Skip to main content

Subservient

To the world I look like an idiot falling in love with someone that barely acknowledges my existence. To them, I'm scheming and planning to be something more than I am, at least in their eyes. They see it like some task, where one does whatever it takes to finish in time, beating others to a prize they seem fit- a person.

For the world, it is easy to recognize objectification of the body, it is the heart they hear not, and well, see not. For the one you think I'm trying to win has a soul too, one that you actively demean each time you think someone's futile manipulation can woo.

Has it become so hard for one to not see something as is? Is it so rare to be selfish by being selfless about something?
For yes, I do things for my beloved that most wouldn't, even when I know my dear would never hold me dear to him.
But, I do nothing out of fitful urge to satisfy my carnal demands only, as I can be selfish, yes, but only to see my beloved feel loved, for that's what I long for, to cherish my beloveds' beauty.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The monotony of being different

All my life I was told I am different. Sometimes it was appreciated, sometimes not so much.  I was told I had energy unparalleled, sometimes appreciated, other times not. Some people tell me how much they admired me, some said I couldn’t be understood.  Ever since I was a child, I was told being different is good.  In school, I was told different people tend to make better lives for themselves. In movies, I was shown that the protagonist is always, well, different.  These notions influenced my perspective towards life, making me crave the feeling of being different. Having said that, I was never treated like I was different, challenging my notion of me being “different”. However, sometime back I realized that I was never treated like I was different because no one wanted me to know how different I am.  Every time something nice happened to me, every time I said something exceptional, people tried to normalize how exceptional these things were. That is when I cou...

Compulsion

I had given my heart and soul to the person who didn't have either. My affection for him was like the tempest, wrecking any ship that'd take me safe to the  shore, making my soul drench, then drown. Ironically enough, just like a soulless body is lost at sea, with no efforts to swim up to the rim, my soul drifted and swayed. For that's when I thought, to be lost is to love, and I thought I loved with my heart and soul, not knowing that the day I realise what I thought to be his guard, was a farce, and my love for him, light refracted by glass, is near. For when light is refracted by glass- probably my compulsion to reciprocate his love here,  you see colours to be different, for I mistook the wavelength of my passion for love.

Anchor

In this hour of chaos, where the mist of uncertainty clouds my mind and the poison of doubt corrupts it, I can't help but realize something. Funny, how we preach that our anchor should be someone who connects us to sanity and clears all that pushes us into the dark, but choose someone for an anchor who shatters us, fully, without leaving one ounce of our body unbroken. Funny, truly it is, that I chose my anchor to be someone much worse. At least with others, there's a chance of recuperation, for broken pieces to be brought together to form something stronger. With mine, none. My anchor consumed the flawed me, leaving no trace of who I was. Challenged every thing I believed in, only to get stronger. When they think of it this way, I see what I call my anchor, as parasitic, something far from what could possibly keep you from insanity. The idea of it feeding on me haunts them. But, I keep telling them, and maybe a part of me, that it isn't true. Speculation always ge...