I had my day planned out, I sat down to write something and then somehow I found myself rummaging through a box of old things.
I've got a whole hoard, they're relics of the past. Trinkets of glistening parties, outfits I had worn once and never again, hair pieces I had made to look avant-garde and things accumulated from "friends". I really thought I was something back then.
My whole day ended, when I fell through the door and banged my head off the floor. I got ridiculously drunk, again, dancing in my kitchen, having a great time. I dread to think what my neighbours have seen.
The opposite of productive and needless to say my hangover this morning was something that felt like it had been spawned in the underworld, by the devil himself, just for me.
I did however, strangely wake up with a poem in my head. Sometimes that happens. The pain helps me focus. Does procrastination lead to creativity? Well, I’m not sure, but I do know that I’m not going to feel down about it today. We can't always be perfect. Although try telling my mother that.
Life has so many bends in it, up’s and down’s. It’s short, too short to be worrying about these things. So what if I had a bad day? I fell off the wagon again, literally, who cares? As much as I would love to get rid of my faults, perfectionism has also brought me this far.
I’ve always been a little odd and quirky, you know? I’m impulsive and I like that no two days the same, not ever. But I’m also really hard on myself sometimes. it drives me, but it also gets in the way- and I'm talking of a self-sabotaging kind-of way.
In truth, I guess I'm just a hot mess that's rebelling against myself, and that seems a little strange doesn’t it? Oh no, the conformity of society is not going to stuff me into a little box, I'll be damned if I let that happen. But with that, I also have to realise that I make life increasingly difficult for myself..
I would love to go into more depth about self-sabotaging but I’m just not ready to yet. You say that you "didn't mean to do that to me." So I say, "you wouldn't have done that, if you wanted to be with me." Then you respond "that's not true."
A week later it all switches round again and I do something stupid this time. With self-sabotaging, there really is no end game. I hate that I love you sometimes, because I'm just so god-damn scared that I'll loose you.
It's all a self-fulfilling prophecy really. We both live like that, co-existing in tandem. I just hope that I can tidy away all the stuff in these boxes before my son gets back. Although, I might leave out the big tricorn hat with the big feather on it. I always feel like a bad-ass when I wear it.
Nobody's perfect, that’s impossible. You just have to learn to see the silver lining of your actions and hope that you'll age gracefully like a nice wine one day.
Maybe we'll break this habit of self-sabotaging, until then, I guess, you just have to roll with the punches (even if you’re the one who’s punching yourself).
Besides, I enjoy being creative, so if my rebelliousness causes my inspiration, I say, "bring out the olives."
Is It Real?
I’ve been to parties and worn strange things.
Out of all the impulsive buy’s I’ve made,
this one was my favourite,
It’s something I wore once and never again,
A sparkling Venetian mask,
just like Juliet in a midsummers day dream.
A sort of tragedy or an unintentional comedy,
Sometimes life can be both,
all at once,
Or perhaps we all wear a mask from time to time?
I guess I keep little trinkets of the past,
because it reminds me of all the steps,
That I have taken,
and all those roads I have walked,
Life is a mosaic of emotions.
All that passion and desire,
Ablaze like a fire,
Instead of sipping lovesick potions,