If your “best friend” asks you to keep her posted on your location while you are on a date with a man who is practically a stranger and who has asked you to spend the night on your second date, it is because she is worried about your stupid, pretentious, immature ass.
My suggestion is that you be happy people love you this much.
Doesn’t look like you deserve it, though. After numerous needy texts and tweets throughout the day, your persona changes the moment you feel the power over some dude hankering after you.
Sorry, but you can put that book back on the shelf, ‘cause I ain’t buying.
I can’t abide this bitchiness and childish behavior.
How can you fear me when I have been here, close to you, for centuries? I am practically one of your own. I have seen you grow from candlelight to gaslight to fuzz-haloed streetlights, stoplights, oh-so-sharplights.
If I was not here, who would you fight? Who would teach you to be strong, to be true, to never stray on the way to grandmother’s house?
Look at what I have collected over the years.
Sticks and stones, innumerate baskets of goodies, eyeglasses worn by a septuagenarian.
More property than I know what to do with, enough preserved meat to feed an army.
Wealth. A dragon’s horde of wealth. You don’t reach my age without learning a thing or two about fiscal responsibility and smart investing.
I would share, you know. I would share, if only you asked.
Because I am tired, and now not even children feed me with their fear.
I am stooped over, I no longer tower. How can I? Nobody takes me seriously anymore. The slump in my shoulders is equal parts age, rage, all-the-world’s-a-stage and it is time for me to exeunt, stage left.
I thought I was evil, and I’m sure I was. But I really can’t measure up so well these days – all these new-fangled ways to kill a man. What is wrong with tooth and claw, I ask you? It was fine for your grandparents.
I am tired. Hardly anyone visits me these days. I don’t even have much of an appetite – all they give me nowadays are scraps from when a child first hears of me, is first told a tale. And before, oh – not so long ago – while I preyed on imaginations, on prayers.
But now they are shaken for a moment, they drink their warm milk and cluster amongst soft toys in their crib. And the next day, out come anthropomorphized sponges (I ask you!) and terrible discordant music; and I am forgotten.
Because Stanford University will prove to be nothing more than Rembrandt lighting,
I will love you in this skin; because I want nothing more than you.
In this small country in my small town with my small corner; it is not a lack of perspective,
But the desire to once, for just once, the first time
Not fast-track. Not rely on my blessings, on my Smithsonian dreams, of getting what I want with scarcely a ‘please’, let alone three.
Over to You, and if I may ask, please please please give me the best in your own time, and when it is time.
The elasticity of intellect is terrifying, to feel your mind bend and broaden and stretch and widen
You see I have slipped this sing-song strumming catch, I am climbing over your white picket fence and squeezing under the green rows, out the back gate and into traffic, past the roads and into the fields.
To run away, if even for a year, requires far more planning than this. It is no longer about now,
The past few days have pretty much hammered in one fact: you can’t trust men.
Or at least, I don’t. I am not sure if that’s a good thing, but I really don’t trust dudes one hundred per cent anymore.
Really, from a “are you okay with that?” (more of a “just so you know” but hey) to the crap bits where you get strung along just because you’re a trusting moron, to that fucking unpleasant moment where you find out someone’s gone and gotten married, was engaged… Well, shit, son. No way.
D’s right about one thing: you just can’t trust men. You really never know with them.
“You knew you were right and you defended yourself. This is not something common to others because 90% of people will just say sorry or put our heads down and agree even if we don’t. We won’t think of arguing back. So you’re different, which is good because you dare to stand up for yourself and you know you deserve better. Not many people have the balls and guts to do what you did. So just don’t care and be happy.”—
Manpreet is damn smart sometimes. And damn comforting.
1. Indulge my hobag self by getting work featured in a “real” publication. Got to clean out my drafts folder and complete something solid.
2. Do some good solid freelance work to add to my CV.
3. Read more books (by which I mean read all the stuff I’ve bought over the past few months.)
4. Apply for that scholarship to those schools, apply to those schools too, and also to that one other school.
5. Spend more time on me. This means toning my arms by swimming, giving myself manicures, and going for all those long-overdue medical check-ups. Need to check my feet, my tattoo and see a gynae and a dentist.
6. Write more, so that I close the gap between where I am now (shitty) and where I want to be (less shitty) faster.
7. Start a new project. I don’t care what it is, but do it. The sky’s the limit: resurrect Ilham, start a YouTube spoken word poetry channel, dabble in activism again, do something fun and political. Whatever. Maybe take up a martial art.
8. Meet up with all those people I keep promising to meet up with. And Parky is first on that list.
Here you are, my lovely With those eyes cast high And awful, awful toes And that often-bitten nose – You are my wonderful you.
And when I write about the international trade outlook And gross developmental value And broadband penetration And ignore obvious puns I still miss The most important facts.
The mostest importantest Being that you are worth more than all of this.
And every night when I push you away Because of my bad dreams Because of your sting-sharp unshaven chin Because of the sweat-heat Is a missed press conference A botched lede A misquote in our stories.
"What an awful waste," I think, Not unlike our silly fights About sillier jealousies (Of us wanting who, and when, And why, and where, and sometimes how We know what questions to ask And we know how to dodge them, too – Unfortunately.) Which are nothing more than enormous wastes Of time.