Centre.

A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning
by John Donne (13-36)

"Dull sublunary lovers' love
—Whose soul is sense—cannot admit
Of absence, 'cause it doth remove
The thing which elemented it.

But we by a love so much refined,
That ourselves know not what it is,
Inter-assurèd of the mind,
Care less, eyes, lips and hands to miss.

Our two souls therefore, which are one,
Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
Like gold to aery thinness beat.

If they be two, they are two so
As stiff twin compasses are two ;
Thy soul, the fix'd foot, makes no show
To move, but doth, if th' other do.

And though it in the centre sit,
Yet, when the other far doth roam,
It leans, and hearkens after it,
And grows erect, as that comes home.

Such wilt thou be to me, who must,
Like th' other foot, obliquely run ;
Thy firmness makes my circle just,
And makes me end where I begun. "

---------------------------------------------

I've always loved old English poetry. It is not always easy to read and understand, and there is usually more than meets the eye. But that is my favorite part about it: deciphering a poem, only to discover all the hidden metaphors and paradoxes that lurk beneath the text. It's a rather beautiful process. I've always considered Mr. John Donne as the master of poetic conceit. He is brilliant, and my words fail to even begin to touch up on his genius.

I feel like a leg of the compass. I am at home, sitting on my bed. I am waiting at the centre.




mkp.

Edit.

I forget that sarcasm has its disadvantages. Or maybe, I really am just a bitch. I'll go punish myself now. Good night, whoever actually reads this.




mkp.

Tension.

It's 1:35 a.m. on a perfectly eventful Saturday night, yet I am at home, a heap of flesh just piled onto these sheets. I can't help but feel like a lonely kid again, left out and made fun of. It's a little bit sad that I keep finding myself uninvited all the time. But I really shouldn't complain about that. Had I gone, it would just be so sour... I think I'm sick again, too. Feels like a creeping fever, maybe. I had intended on leaving the comforts of my home for the day, to avoid the tension between my mother and sister, and I (I won't go into that because it was very abrasive and is still very fresh). However, my failing well-being took a toll on me, and so my body decided to clock out early. I would not be able to bum around in my car with nothing but a few water bottles, a half-eaten sandwich, my sketchbook, and my guitar, like I had planned. I came home at 10, and collapsed on the floor, barely missing my bed. Since then, I literally have felt like shit. I'm confined under these blankets, I cannot walk, let alone even turn my body without feeling like I'm about to throw up. I'm starving, but there's no food here. Lonely, but there's no one to keep me company. My bottle of water is just about empty. I take turns between sobbing hysterically and trying to fall asleep, but my mind won't let me have either of the two. What a wonderful way to spend my last weekend before school resumes. I can say now that I learned my lesson, and will never chain smoke within minutes after waking up, on an empty stomach.




mkp.

Fevers.

"I was cold in a dream, somewhere close to the surface.
Between the ice and the stream, there is three inches of air.
So I swam towards the light, I let my breath get there first.
When I opened my eyes, I saw myself in the mirror.
And I knew I would do like my father has done.
Yes, we will never break from these chains.
Your life is gonna course like a history book,
Don't be frightened of turning the page.
Cause it's is all the same.
It will always be the same."

Almost two years ago, I posted an entry about this song. These lyrics have always haunted me. Everytime I paint, or write, or even go to class, I hear Conor's voice trembling in my head. My biggest fear is that my life will end up like theirs, and this song will become my reality. I have told myself time and time again, that I will never succumb to their pathetic idea of what is "right" for me. But I'm slipping. Everyday, I'm a little further off from who I was. I'm not as strong-willed as I used to be. I'm a pathetic excuse for someone who is going for dreams and for what they really want. I don't really believe in myself, and I've been hoping that someone could just wrap me up in their arms and tell me that they believe in me, and that everything will be okay, and that I will be happy and fine, and my family will support me, too. But hoping is getting me nowhere. So I've decided that I'm going to find myself again. And if I cannot find her deep within my entity, I will at least create a stronger, braver, more exceptional self, and I will not give a fucking fuck about anyone or anything that stood in my way. You'll see.




mkp.

Thick As Blood.

"You rest your head upon my breast, listen to my heart race.
You trace lines upon my chest, but I lie still, dreaming in a dreamless state.
Felt your fingers trod up my neck, up to my lips they did caress.
The cup now spills, dripping wet...
Yet, my mind just yearns to forget.

It is your firm, but gentle touch; a gesture that omits my movement.
It is what I crave so much, a momentary arousing deviation.
Of curled feet, arched backs, and air of sweet,
You will sing at my release.

But your soft hands are gone, now wrinkly and spotted grey.
And I know now that he has won, as all my efforts dissipate.
A spot now forms beneath my skin, a stain as thick as blood.
I cannot wash it out or in, so I leave it as it was.

Opened eyes release streams of tears, but it was just a dream.
She is the one sleeping next to me here, it is not really him.
Before I sleep in these hours awake, I must accept that it is done.
For I am nineteen years of age, not the eight year old girl you’ve undone."

I cannot sleep. I'm having these bad dreams again and all I can do about them is write stupid, depressing shit like this.




mkp.