Understanding

I guess quite a few people know by now, but nobody reading this blog, I think, knows. So, just for the sake of an excuse, here's what I will do, occasionally: write. ('Haha', you say, 'you mean like on a blog, perhaps?') Well, not exactly. I mean, I open a notepad file every now and then--sometimes even an actual notebook--and I write. Something akin to poetry. I purge my mind on that blank page. And the contents surprise me, or disgust me, or make me laugh (rarely). I want a permanent log though, if just to understand my mind a few years later, when I figure I've grown up a little more, perhaps even matured some. So here's something I only just purged. It's angry and hateful, but then, so am I.

It's Not Okay
I am
like
slivers of silver oranges,
precious but only semi,
peeled and left, unnoticed.

My love
is like
an unwanted, old balloon,
lost of air, chained with cotton,
to the remnants of life's celebrations.

If I am, then you are too,
if I bleed, then so will you,
if I die, then you will wish it too.

If this is what you meant,
if this is what you wanted,
if this is how you saw it happen,
then go find someone else to fuck you,
and kiss you, while you dreamhopepray
it's okay.