.au

I wish Love was simple as, "I'm happy so this is Love."

Where did Writing go?

When I look at a blank page, I always have an urge to write. This urge hasn't changed even though I haven't written a short story or sat down to work on my manuscript properly for two months now. My love for words, my love for creative writing will always be strong. It's the one love I can trust to always exist.

A few years ago, I discovered spoken word poetry. It is the single most amazing art form I had the blessing of finding. I always loved poetry or any form of creative writing for that matter. But there is only so much words on paper can do. Spoken word or slam poetry to be precise is loud, actively passionate and engaging. You get your point across to a large amount of people in just a few minutes.

Last night, after years of chickening out, I finally participated in my first poetry slam. And the experience was absolutely amazing. Everyone was really good and I was so sure that I was the only crazy person who went up there without any prior experience. It was the single most scariest moment ever, my words are vulnerable to judgement in a single second. But it was amazing, having my voice float around and hopefully stroke some hearts and it was amazing that I could hear the audience clicking their fingers in appreciation.

In the end, I didn't get a ranking but I had a score of 7 out of 10 which was great considering I blanked out 4 lines from finishing my poem and last year's heat champion approached me, gave me tips and said that he liked my piece. That was incredible. At that moment, I decided, "This is awesome. I'm going to do this more often."

Break

Dear Beloved Followers,

Sorry for the lack of posts but because there is a lot of things going on right now, I will be taking a break from blogging, indefinitely.

Hopefully, when I return, I will have wonderful and exciting writings to share.

Lots of Love,

Lucy (Lovesick Fool)

Day 33: Those Days, Those Weeks

There are good weeks. Weeks where you will be motivated and inspired to sit at your ever-so-quick-to overheat laptop and study and write and the words will flow endlessly as though you're a dictionary or a thesaurus.

But you're not.

There are good weeks. Weeks where jogging in the morning and running against the lowering of the sun drives you out of bed in the morning and your toes are jumpy and you are so incredibly healthy because every fibre in your body is screaming with positivity as though you're a proton.

But you're not.

Because, there are bad weeks. Weeks where the words just won't flow and glaringly white word documents stare back at you for hours and you're not even motivated to write in your journal and words just won't write and every day that piles onto each other agitates the growing irritation inside you.

There are bad weeks. Weeks where the morning feels like night and you have to drag yourself out of bed because your body feels like lead and you constantly feel as though the Sandman is constantly pouring sand into your eyes and everything feels so sluggish and you force yourself to smile because you don't want people to be worried.

There are bad weeks. Weeks where you just want to lock your bedroom door, cover your head with your bedsheets and just cry into the mattress because you're so fucking sensitive to every emotion and any little thing people say can make you so fucking depressed that you wonder if you're slipping back into that abyss.

But you're not.

There are just bad weeks and good weeks. And after the bad weeks, good weeks follow. You just have to trudge through and remember all the good weeks.

Day 32: My Parents were Boat People

Note: This is going to be one of my poems for this year's poetry slam competition.

My parents were boat people
Like a simple label could categorise all the pain, the loss
Why can’t they be treated as equals?
When we can’t even endure half of what they went through.
Water shortage, starvation, boat cramped thrice its capacity.
Having to shit over the railing, these examples are just a few.

Terrorists, job thieves, invaders.
Apparently, they’re out to destroy our lives.
Half-starved, half-desperate: what invaders?
They just want rooves that don’t leak and walls without bullet holes.
A new country as their new home.
A country’s whose flag they can hang proudly on flagpoles.

Instead, we give them Darwin, Christmas Island and Villawood.
Where children try to overdose on their mother’s sleeping pills.
Why are we ruining a nine-year old’s childhood?
I thought we’re supposed to be a multicultural society?
Yet we have human rights abuse and poor living standards.
We’re sending people into high states of anxiety.

My parents were boat people.
People who were also born of flesh and blood.
Yet somehow, they’re still unequal.
They have sick mothers to feed and daughters hidden from prostitution
And all they want is a fresh start, a chance for survival
Instead, we give them criticism and exclusion.

We forget boat people are people too.
Just because we might not have the space or the money,
Doesn’t mean we can scream or bellow, “Fuck you!”
It doesn’t mean they’re any less human.
And don’t even dare to label them as flora and fauna
Because the question is: Are you human?

Our politicians are all for long speeches that answers everything:

Off-shore detention centres, improvement in facilities, new refugee camps;
The sky, the earth, everything and yet nothing.
Because, we are not the solution.
We are the continuation of their problems.
It’s their country, with all the wars is the complication. 

Day 31: Morning

Please wake up beside me in the morning
So the nightmares of my fears can't hide with the sleep in my eyes
Trail your fingers along my sides and,
Hold onto my hand as we welcome the sun together
So I know that you are not a mirage leftover from my dreams.
I am afraid of clutching onto empty bed sheets
Because my quiet passion might not be enough to keep you.
Promises are after all soft whispers that barely catch hold and,
I want something tangible like your kisses down my throat
Or your mouth on mine to be what I wake up to,
Because this is the only instance where words are not enough for me.

Day 30: Tension

I'm so wound up
So high in tension that it pools inside of me
Like your fingers that trails up along my thighs
And your kisses that bites me hard
You leave me breathless on your crumbled sheets
With disorientated butterflies pounding in my breasts
Your fingers have me coiled around tight
So wound up, I'm not thinking straight
Hot breaths heat up my shivering skin
Leaving territorial marks, claiming me
Don't let this end any time soon
Because you're making me go insane
Begging to become yours.

Day 29: Hung Over

Vertigo thoughts are inside my head
It's your voice I hear slithering within my skull
You're just somebody that I used to know
But you were my first
Like alcohol that won't vomit out of my system
I am still hung over you
And the promises that you didn't keep
Deep inside me, I'm missing something that you took
You left me with a profound sense of loss
I thought I found inner peace
But I am always thinking of you
What am I supposed to do when I'm afraid to love?
Every empty night is a hang over of yesterday
Of deleted messages, erased photographs
I was supposed to be over you
You were merely a season, a reason
But not for life

Day 27: Sleep Deprivation

Let's sleep and not wake up until world ends.

Day 26: Nightmare

Late nights envelope me in their insomnia
Nightmares clutch their out stretch claws
We're going to make your dreams a living Hell
They say as they whisper black magic into my ears
Don't even try to lucid dream
I listen to the calm of your voice through the phone
I only know that you are real
Everything else is but a nightmare
But even you can't save me from my insecurity
I haven't felt you in so long
I'm becoming warped in illusions
No one answers to my questions
When will I stop being haunted by psychopaths?
How long will I remain afraid?
Am I dreaming?

Day 25: Acoustics

Beating belts and slamming doors
Screams that shatter floors
Broken plates and bleeding sores
I don't know who we are anymore
Fuck you bitch and fuck you whore
Are weapons of our hating wars
Crooked frames and cracked jaws
I don't think we love anymore

Day 24: Frost Bite

Note: Late again, I know. Been so busy with studying!

Nights are cold beyond my fingertips
Without you to hold, I'm frosting up inside
Friction your palms up along my insides
So that my blood will flow warm again
Kiss me hard until I can't breathe
Leave moist frost bites along my skin
Because Darling, you are my haemoglobin
You keep my heart pumping
My blood running high
So snow just dissolves underneath my tongue
Like the traces of your warmth
Unless we're pressed together
Like the frozen surface of an un breathing lake.

Day 23: Disenchantment

Sublime and nature swims circles around my head
Like Rousseau and his rowing boat
Enlightenment was only enough to keep my eyes barely open
To the fate Oedipus was blindly charging towards
Disenchantment is the reason why Alice jumped down that rabbit hole
She couldn't take anymore of Franklin's bourgeois routine life
Where was the freedoms found?
Text and Traditions is the reason why I need disenchantment
Give me that mythical drink, that pretty little pill
Let's forget the Underground

Day 22: 2011

2011 was the year where everything that could go wrong, did. It was the year where I was drowning in everyone's expectations but more importantly I was pushing my own head underneath the water. And I couldn't breathe. Every time I think back to that year, I find myself hyperventilating.

I'm afraid of failing.

2011 was the year where I let myself fall into temptation out of desperation. It wasn't love. And it wasn't quite lust either. It was just two lonely people seeking comfort in each other's warmth. At that far corner of my mind, I knew you were using me but I let you because I was using you too. I needed to feel my heart bashing against my ribcage. I needed to feel loved. I needed to feel alive.

I was afraid that I was dying inside.

2011 was the year where I died inside my head almost every night. I thought I was going crazy. I was losing a battle with the crazies inside my mind. I spent my days psychoanalysing myself. I was one step away from a mental breakdown. And I didn't want anyone to know. I didn't want anyone to know that I was losing.

I was afraid of my own shame.

2011 was the year where I barely survived. I came out of that abyss with scars that would haunt me for life. It was the year where I met you and learned to doubt emotions. You told me what I wanted to hear. You tainted my precious words. Promises to you meant nothing: they were simply sweet nothings.

I'm afraid of promises.

Day 21: Holding Hands in the Rain

Note: Sorry for the late post! I had a lot going on this weekend.

We held hands in the rain while trying to stay desperately dry underneath your umbrella. In the distance, the harbour bridge lights up rainbows. The queue moved suddenly but slowly. I jabbed your rib every time you said that we were finally moving because every time you spoke, the queue stopped again.

We held hands in the rain as we waited for the concert gates to open. Every time the queue suddenly moved and stopped, I thought that the girl in front of me would poke my eyes out with her umbrella. Everyone was so jammed together, afraid that the concert would start without them.

We held hands in the rain as we strolled through the harbour with hot chocolate lingering on our tongues. Skipping puddles, we shared shivers of the first official winter night, our fluttering breaths disapparating in the air. We couldn't imagine how cold the rest of Winter would get.

We held hands in the rain because you said, "Don't let go." You wanted a change in our relationship. I wanted a transition. And we continued to hold hands because you adapted to my pace. Our footsteps echoed through the streets as we stepped into your car, finally driving home after a concert that left our hearts beating hard.

Day 20: I won't let you win

This is to you, the douche who felt me up,

This is the only acknowledgement I will give you. Because you don't deserve this attention. I have saved a photo of you and I know that you know I took that photograph. And I will keep it and I will remember your face because the next time I see you, I won't be afraid. The next time I see you, you had better run.

I am strong. I worked so hard to become strong so that no one can make me feel otherwise. So that assholes like you cannot make me feel vulnerable. And I hate myself so much for not standing up to  you because no one, absolutely no one is allowed to make me feel fear. I don't want to hate myself for your actions. You don't deserve such feelings. I hate you for making me feel this way. For penetrating my comfort zone. I hate you for making me cry.

This is my promise to you, next time I see you, it is you who will cry.
And I always keep my promises.

Day 19: One of Those Nights

Tonight is just one of those nights
Where weeks and days have taken their toll
And I just want to pull my hair and scream out of control
Tonight is just one of those nights
Where a double bed is twice too large for an empty heart
And I just want to fetal curl and fall apart
Tonight is just one of those nights
Where I pull out that hidden bottle of vodka
And drink myself into a schizophrenic coma
Tonight is just one of those nights
Where calculations of money is lost in The Tardis
And I can't remember what I purchased
Tonight is just one of those nights
Where I would get lost in momentary danger
And wake up next morning with a stranger
Tonight is just one of those nights
Where a bottle of vodka simply won't do
And the burn is just a cheap replacement of you

Day 18: Sneak Peek

Note: This is a sneak peek on a chapter from my manuscript I've been working on. I've redone this chapter three times. I think I'm finally getting where I want with it.

I stab my shaking heel into his crotch and twist until I hear him scream. This is my revenge. It's not even one tenth of my pain but this is all I would ever do. I gather the remains of my clothes and my dignity, nursing my raptured innocence back into the hotel. Once inside the confines of my room I strip out of my dress and turn on the shower. Hot. Extremely hot. I step into the shower, letting the water run down my body. I clutch onto the sponge and rub my skin. Every inch. Every centimetre. Every millimetre of bruised and tainted skin. Until I'm raw and hurting. I let myself be consumed by this new pain. Now I cry. 

After the shower, I scatter the contents of my luggage. It's not there. It's not there. The small bottle of pills aren't there. I walk to the kitchen and pour myself warm water to calm my nerves. I sip the liquid as I walk back and forth across my room. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth until my eyes swim with vertigo. I feel sick. I am sick. My whole body convulses, curved like a snake as I bend over with my hand clutching my mouth. I'm going to vomit. I let myself go into the toilet bowl, unsure whether this disgust is from the alcohol or from him. I rinse my mouth with tap water and then a mug of brewed coffee. I gaze out the large window with views of the cityscape. I let go of the breath I was holding as the sun finally rises; its orange warmth reflecting off skyscraper windows. 

The pharmacy will open soon. 

Day 17: Letter of Farewell

These are the words I would have said at your funeral if I had attended. If only I had known. You were a good man. My memory of you will always be of you struggling to get up from your seat in your old age to welcome me into your home. A warm second home.

Rest in peace, up there in heaven. Where surely that is where you are now. I promise I will look after the boys. My brother and your grandson because they're both my brothers. I will make sure that they grow up to become good proper men. To make sure they don't follow the wrong crowds, don't lose their way but if they do, I'll be there to guide them back onto the right path to a good and moral life. I promise to be there in your place. I will love both the boys.

These are my words to you.