Pebble

Pebble

So in typical ‘me’ fashion, I didn’t post a Tanka for two days straight.
However, I did write several.
But something I realized is that a Tanka a day would pretty much spam up the feed both on WordPress and Facebook so I’ll write my Tanka but only post every three days.

How will you know that I write every day? You won’t.
You’ll just have to trust me:)

Also, I’ll occasionally post one on Instagram.

The following Tanka was inspired, believe it or not, by my cat. Whose disposition is an incredible, at time enviable immunity to everything that goes on around it. It walks and strolls along oblivious to what my grandmother throws at it for starters.

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Sleepless.

Sleepless.

I’m being incredibly hopeful here. I’ve started projects like this before. Really ambitious projects too but I think I might get away with this one. As in pull it off. I’ve been reading about poetry and forms of it and I’ve come across Tanka. A Japanese form of poetry much like a haiku. Comprised of 5 lines with the syllables in the lines following a 5-7-5-7-7 pattern.
So, long enough for some sort of depth but short enough that I can finish one a day.
That’ll be my ‘project’. A Tanka a day keeps the (insert whatever you feel like) away.
So without further ado, here’s my first one.

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About himself, about his troubles, about his state of being.

About himself, about his troubles, about his state of being.

It took him a whole week of almost obsessive smoking to notice: the smoke was his life. Inching away from the burning ember lit tip of the cigarette, it stood for everything he didn’t want to lose. His life, his love, his memories, his identity. Biting down on the slender killer and inhaling the deep poison, no matter how good it felt, was slow death.
Of course, he’d known this already. Watching his grandfather slowly waste away to non-existence from a lifetime of smoking had taught him a few valuable life lessons along the way. And watching several family friends stagger home in their alcoholic haze and delusions had also taught him much about life.
But when it came down to it, he himself could resist neither bottle nor smoke
Of course this whole business with HER hadn’t helped. He’d maintained a perfect no smoke policy until exactly one week ago. But then one week ago, everything he thought he knew about himself shattered before his eyes and he was left floundering along the dark streets, sobbing into his friend’s shoulders, bouncing back and forth from self-hatred to self-pity to self-disgust. Everything was directed at himself and why shouldn’t it be? He’d taken those steps a couple of weeks to tell HER how he felt. He’d taken insufficient measures to move on. He’d taken those steps a week later to once again tell HER how he felt. And once the embrace was over, he was the one teetering on the edge. He was the one left undecided what to do. Run after HER and confront her? Run back inside and break down?
He ultimately chose the latter. Because it was easier that way.
And the rest of the week had just tumbled on in front of him as he tumbled along with it. Helpless to stop his fall, giving himself up to the higher powers, if you will, of luck and chance. He’d kept tumbling and tumbling, going through the motions, pretending to talk, pretending to listen, pretending to forgive and forget, pretending a whole lot more but ultimately, by the time Friday had rolled around, it had worn him down.
He was tired.
So the night before he left, he once again submitted to the draw of the cigarettes. It felt good to be feeling something other than sadness and longing. It felt good to know that this thing that YOU lit, YOU chose to inhale could kill you. It felt good to have that control, that inch of control before it all fell away. That last gasp of shuddering control felt wondrous.
In the end he managed to hold himself back.
The week had taken its toll on him. He saw it in the paunchy skin hanging off his cheeks. He saw it in the dry lips, cracked and colorless. He saw it in the patchy scruff on his cheeks, there and not there, undecided. He saw it in his eyes. Those brown orbs, once glinting with a strange sense of curiosity and mirth looked forlorn and, not to sound melodramatic or clichéd, lifeless. When he spoke he spoke short. When he smiled, his eyes didn’t join in. His fingernails, already worn down to the bone from a lifetime of picking at them, were tortured even more. He couldn’t eat, not properly. He couldn’t sleep, not properly. His eyes retreated behind dark circles.
He looked like he was wasting away under some mysterious, yet-to-be-known drug.
Drug? What drug?
Three continuous evenings of barely-there nicotine?
One night of extreme caffeine?
One day of hard earned, exhaustingly pleasurable pot?
No drug would do this to him.
But a feeling, in his bones and flesh, reaching from his head all the way down to his neglected toenails, could very well resonate outside. Souring his disposition and looks alike, it ate at him.
It eats at him still. Look at him. Sitting at the airport, glaring at any and all who passes him by with his angry eyes. Who’s he glaring at? Why is he glaring at all?
Who’s he got to blame but himself?
He’s water, the water in the shower circling the drain. The water in an ox-bow lake, slowly drying away, fated for a life alone before a painful death. The water of high seas, angry and furious and unrelenting. The water in a myriad of containers, shape shifting to fit in and. The water slipping down his own face, unbidden.
The water in the deep oceans, drowning and suffocating.
So he must ask himself,
What does he do? Where does he, as water or his own blood and bone self, go from here?
BLUE

BLUE

This song is just so darn beautiful.


Life it’s hard, I know
All your lights are red, but I’m green to go
Used to see you high, now you’re only low
All your lights are red but I’m green to go

I want you
I’ll colour me blue
Anything it takes to make you stay
Only seeing myself
When I’m looking up at you
I want you
I’ll colour me blue
Anything it takes to make you stay
Only seeing myself
When I’m looking up at you

I can’t say no
Though the lights are on
There’s nobody home
Swore I’d never lose control
Then I fell in love with a heart that beats so slow

I want you
I’ll colour me blue
Anything it takes to make you stay
Only seeing myself
When I’m looking up at you
I want you
I’ll colour me blue
Anything it takes to make you stay
Only seeing myself
When I’m looking up at you

I know you’re seeing black and white
So I’ll paint you a clear blue sky
Without you I am colour-blind
It’s raining every time I open my eyes
I know you’re seeing black and white
So I’ll paint you a clear blue sky
Without you I am colour-blind
It’s raining every time I open my eyes

I want you
I’ll colour me blue
Only seeing myself
When I’m looking up at you
When I’m looking up at you

I want you
I’ll colour me blue
Anything it takes to make you stay
Only seeing myself
When I’m looking up at you
I want you
I’ll colour me blue
Anything it takes to make you stay
Only seeing myself
When I’m looking up at you

I want you
I’ll colour me blue
Anything it takes to make you stay
Only seeing myself
When I’m looking up at you


~ BLUE by Troye Sivan ft. Alex Hope
Of water

Of water

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You’re water.
Stranded between a rock and a high place,
In a ditch of your own making
Unsure of where to flow

You’re water,
Circling the drain.
Flowing unbidden and unashamed
Down the rabbit hole

You’re water,
Surrounding others in your cold embrace
Lifting them, buoying them
Up, Up, Up

You’re water,
Shape-shifting to fit in
Glass bowls and wooden cups
Cracks and all

You’re just water,
Flowing endlessly with the ebb.
You wish you knew why
But water doesn’t ask questions
Not expect any in return.
Water flows
Circles
Supports
Drowns
And changes

Water flows
And one day, in time, you will too.

I’m done.

I’m done.

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I’m done with the self-pitying
I think.
Enough is enough
Is what I told myself a week ago.
But I’m still here
Running on the same spot.

I’m done with the self-pitying
I think.
I’m gonna stand up straight and just forget
But I’m still replaying it over and over,
A constant reel of hurt

I’m done with the self-pitying
You left without so much as a goodbye.
So I’ll take the hint
And wish you a nice summer
Secretly hoping you don’t forget me.
But you forgot me today
And seven months is a long time.

I’m done with the self-pitying
Feeling sorry for my own feelings.
I know what I shouldn’t feel.
I know what I shouldn’t feel.
I know what I shouldn’t feel.
Yet here they are, punching me every which way.

Push me into the Aegean

Push me into the Aegean

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Soft voices telling me my worth
Aren’t nearly enough
Show me how much I weigh
In the grand scheme of things

You dance with him like there’s no tomorrow
For me to watch forlorn
And for my friends to rub my shoulders
Telling me there’s always more fish in the sea

But fish ain’t enough me
What I want is your touch and feel
Your smile and your laugh
When you mess up and fall over
When I make fun of it and you make fun of me

Tell me you hate me
Throw me far away a million miles
Push me into the Aegean Sea
For me to drown and for you to live
For me to atone for my sin and you to atone for yours.

Land slides

Land slides

It’s been a tough week for me. A lot of assignments as well as some personal nonsense that I got engrossed in despite my own limits and boundaries and self-monitoring. It’s all slowly dying down, thanks in small part to a song I’ve been obsessing over. I feel this song really captures what I went through (not the lyrics maybe but the overall feel and timbre of it) and this is me sharing it.

I took my love, took it down
I climbed a mountain and I turned around
And I saw my reflection in the snow-covered hills
‘Til the landslide brought me down

Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love?
Can the child within my heart rise above?
Can I sail through the changing ocean tides?
Can I handle the seasons of my life?

Well, I’ve been afraid of changing
‘Cause I’ve built my life around you
But time made you bolder
Even children get older
And I’m getting older too

Well, I’ve been afraid of changing
‘Cause I’ve built my life around you
But time made you bolder
Even children get older
And I’m getting older too
Oh, I’m getting older too

I take my love, take it down
I climb a mountain and turn around
And if you see my reflection in the snow-covered hills
Will the landslide bring you down?
And if you see my reflection in the snow-covered hills
Will the landslide bring you down, oh, oh?
The landslide bring you down

Landslide – Fleetwood Mac