It’s Good to Be Back

(Disclaimer: If this post causes emotional discomfort, please confront your demons by heeding wise advice.)

I was spontaneous yesterday.

Now, for those of you who know me — it really does depend which era of me you know, now, doesn’t it?

Let’s try this again. For those of you who have known me in the past couple of years, maybe three, you’ll probably gasp when I, of all people, say “spontaneity”. And I know exactly why; I know the reasons for your surprise probably better than I let on, as I do with most things in life, to be honest.

So why was being spontaneous a big deal for me?

Because, mates, it’s good to be back.

You look at me and think, “but you didn’t go anywhere”. Physically no, but in the past two years I did go down a path I once promised myself to never venture. I promised myself I wouldn’t because of how many people I lost to it — the cancer of the mind, eating away at the soul, leaving behind a mere shell of a human body to remind us that yes, this living, breathing, entity is our responsibility.

So I left. I couldn’t leave physically — I had too many commitments out here in the city, a life I’ve spent a decade trying to build and am still dissatisfied with my efforts, knowing how far I’ve fallen when I look at how much I achieved once upon a time.

I couldn’t leave mentally — no, my brain is generally over stimulated due to intelligence, which, unfortunately for a lot of people, means I have no off-switch. I notice things. Then I understand concepts because I’ve seen it somewhere before, so I associate that and make a connection. That link tends to be more logical than emotional because I like being objective, studying the facts, understanding the patterns.

Logic is my comfort zone.

But I left, emotionally. It was one of the longest journeys I’ve ever taken — to be completely void of emotions and shut down, tuned out from the world around, still hearing details but feeling like everything is meaningless. Sometimes, this can be a good feeling, like if that emptiness is actually contentment and peace. If that emptiness is actually silence and solitude. What I felt though, was far from that.

At first.

It was a lonely emptiness, where not only did I feel like no one could relate to me, but that I hadn’t found a way to relate to myself. I was so far gone, so different, so…unfamiliar to myself. Most people think I had it done to me, that I was a victim of victimless crimes; that I was subject to whatever abuse had led me down that path. But it was my morbid curiosity, because I chose those situations knowing that I am entertained by aggression.

Aggressors find my amusement annoying. It adds fuel to the fire, pushes their limits; unable to laugh at themselves, the angry flip from aggression to full on abuse.

Of course it’s fun, it’s like that predictable explosion, a controlled avalanche.

And it’s what I do, I laugh in the face of rage. I laugh, because I understand anger, I know rage, I terrorized them a long time ago, and they are now subservient to my control. I don’t avoid it, but I generally don’t project it either. So yes, watching each and every single one of you flip out in vengeance does entertain me, because I remember what it was like to be immature.

I remember what it was like to be insecure.

But I also remember…what it’s like to be fearless in the face of insecurity.

My darlings, like I said, it’s good to be back. Oh, how I’ve missed you…

G.

Have You Seen Her Write?

Have you ever seen her write? 

Have you ever just sat, and watched her surrender as the paper devoured her soul, as the pen carved into the unmarked linings of reproduced trees?

I have. I’ve seen her write. I’ve fallen asleep to the image of her etching patches of her soul into her diary. I’ve typed up essays to the company of her writing soundlessly behind me. I’ve found myself in a cafe, sipping lattes to the gentle glaze of her pen romancing paper.

She would write, and rewrite, and write, and rewrite, until she was satisfied with what had manifested onto the sheet tightly gripped in her hand. Then, she would place it, ever so gently, onto the table, and read the words from a slight distance. The words, the reflections of truth coming from the depths of her soul. Words of wisdom echoing the truth of what she may or may not have consciously recognised.

But she always loved what she wrote. Always.

And through writing, she always, always loved.

That’s all I wanted, to be a part of that, to be a part of the writing. To watch, to embrace, to collaborate.

To write, and to love.

Ever so silently, in the corner, across the table, under the sheets. 

I wanted to write with her.

And I wanted her to write with me.

To write,
is to love.

To be writing,
is to be love.

~M.G.~

Is It You…?

is-it-you

Freewriting,
just to follow the flow
Don’t know where this story goes
With a finger and a thumb partially numb
Trying to come up with words not “dumb”
Somehow, my juvenile, young naive mind
Wants to journey through endless space and time
But I know that if I close my eyes
Yours are the ones I see right next to mine
What is it about you that has me mesmerized?
What is it that you’ve chosen in me to confide?
How, behind these walls you’ve melted can I hide,
When all I want is a moment to just…be mine…

Even for a moment, however fleeting
Even if it means dreaming, sleeping
Staying in a place that I can just “chill”
Just disappear with you at will.

Now it deems the question I always raise,
To whom am I writing in this place?
Is it you, my darling, of whom I constantly dream?
Is it you, my dear, as it would seem?
Is it you, my love, across the seas?
Is it you, my lover, across the street?
Is it you, my dearest, inside of me?

Is it you
whom I love,
is it you?

Who am I?

~M.G.~

Polyamory

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Don’t cry over me with your broken heart
I told you I was polyamorous from the start
It’s what I said, the day we met
Or did you believe the lies you were fed
By everyone else who claimed to know me better
You skipped all the vowels in the letters
I wrote to you many fortnights ago
Right after arguing about my ego
But what if I told you that for me it’s not choice
That love is how I express my voice
To release the energy inside of me
To nullify the narcissist in me
I love, for it is all I know
All that I was given in my years of growth
I love, because it both enlightens and hurts
It’s a method in which I balance my world
Yes, it’s convoluted, this thing called love
But have you ever just had so much
Of it to give, there’s more than enough
So you go ‘round seeking souls to touch
Have you ever just had too much inside you
That the chemical explosion just blew
Up in everyone’s faces – an array of colours
Brightening a world that was once the duller

Yes, I will love you with every part of me
Every version and portrayal of my reality
It’s the way it is for now, don’t you see
I’m saving you from my narcissism with polyamory?

~M. Gordan~

Original published on Wattpad