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ping pong enthusiast
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My belly is full, full of food of garbage. I have eaten a bag of chips, crackers, and a package of cooked meal that cost 2,5 dollars and drank my friend’s red bull for the day. I can only afford that after providing my daily needs; I buy food, fill my bus card, one pack of cigarettes every three days, and do nothing. Literally, nothing. I merely try to survive because I have no other option. The living standards are so awful that I catch myself thinking, what would happen if I spent one day not eating anything? I don’t deserve that, my friends, the people living on this land don’t deserve that. We are human; we have dignity and a body system that we deliberately poison with lousy food and lack purchasing power.
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I don’t know how to write poems; I am with my whole being and existence suck at writing poems. They are pretty romantic and a classic for non-flourished affections, for me to give you. I wish I could write poems just for you and no one else. Are these big words? I can swallow them with my long-gone pride and honor, don’t worry your pretty head about me.
#my poems#i can't write for shit#i can't write poems#poems for you#because one day i definitely#gonna write one
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You are not looking at me, you are very far away, and I am not able to reach you. It feels like cheating; I actually have the ability to reach you: my healthy mouth, tongue, brain, and limbs. What is unhealthy is my perception of love, my low self-esteem, my fear of rejection, and my thinking so highly of you that you are at the top of some castle, and I deny even hearing your pretty trapped princess story. I do have a hearth, though; it has been broken many times, generally by me. It is a heart that I want you to hold and carry around. You are gentle and soft-spoken; in rare times, you are inattentive and prone to dissociate, but you are not harsh and cruel like me; that is more than enough. I just wish that I could promise with my whole chest that I can definitely make you more cheerful and happy. I don’t believe that I am an ideal romantic partner for your liking. Poor me, it doesn’t stop my mind from wandering about you every chance we get.
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I sometimes write very rarely and quickly; I wish to write more, but I don't have the time or energy for it most of the time. Everything is personal, yet it feels so out of my reality. So feel free to indulge and ignore.
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Original work; it doesn't deserve any title
As she walked through that street, there was lights penetrating the stiff stones of the road. She was late, according to her watch that is hanging from the inside of her jacket. Even though the midnight did not reach the top of the little glass yet, there was the smell of the cold and the sharp garbage that were dominant in the air. These combination with her faint regular cologne reminded her the shady mornings that were criminally early spent with her aunt on the biggest city of the country. She used to feel lost and unavailable in the backstreets of that city, hanging from the strong arms of her aunt and very little compared to the enormous jacket they put her on; and she used to feel even more unattainable when her aunt would drag her little light body along different houses that looked like eat people to talk to many different men whom looked like puke people. The very smoky memories made themselves forget again when she looked up to the sky and saw many colorful lights sparkling and reflecting from the grotesque buildings with hundred floors. When she was little, world was a place to make comparisons: biggest city, smallest labor used, most used phone, least used words for asking consent… But now everything was constantly being innovated and altered in every lasting second, no one even paid any attention to keep track of such things anymore.
There was a backdoor for the fancy hotel she has planned on entering, she looked like staff. She had appropriate attire to be passed on as a very young chef with bad fashion choices. She knew that red did not go with everything, however old habits are hard to diminish. He told her that the door was hidden behind a four feet tall trash can with a particular green color that disturbs the eye. And that the door has the digits 0202 on it. The journey wasn’t that long to find the appointed target, though it required some faith in god to made the garbage can to move away from the entrance to the prize. Once she saw the rusty little digits, she gripped the door handle firmly but gently. The door squealed ugly and like a baby cry, making her cringe her face, considering the possibilities of dying, bailing out, fighting, and catching up with the man she was supposed to meet twenty one minutes ago. There were no footsteps, no grunting, and also no angry men insight. She didn’t feel her legs moving but at some point she was facing a yellow wall with too many paper and receipts on it, the door was closed behind her.
She was heavily breathing and leaning all her body weight on the door that ugly cried just seconds ago, she wished that she could lean all her mental luggage onto the rusty door too. Her attention started to focus back on the dirty yellow wall which had squares of many white small papers on it. So many small words, all attached to each other in respect to be meaningful in union. It was evident that that part of the room was used as an accounting technique for the budget, though she wished in a quite desperate way that the poems would have been a vital choice for many words. The heady scent of the room, the pressing warmth, rotten moisture mixed with onion, and the scent of regret took her to the times when she felt the least enough and most insecure creature with two legs and one eye. She wasn’t that person anymore though; she grew one more eye and learnt to actually listen to people. Because of that feeling coming so out of nowhere, she didn’t hear the voices approaching first.
There was a sharp breath that didn't come out of her throat; she did not want to recognize the gasp and the following coughs; she was in denial that she was caught. There were almost no seconds for her to prepare or think of a move before the man with a heavy chest and the most giant belly appeared.
Because everything was so dimmed and dirty, the woman recognized the lifelessly light eyes colored with many red dots first; his clothes were also dimmed and dirty that parts of his body blended into the background.
“Who the hell you two-“
A knife also blended into the background; it was a pity because she remembered how shiny it looked in their garden slicing fresh apples and watermelons.
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“Why did you abandon her? Has not she been with you all the time? Is it that quick and painless for you?” He shouted at the top of his lungs,
This story is stuck between being selfish, nonverbal, neglected, ignorant, and jealous. I wouldn’t prefer it that way; I think it is beyond my reach; my tongue and arms are not long enough to hold any efficiency towards my two beloved friends. I wish for them to be better and more understanding to each other and to be genuine and loving, not lying and not posturing to each other.
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Friendship is complicated, but I am talking about friendships like onions, so many layers, words, and years spent with each other. At some point, the person you have been friends with changes; at some point in your life, that person is actually multiple people. They change; you change, the weather, and seasons change. You might want to love them to the brim, to the extent of your calloused heart. It is an impossible task. You cannot love someone to the fullest, can you? I am still not sure, but loving someone with their whole being seems childish and fake. You are a person; if I love you, then I want to alter and criticize you; I want you to be better. But there are parts even that I cannot stand or change.
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