My ears are buzzing
ringing and done
I hear parts
of my day
but most of it wrong
Yet I
hear your aggressive
whispers, because you
were too scared
to scream
I hear your
Tiny, little movements
That are part of your scheme
I hear your
Snarky, nasty comments
your
silent breaths
soft hands
and smell
I hear you loud and clear
And when everything is silent
I hear your sempiternal yell.
It doesn’t hurt
most days
I’m too busy
to want anything
anyway
Here you are
the same
but different
older
we all are
I thought it was
an illusion
my existence in
a one woman play
but you’re blury
which makes
everything
crystal clear
Is it real?
Is it ever?
You are here
and there and
everywhere
and
I’m a coward
because you are
only there
It is not my place
It is never my place
Your hand is warm
in hers
Is it time for mittens?
It really doesn’t hurt.
I turned nineteen two days ago, which means I only have one more year left being a ‘teen’. I used to love growing up, I could not wait until I was a university student and I have always felt that I was older than I truly was. While I was still in high school I firmly believed everything would make sense if I would go to university and I am starting to have the tendency now, to believe that once I have a job, everything will fall into place. So, I was in a massive rush to grow up. To grow older and experience more, to be able to do more. I was curious about life and too easily bored by the phase of life I was in. Days before my birthday this sense of excitement sneaked into my body and once it was the second of January I wanted all the attention to be on me. On how I was another year older. I needed compliments, lovely letters and loving friends and family surrounding me. Perhaps I needed a confirmation of some sort, that I was doing well, that I was a good person.
This year I had not realised my birthday was coming up already. For some time now I have had the feeling that I am standing still. Everywhere around me friends tell me these exciting stories about all of their new experiences and people they have met. Even though I met some lovely people, I definitely would consider new friends, that have inspired me; I miss excitement. I miss smiling so much that my cheeks hurt because my new life in a new city is really pulling me in. I like my life there, but I think back to my life in high school quite often. I am currently in my hometown and I do not feel a deeply rooted desire to return back to my student life, apart from wanting to see some new friends I made there. The question always remains if I feel this numb, because my life is not that exciting or if there is something else going on. Maybe it takes a lot in order for me to be completely be blown away by something. Perhaps I am not that easily excited.
I know I should try a little harder. I have my life in my own hands. I have always been bad with pressure, sometimes I need to in order to function, but once it is too much I hide in a corner and pretend to be asleep instead of dealing with it. Knowing that I can do anything I like has maybe caused a little too much pressure and turning nineteen maybe made me feel as if my student years a slowly slipping away, and I am not enjoying them like I could. I need to spend my time doing more of what I want to and not think of everything I am supposed to do or be.
Perhaps not needing all the attention on my birthday is a sign of growing up. Or it is a sign of confidence, maybe I do not need all the reassurance of my friends and family, maybe I can find that within myself, which perhaps is also a sign of growing up. I understand why I have been in a such a rush to grow up and see and feel new things, yet I also understand why being a child is fun. Being the centre of attention for a whole day without feeling uncomfortable is fun. Being excited by everything around you is fun. Not having the enormous pressure of creating your own life is fun. Maybe being a grown up means feeling more, having it more complicated and I am glad that with nineteen I am aware of how young I am and I am afraid that my student years will slip away. Because then, I know I will at least try to make them memorable.
My eyes follow
specks of dust
I talk to people
but just touch the crust.
In a crowded room
eyes seem mat
I want passion and magic
but everything is flat.
The specks of dust
catch no heat
the only thing indulating
is the line of my heartbeat
I thought for so long that
the answer is fate
But I’m tired of waiting,
there is no soulmate
Perhaps I am uncapable
to catch the specks of dust
I want it too much
and thus I am cussed
Is this it, for me?
Is there more, I’m unable to see?
If disregarding fate sets me free,
there is no excuse in which
I am able to flee.
So I stare into the air
feeling that life is unjust
while I crush with my hand
thousand specks of dust.
Lights are fading
the city
one big mush
nothing is persuading
me
I miss feeling a rush
A feeling of regret
maybe even love
a tear, a cry, a scream
something to feel tough
Not that I am sad
nor am I unhappy
far away from mad
just feel a little crappy.
Even if our
eyes meet twice
a day
you glance
at me
with lust?
I crumble,
petrified
of the cliche?
not yours
not mine
just dust
in between
us
chemistry
that you don’t
understand
you wander
never yours to be
and you take
a different hand.
How freakishly easy it is, life, objectively, it is a game a child understands.
But we have this brain and these feelings and these thoughts. We feel unwanted and unloved, we feel alone because we are too afraid of being together. We are so clustered by news and forget to see it as more than letters. We feel hopeless and sad and long for arms that hold us, but at the same time are so sure we can stand on our own two feet. We want to be the best and don’t look at how together is better, because we are self-obsessed, but feel we are always fatter. We can’t look at ourselves, yet can’t stop thinking about ourselves either. We are together in our loneliness but to form a group causes a brain fever. We are looking for love but find it when we are not. We see people as numbers and are afraid of them, but not of our best friend. We search for a purpose but forget to do the rest, live our life, we are too stressed. Have multiple burn-outs but are still money obsessed, because we need it to live and if we don’t live all that is left is looking for love, which we won’t find that way
We feel alone, but there are so many of us, connected through our phone, no politics we discuss, mindlessly we scroll through Instagram and worry about the next exam. We feel lost as if we do not belong here, but we know that there is no other place to go near. So we settle and sigh with a ‘this will do’. We keep waiting for more but there is never a clue. We want to be a team, because aren’t we animals that are social? But we fail so often, maybe we already are too global. Because our town, our city, our country is never enough, we need to see the world to feel tough.
We so desperately try to fill our time with smiles and some gold, with power to hold. We want love, we wat compassion, tenderness and romance, yet are left without passion in a world that is into finance. I dare us to be tender, to break down our walls. Stop being these pretenders, with these big hairy balls. Let us be soft like a puppy and kind like a bee, lets hug a bit more often, let’s not flee. Perhaps if we stop running from all that touches us, we’ll hear the bees buzzing and stop worrying about the fuss. Perhaps then we’ll finally see the game the children understand, maybe we’ll feel free and remember our dreams we had planned.
Life is easy, objectively, but we are too afraid to stop for just a second to actually watch and not just see.
I look at him, eagerly waiting for something. I am not quite sure what it is, but every time I look at Con, I know that I want him to catch me watching. I am quietly observing in order to learn more about him. He is hard to read, although I understand his personality. If I were to describe Con, I could, that is not the hard part. Describing people always comes easy to me, I have a knack for knowing how people are strung together. What is he thinking though? Does he know that I am staring at him as much as I can without making it weird? Does Con suspect anything, did I give away too much already? My hands are sweaty so when he reaches for a high five, maybe even a possible handshake, I just touch his hand briefly, too afraid that he will feel my clammy hand. I am too afraid to let him know anything. I am too afraid of his judgement, too afraid of anyone’s judgement. Why can’t I be better? Why can’t I be different? Why can’t my hands be dry at all times? I want to hold his hand, I want to hug him for eternity, I want to kiss him and let my hands go through his hair. My words are still silent and my eyes still big. My mouth widens and I smile, giggle at his words, but still stay silent. I am too afraid that some words will come out and that they will give everything away, ruin everything. All of my feelings need to be secret, because I cannot be rejected, I will not survive a rejection, not Con’s, at least. I look at him, still eagerly waiting for something, but for what? What is there that he can do? My eyes follow his movements fastidiously. I feel like I am obsessed, like some sort of creep. Why? Con is a plain average, normal guy, why do I have this need to get his attention? Why do I want to talk to him so badly? “I know that you are watching him”, my boyfriend of two years says. I, quickly, let my eyes drop to the ground and reach for Benjamin’s hand. I can still feel his whisper, and with it his warm breath, in my neck. We need to break up, everyone knows that we are done, but we are both too afraid to be alone, so we stay together. Perhaps we are even lonelier as couple then apart, I often think. How long am I able to keep up with this? Benjamin lets go of my hand, he doesn’t like it when they are sweaty, who does? “Bonnie”, he whispers again, “we can’t keep doing this.” Apparently this party is the right place to break up. I break eye contact with the floor and say “what”, in a sharp tone. Benjamin did not expect me to be this aggressive and his eyes fill with fear for a millisecond. “We need to break up.” “Fine”, I say while still using the same tone. I don’t know why I am being so mean to him, he has done nothing wrong. He has been a lovely boyfriend. “Well, this is it then.” “Can we not do this here?” How do I get rid of this tone? “Alright, so you want to pretend to be together for another night?” I don’t want to, I want Benjamin to leave, I want him to leave without having to break up. I want Con’s arms around me. I feel like a teenage girl that is desperate for attention. “Fine Bonnie, we’ll talk tomorrow.” “Yes”, I say, softer now. Benjamin touches my hand briefly and walks away. I look at Con again, eagerly waiting for something, but for what, for what, for what?
I smell fire
and start to panic
smoke twirls
around me
and I choke,
cough and
cough and
my eyes fill
with salt
no flames
but a clouded
view,
and then I see
tiny little cracks
and I understand
that the smoke comes
out of me
and I cough
and I choke
and I shatter
I am breaking
Where is the fire?
‘things could be stranger, but I don’t know how’. Lyrics from the song ‘changes’ by Langhorne Slim and The Law. A string of words, very simple, that describe perfectly what I am feeling at the moment. I am in this new city, living in a different city and everything is different, I am starting to fall into this ‘routine’ which isn’t a routine yet. And every time I cycle through this city, I feel excitment, fear and for some reason peace inside me. Even though I expected to feel some nostalgia, to long for a life that now does not exist anymore, strangely enough, I do that rarely. While I was still in high school, I always wished to be in 2013 again, still careless and clueless, but I feel good here, and in a strange way, I feel at home.
That it affects me not all that much does scare me though. What if feeling at home means that I have become just cynical, or not that excited anymore? What if I stopped longing for the best and just accepted to settle. What if that is what growing up is? I am terrified to lose my inner child. The girl who is utterly excited about everything. The girl who wants to dress in flowy dresses and wear polka dots. The girl who gets scared when she watches a horror movie, the girl who is a clumsy clueless girl, yet so curious. The girl who is so excited about the world and its people in it. The one that isn’t scared to talk to people. The attention loving, not afraid of anything, fierce girl who just wants be cool. What if she is slowly fading and there is nothing that I can do? What part of yourself do you have to bury in order for you to grow? What part stops existing so you can become a functioning adult? All of it? I am happy here, but I do feel that maybe, I am losing myself a little bit, but maybe that is necessary in order to grow. An perhaps that doesn’t mean you will lose your inner child. Cause it still is my own life and I think that I ccan decide if I want to be my fierce inner child or if I want to grow up.
For now, I should see it as a good thing that I feel happy here. That I don’t desire a different life and maybe growing up engenders a more cynical person, but I still get to decide that, I hope.
Babette Helena 