Rhetoric nights

"Why do these things happen if at all there's a god,a higher power?" I ask my father.
Some things just don't have answers,he tells me.My hurting heart is not satisfied.It's not enough of an answer,it'll never be.
Why does society make mockingbirds out of the innocent? Why do harmless little pets die suddenly? Why do some little kids grow up to be the bullies you find hard not to recognize as beast like?

Maybe there really are no answers,maybe life is a constant existential crisis.

But I fight my heart to believe there are answers within these questions,themselves.I'm no optimist,but I live because I see questions as symbols of hope.Hope is real,rhetoric and relevant as it gets.
It's like we're living the rhetoric.
A new day is the rhetoric we know to exist in every stormy night.
Children are the rhetoric form of the questioning fear of oblivion.
Grief is the rhetoric to heartrending loss.
Late night conversations,the rhetoric to loneliness that these pillow talks revolve around.
Love is the rhetoric to existence,itself.Because the universe doesn't care about us,
we have always been infinitesimal.We care about one another,we are all we have in this world.

HBD Taylor Swift

 

So,I'm a Swiftie for life.

But that does not mean I don't also like Lana Del Ray.
  Here's a song of hers that's beautiful.

It's been one of those hazy weather days where you can't see anything clearly and your mind feels foggy.Great,I've always sucked at small talk.So,um..yeah,it's really weird how I have all this latent energy inside me in the form of repressed feelings waiting to explode,like a rain cloud too full of vapour or an ice cube that's absorbed too much heat and they need to let go,to evaporate,to melt.Just that,in my case,there is no outlet...no melting point.There's no state of being.There's only sublimation that makes it seem sweet to implode instead of express.

Everyone asks me why I'm so quiet and I shrug and think to myself,maybe I don't want to be.Truth is,I'm lost and I don't have words I can find that can justify this void.

It's weird how sometimes I feel more at home in other people's houses.I make my mind a makeshift home of sorts because it's hard for me to find a home where I belong in the physical sense of the word.
It's like other people's parents know more about me than mine do.They get me better.They take me out for dinner,they offer me ketchup in bowls,they read my blog,they tell me I write well and they hug me.How much I wish these people I refer to were what my parents would be a little like.
It's not how it's supposed to be,I guess,but, oh well.

I get the whole idea of appreciating what you've got but those who preach this do not live with my parents. I get that it's always a two way transaction.
But it isn't a transaction,see? See what they've made of me.
When I was younger,it din't matter so much.I never let it get to me bad enough...the older I get,however,the little things get to me more.I've tried showing my parents that I love them and I care,I've tried asking them,outright but none of it seems to work out well.It's not that we don't love each other,it's just tough love.And it hurts.
I understand that people have their own ways of expressing affection,and showing that they care,but sometimes,just sometimes it hurts not to have physical evidence of it.

I'm not asking for too much,all I ask for is a "How was your day,darling?" or a "Are you alright?"
,a hug to know I'm safe,or to feel welcome,or a hug goodbye,a kiss on my forehead,maybe even a simple "goodnight" or a "goodbye",a homemade cake or a handwritten letter on my birthday.Any form of a gift any day.A simple "thank you for doing this".
Maybe I am.

It's all these little things,you know,that make me feel loved.
I've tried and I've failed and I can't stop wanting to feel a sense of belonging,for, everywhere I go,I feel lost.A feeling that I'll never belong anywhere completely.
It hurts to know that those who are supposed to love you the most find it hardly worthy to let you know,because they're too busy to see you need it.If those who made me can't find that kind of unconditional love for me,how would someone else, possibly?

Everyone asks me why I'm so quiet,well,it's because if I wouldn't be my malignant heart would make me someone I'm afraid to be.

Tumbleweed

Sunsets make me sad
and remind me of my emptiness in crowded buses
filled with men I'll never see again.

Sunsets also make me happy
because in this world so full meaning,there are a few things
that do not need to be understood to be loved.

Sunsets remind me of trying to count time,
like looking at the huge clock with roman numerals
 instead of regular numbers,in somebody else's living room.

Sunsets make me nostalgic,
of all the nights spent staring at glow in the dark galaxies
stuck to the ceiling like lying awake in a dream.

Sunsets set me free,to hope that
 one day I turn into tumbleweed,wandering without purpose,
or a dandelion,disintegrating,dancing with the wind.