Cherry Wine

It’s always waiting for the other shoe to drop. To laugh and love with caution because you might wake up tomorrow and it’ll be the end of the world. Figuratively speaking of course. You might wake up tomorrow and he’ll give you a list of reasons why he wanted to end it. And, just like always, you’ll sit there, hands in your laps or tucked under your thighs, waiting; for all the reasons on where you went wrong. You’ll sit and wait for the ball to drop. You’ll keep waiting for the day, no matter how great things are because you know it’s coming. It’s inevitable. The feeling will linger in all the dark alleys of your over active imagination and it’ll burn holes in your heart, so deep that no amount of kind words and hugs would ever fill it again. The feeling will turn you into them, because that’s the only kind of love you know. The kind that loves with open hands and closed fists, never fixing and always breaking. So, you wait. Because somewhere down the line, somewhere in the last 10 years, you made yourself believe that good things aren’t meant for you.

There is no ending to this. It’s a constant battle.

 

Yours truly,

Painted Shadow

 

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Things I’ve learnt – Part One.

I learnt to run at the first sign of trouble. My initial natural instinct of flight is more dominant than the fight response. My parents didn’t teach me well either. Their initial reaction was to fight, with fists and words and anything in between. They thought me to shove things under the rug until it formed a big mound one day, and someone tripped; breaking everything in their path. I got comfortable with having rugs around the house. They were safe to fall on and they were warm during cold dark nights. Eventually, we became close. They would always be there, they were always excited to hide things. Sometimes, they would walk over to me and beg me to hide just one more thing with them. Obviously, I trusted them, so I did. Life became so much easier with so many rugs.

Over the years, I’ve learnt that Fight or Flight are no longer the only options available, that they should not be the first thing you think of. I’ve learnt that shoving things under the rug only works when there’s no one around to help you roll the rug away. Rugs, I’ve come to learn are messy and take up so much space; especially piled under a mountain of secrets, lies and loves. Do away with the rugs. Admire the tiles, or the hardwood floor. Admire the fact that you’ve learnt, all by yourself, that rugs don’t always cover everything up. That sometimes, rugs are the bad guys.

 

Yours truly,

Painted Shadow

Rainbow

I think I’ll turn my body in to a canvas. I’ll add a bit of colour here and there and make sure it reflects the colours of my mind. I think I’ll tattoo my body and use it as a map, so if I’m ever lost, I’ll be able to find exactly where I have to go next. You see, I’m tired of people drawing all over my back with  pens and blades. I’m tired of them using my back as drawing paper, which they crunch and throw away later. I’m tired of them carving their names and their broken promises to every inch of my skin and then calling me imperfect for the cracks and edges.

I’m on a mission. A mission to convert my body in to my own canvas. A canvas; so god damn beautiful and magnificent that Picasso himself would be jealous. A canvas, that you will want to study and follow the dotted lines to. A canvas, that will make you fall in love.

 

Yours truly,

Painted Shadow

Thunder

Tie my hands against the dawn of the new day
and count the strands of brown hair that falls across my face.
Watch my eyes flutter open and memorise that moment.
Kiss all the bruises from my ex lovers

and my past away,
Carve your deepest secrets in to my spine,
I will use them to stand up straight when everything else is falling

I will use my string of words to pick you up

when all your broken bits are thrown out.

Re-read her love letters

Throw away his.
Untie the knots in my stomach
and use it as a noose instead.
We were never made to last
We were built with sand and lost hope in our bones

We are indestructible

We are the thunder growing at the pit of our hungry bellies

We are the bolts of lightning in their center of our  throbbing chests

We are our own rainstorms.

 

Yours truly,

Painted Shadow

 

An Open Letter to an Ex Friend

Dear you,

A friend breaking your heart always hurts more than a lover doing so. 00d3cff43aa61afd3c3471ec86bea04a

I wore black today. I thought wearing black would be appropriate as I was mourning the death of our friendship. Black dress, black ribbon, black shoes, even black underwear. I removed my sparkly earrings and wore a black necklace instead, with the word ‘Karma’ hanging from its center. It burned like a hot blade against my skin. I refilled the vodka flask that I spent the night before emptying, with black
coffee instead. I had to stay awake for the funeral. I had to “mourn my loss.”  But that’s when it hit me. That’s when I realised that it wasn’t a loss. You see, death usually implies something that was taken from you unwillingly. Someone taking something from you without there being much of a choice.

You had a choice. You had a fucking choice. But you decided to kill our friendship anyway, because it meant nothing to you. It was a murder. Cold blooded, blue murder.

I should have worn red instead. I should have worn my set of white pearls and donned my darkest shade of red lipstick. I should have laughed and clawed at your corpse. I should have thanked you for showing me that we were never friends to begin with.Trust and loyalty meant nothing to you. You were right when you said “I’m not like  the others”. You are far worse. The others never had the heart to do what you did. The others cared. The others were human. You were different. You were the worst. I only wish I had known sooner.

I hope one day, karma finds home in your arms. I hope one day, karma scratches its name in to your skin. And I hope you remember forever how it feels, to trust someone, only to find out that they threw everything away with just a snap of their fingers, without a care in the world. As if you meant nothing.

Dear you, this is the end. I would ask you to Rest in Peace, but I’d be lying.

 

Yours truly,

Painted Shadow

 

I choose you.

Dear you,

I know it’s tempting and I know its exciting. I know it gives you goosebumps and I know it also makes you feel alive. But you can’t keep playing with fire and expect not to get burnt, every single time. You can’t keep cutting yourself and expect not to see blood, every single time and you can’t rip your heart out of it’s prison cell and toss it to the wind, hoping someone would bring it back. You’re not invincible. You’re not fire proof. You can’t keep doing this over and over again. At some point, you’re going to have to choose yourself.

Yours truly,

Painted Shadow

Heartbreak Warfare

Despite what they tell you, despite what you’ve heard over and over; two broken halves don’t make a whole. Two broken halves never quite fit back the same way, even with the world’s best glue and tape. There will always be missing pieces, missing fragments that got swept under the sofa or lost between the floor boards. And my darling, we had lost so many pieces, growing up. We had lost so many fragments and pieces of ourselves in corners and clenched fists around world, that our two halves, never quite made a whole.

There’s this thing about loneliness. Once you get used to it, once you get good at it, it’s hard to go back from that. And for that, I am sorry. I could never be your whole, despite you desperately wishing that I was. Despite you desperately wishing that I could be.

You see, despite the lost pieces, I had made a whole by myself – gathering up pieces I thought I needed along the way. Gathering up pieces I didn’t think I needed, desperately trying to fix my own puzzle. When you came along, I thought maybe you were a missing piece, but you were your own puzzle. My darling, you were your own puzzle, desperately trying to find your missing pieces. And it killed you, that I wasn’t one of them.

 

Yours truly,

Painted Shadow