A song of you, me, and reality…

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A song of no words… Every note is a word unspoken. Instrumental. Fill in the lines. Along the invisible lines of Word Document or is it in 150 characters max text box. Can you tell it all? Or can I read it on your face? That I cannot touch…

Distance. Cold. Temperature. Season is warm. Shelter is glacial without you here. Shelter consists of four pillows. Two for you and two for me. Even. Even when two isn’t used. Used as that smell of your cologne isn’t lingering on the sheets anymore. What’s the use when my heart feels uneven. Two. One heartache for me and one powerless occasion for you. It plays. It repeats. It shuffles. It’s paused.

Press play.
Metamorphosis. Change.
Color. Black.
Cut. Short.
Shape. Heart.

A symphony of beauty is revealed with a renewal of skin.

Playlist made. Plays. Zero. Private.

Platinum. Gold. Sunshine.

Wait.

I sit in a room with two keyhole balconies. Nostalgic of a time of a little girl dancing to a CD player and the light of a single candle. A song that plays a memory.

Hair shorter. Heart bigger. Music louder. Love stronger.

Top 3 most played.

You, me, and reality.

Sincerely,

Nita

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P.S.

I’m back.

Dynamic Charisma.

They stare at her in admiration. Her fresh acetone nails. The scent of her name brand perfume and the glimpse of her neckline. Hair locks glistening in the natural flow of the wind traveling. A body of a goddess that curves with the waves of ocean waters. Face dolled up in a contoured constitution. A smile, that a man cannot refuse. The center of absorption and the attention of many.

As a female, it is easy to speak ignorantly of how she isn’t natural without the makeup upon her face. To complain of her enhanced features using artificial materials and mechanisms. To creating a base of saying you are the high-definition of beautiful just because using make-up isn’t in your everyday routine to beautifying yourself, insisting you only wear it on special occasions. To saying you are naturally blessed and this girl isn’t. Honestly in my opinion, saying secretly without modesty in irony that you believe you are far more appealing than her without a direct statement.

I am bewildered. Astonished at the many opinions that criticize the ones who don’t criticize you.

Criticism from someone who doesn’t need it. Obviously criticism is not wanted.  To looking how you want shouldn’t be a catwalk of gossip of your individuality regardless of the layers of liner and foundation. For when a male puts his two cents in it, it has more damage because it isn’t based on jealousy but true colors in his remark.

If she isn’t yours, one shouldn’t worry or more importantly, speak.

On previous terms, that mentality of a mindset of putting myself first has been in play lately. Is it a phase of moving on from being spoon fed a false claim of protection? The protection I’ve never felt but long for. It feels as though the fighter is waiting to be unleashed. Awaiting a knock out to a concussion. To knock a little sense of fulfillment of satisfaction to extend a smile that reaches the two corners of a rare facial expression.

Ever felt the cliché feeling of being in a crowd and just feeling lonely?
I love that feeling.
Because it’s you, aware of your own self.

While everyone in that crowded room is concerned about everyone else, you are in your own mindset and point of view. Just look at everyone concerned about everyone.

Lately, I’ve been cherishing being a mystery to myself. I’ve come to the fact that I enjoy being unnoticed. To the point where I don’t want to stand out. Therefore there is less pressure and expectation when one keeps quiet. The boastfulness and contentious behavior I sometimes possess makes me regret my announcements to the fact that I am disappointed with my statement. Sometimes, I wish I’ve never spoken my goals to any being. The vexation of being asked “Where are you going?” piques me most. Do you know where you’re going? Exactly. It’s not for certain. Although these questions being asked are innocent and unintentionally offending, I feel as though the one asking it is wishing a verdict of failure towards the objectives I want to pursue.

Is this the insecurity taking over? The fear? The doubt? That’s when isolation takes over the mind and actions causing the outlook of the social scene to be baffling at the moment. You kind of sit back and guffaw at the cliché adieu’s that take place when fall comes. It’s phony and spurious. So is the writer of this blog at times. If I were to say I am real at all times, then that is the bullshit to my humanity. Fess up readers, you know you had to fake your way through scenarios to survive. It’s the generation we live in.

My humanity and persona is ever-changing.

To regret, to fight, to laugh, and one day to love. I will always be afraid but never will I let that prevent me from striving on through hindrance. I can be a coward but it’s a choice I refuse to choose because the dream of obtaining love keeps me going.

As Frank Sinatra says, “You’re nobody until somebody loves you.”

Although the opposite sex shouldn’t be a priority in my career now, it’s a pleasant thought I have to look forward to.

Let this be my motivation. To dream of an embrace I will own for the rest of my life. To let there be endless laughter. A security of faithfulness. Eyes that see one. To gallant and chivalrous gestures. A ring. A child. A life where I can finally call someone “mine.”

An approval to dream,
Nita

Ambivalence.

Doubt is the sweat that drains the toxin.

I feel the doubt. The lack of faith you have in me. The apprehension you see in my actions. Me, taking a break seems to not be in your playbook. I can’t let you see me rest. Book smart. Street smart. You’re half of it. To look down on me is causing a reflection of karma. My belief in you is the fading humbleness I once knew. You put your faith in a male companion. A male companion is temporary at your age. Look through my telescope and see my panorama.

Words. Photos. Even a bloggers opinion can temporary cause an uneasy doubt in someone’s motives. Should you change your ways when you feel the stares? To feel tension in a room that is so thick that you can’t even see the truth in the envy or the messed up alternative in the person staring you down. Doubt. The lack of confidence they have in you. Does it phase you? Should you be phased by it? Your answer. To feel doubt is a choice.

Let’s not bullshit reality. Doubt is the downfall. The breakdown. It’s not easy to shrug off. Especially if it’s from a trusted companion or even worse, blood relation. The constant comparison. Where you begin to doubt your own character and motives. The misunderstanding of  “moving at your own pace.” Pace is the key but pace varies with each character. No character is alike. Pace consists of rests and  a unraveling plan. Pace requires patience but attacks the head and causes the bullet of contemplation. Contemplation that leads to the doubt and the words of “you can’t do it.”

With those four words, you try to search for consolation but end up with an empty cliché quote of comfort. Sometimes, you don’t even speak of it. Bottling it up causing a catastrophe to the logistics of the mind and heart. Leading up to unnecessary animosity towards innocent beings or in this case, a blog post. Where writing can be the only escape or the only nonliving thing to reside with the emotions of the suffering.

I can’t wait til the day where my presence is actually wanted and valued.

With doubt comes the sense of being unwanted and unessential. The person that will cancel anything to spend a little time, or a gesture that is chivalrous to the beat of the heart. To be cherished for the flaws and the silliness of a natural persona that can be described as adoring and amiable. The eyes that only look at one and not a thousand. Where this person can provide the kill to this horrid feeling of doubt.

The weapon of motivation.

I wanna wake up one day, just one day. That’s all I ask. To wake up one day knowing that someone will be there to motivate me and not judge me on past failed endeavors. To look beyond the appearance and the thick layers of armor that have been built from discouragement.

No longer wanting to speak. An imaginary embrace is the self solace. The only embrace I’ll ever know.

I can’t tell you.

I can’t tell anyone.

Because I am the doubt and you are the motivation to someone else.

Doubtfully,

Nita

Erase, repeat. Blank and crumpled.

First choice isn’t in my blood.

At times, I am a vague person. So vague that I can be the exaggeration of humidity in glacier temperatures. For the past months, I built a carefree barrier that consisted of self worth and an evolution of ever growing confidence. The mentality of flirtatious gestures didn’t phase me. Where compliments were just a backfire of “I already know.” Where the chase didn’t exist. A barrier where I was first and realized that dwelling is a bitch I never want to be friends with. The opposite sex was complete scum to me. That’s the person I was. I didn’t linger nor did I care what any being thought of me.

Here comes the most hilarious part of this mentality. The weakness of the most strongest barrier is kindness. Kindness can kill bitterness within a second. Stumbling over clichés of self-pity and vulgar language. Kindness can make the most bitter women have manners of a shy damsel and the body language of a geisha.

At first, the mentality wasn’t even pierced. This mentality didn’t even create useless scenarios in mind. When one has been played, deceived, or has been used so many times without the commitment. The knowledge of having and possessing a heart is completely forgotten. They call it heartless.

A heartless bitch.

Profanity can be an expression of comedy. Profanity in blogging is my expression of anger. The barrier that was created within these past months slowly became fragile and eventually broken. My guards were weak.

I couldn’t protect my mind. I couldn’t protect my words. I couldn’t protect my smiles.

I couldn’t protect my heart.

Sometimes kindness is the enemy of a good person. Kindness can also be the greatest use for further intentions. Intentions where the person who is being shown the gesture of likeness is the bait. A person using another person to get to another person. Due to connections. Strategy defeats all. Spontaneity percentage is low. Although we cannot control ones intentions, an intention killed my disposition.

My disposition was killed because I wasn’t the destination.  Just the bait.

The current state of being cynical. Looking around at the surroundings, crumbling. No matter how expensive the constructive materials are to build these walls to protect the ever so fragile heart.

All I wanted was to feel safe and protected by one human being because I know I can’t handle it all on my own. I thought.. That’s the problem. I thought too fucking much.

From now on, these hands, this mind, and this heart are the changeless companions.

No use in this temporary anger. I’ve set my whole body to detox and a fierce attitude. Straight facial expression. A smirk that can be fooled into a smile. Where it can have endless meanings.

Don’t forget your worth. The pursuit is sometimes what you see and nothing else behind it. No expectations. Possess the attitude of a self-centered bitch at times. When things get rough, take your bare hands and smooth it out yourself. The job only gets finished and furnished when you wanna get over it.

I’m over it. Add to the motivation that chivalry doesn’t exist.

Sometimes there is no sincerity,

Nita

Sensibility infused to absoluteness.

Solitary.

When that word comes to mind, it’s either the game of playing cards or a lonesome person. When I see or hear this word, I feel a thrill of contentment while a smirk spreads across my face. Solitary is the invention of life. The invention of new ideas and the disclosure of mystery. Mystery, the trait that I find the most inviting and appealing. The  mystery is the hands that won’t let go of the rope. The rope in which case, you are constantly pulling, to see what is tied to the end that contains so much weight. It’s not exactly an amusing sport nor does it provide the hands with an attractive hue but it’s an allurement of curiosity. For me, the solitary mystery provides me with curiosity regardless of the unattractive hue.

I think I found myself in a euphoria with a side of stress. Good stress. Good stress that makes me emotional. Good stress that is testing me. Good stress that overpowers and erases my bad stress. The difference? Absolute abandonment. I’m not talking deserted in the Sahara. I’m talking about plenty of rope. The freedom of pulling as much rope as I want to and calling it quits when I want to. So why choose the word abandonment? Easy. There’s two sides. Either be abandoned or abandon something or someone.  I choose to be abandoned even though to abandon something or someone does seem enthralling and sinister.

I rather be the person where they do not want to have contact with. It’s an assurance of knowing who or so will not even contact nor come near this area I call my own personal space. Rather to the point. Being unassisted, unparalleled, and the word most people fear, alone.

Alone is almost alive.

Alone doesn’t always mean a longing for company. Alone doesn’t always mean a depressing car ride home. Alone doesn’t mean a pint of ice cream. Alone doesn’t mean anything til you define it.

Alone didn’t invite company, so don’t come over. Alone on the car ride home wants to sing to her taste in music without someone changing the station. Alone doesn’t want to share her pint of mint ice cream with you. Alone is alone, but don’t think alone isn’t happy,

because alone is me, and I am above and beyond happy.

To be the opposite of alone is attached. Attachment can be beneficial in an email when submitting a late essay. The attachment of a birthday card taped to a largely wrapped birthday gift can tell the person that you purchased the gift. The small attachment that seals your earring  in  place from falling off your ear. However, the most common attachment of all is the attachment to an object or a person.

Sure, it displays the acts of faithfulness and devotion, but it’s the source of a syrupy base of a trait that is a die-hard addiction. To be overly attached is a repelling gesture to me. Gravity is towards the center of the Earth, not a person. Don’t make yourself a magnet that clings to someone. That magnetic pull can break you at any moment. You’ll be lost. Stuck in a demented state of that magnetic pull who didn’t pull you in all the way. I experienced this the hard way but I managed to pull out of quicksand fast.

The main scenario is the underrated showcase that having your own personal time is a blessing. Being happy alone is beautiful. To having time for yourself is a virtue. To doing something  for yourself isn’t narrow-minded. To being selfish for your well-being is absolutely laudable. To a point that is truly admirable.

Learn to enjoy your company before inviting company. Learn to enjoy the company  that has been there all  along.  Don’t go looking or asking for company.  Be the company.

“What’s more attractive than a person who has already found one self?”

Another person who has completed the cycle of solitary.

Sincerely,

Nita

Substantive Outlook on Independency.

That depiction of a woman telling herself what she is and isn’t is quite frustrating to me. To the point where I wanna argue with her values. Miss independent, that’s why you love her, but big question is, who is “Miss Independent?”

Sure, the media displays “Miss Independent” as a woman who purchases her own belongings, compensates her own bills, and basically fends for herself. I feel as though there’s something way much more skin deeper than just the value of affordability, stable income, and useless materialistic items that she flaunts.

Who is a “Miss Independent?”, am I or you one?

Miss independent is a girl who loves herself to the point where she knows what she is. No, she doesn’t overly indulge into the love of herself. For instance, labeled on the Mattel box, cockiness not included. She has the ability to focus on her needs and wants. The endowment of placing the task to the front of the marching line and getting it finished. Honestly, I don’t think there is a true “Miss independent.” I do think there are “Miss Independent” moments.

Examples:

  • Leaving the person who you thought gave a fuck but really didn’t.
  • To holding the complaints to the minimum.
  • The ability to let go.
  • The realization of how great a woman you are.

Honestly speaking, I’m not saying I’m “Miss Independent” because I’m definitely not. I’m both dependent and independent at the same time. I can do things without reliability but there are some times when I know I basically can’t do whatever shit I need to do by myself. Depending on something or someone sounds terrible if you’re asking for every single thing without the use of working hard to earn it. Likewise to being independent. It really abrades me when girls make statements such as “Went to so and so by myself, Miss Independent!!” Ok. See. Now here’s the part that provokes me to rant on this. Millions of human beings travel to many destinations by their selves frequently, it’s not as though their parading their independence to the public. Just because you’re doing things by yourself doesn’t mean you’re independent. Sure, you may be proud of your accomplishments you made yourself, that’s great! Confidence is beautiful, but there’s a limit. I guess it’s one of my pet peeves. I adore modesty far too much, anything overly pronounced portrays a pompous attitude towards me.  If you don’t have the decency to admit that you can’t do everything by yourself, then something is wrong with your humanity. If my English teacher were to proofread my blog, I’m pretty sure I would be corrected about my overuse of “you” and “your”. Ahhhh. *and shrugs*

Maybe it’s turned into a cliché. But I…

Alright. I sound a bit bitter. Maybe I’m just afflicted with the overuse of the phrase. There are just some girls who I truly admire for their independence. They are the ones who aren’t ever noticed. Their never boastful, contentious with their completed endeavors, nor stereotypical. The ones who don’t crave attention for the things they have achieved on their own. I find that so beautiful. Those are role models. These are the girls “worth imitating.”  Our media is corrupt. Our social scene is baffling. Everything is distorted, or maybe it’s just me.

“Work like you don’t need the money, love like your heart has never been broken, and dance like no one is watching”

Although I’m not superwoman, just another writer signifying her opinion, I wanted to initiate the gesture of what the hell is this “Miss Independent” nowadays. Shit. If I can’t be “Miss Independent”, I wanna be liberal.

Don’t ever let anyone question your own choices. Independent has lost its value and definition. Be free and uncontrolled of what you want to overcome, carry-out, and fulfill. Make your own happiness with yourself.

Don’t let no man who says he “loves you” hold you back because he’s not the one walking in the stilettos.

Sincerely,

Nita

Write it on the skyline.

“You can’t be happy all the time — and you certainly can’t act like you are.”

Now Playing – Shontelle – Impossible

“My illusion. My mistake.”

To rise out of the dream state to solve dilemmas that don’t be belong to the person, when the person is broken themselves. The broken has the best consultation to understand the feeling that the storyteller paints in the predicament. The broken doesn’t speak of their self. The broken is selfless. The broken is perpetually smiling. The broken hides the pieces. The broken cannot be consoled. The broken is a mystery.

The broken is me.

The glass of water is clear. The glass. The water. The relationship. Add heat, it burns to tip of the tongue and can be soothed with the innocent flurry of air. Add ice. The chills or the heartless silent cold shoulder. Wait it out, it returns to normal. Leave the glass out in the sun, watch the water evaporate slowly til there is nothing left but a light rim of a water stain. Water leaves. Glass is left. Separated.

Who wins?

The glass is left there, dried up collecting dust in the air. With the breeze against it, it doesn’t fall. Nor does it break. It silently is still. Silence. The worst kind of heartache.

The water is evaporated into thin air. Moving on, having itself go on to other places more farther and better. Sometimes collected up into the air, sucked into the clouds, and spat back out, pouring down like rain. Rejection after rejection. Cycle repeats.

The answer is..

  • Neither wins.
  • No one wins.
  • Tied.
  • Draw.

The empty glass and air.

The alcohol replaces the water.

Killing you, slowly.

Apologetically,

Nita