pretty blue eyed monster

sitting at the bar 

as his examination of perfect manicures

develops, his flesh visible to the ugly congregation 

subject to a sweet hope of lust

a love of pretentious promises

a slick shiver of sexual gain

promises that those piercing bones seem enough

though fragile, with petit bruises 

there’s a strength

a considerate, hidden and stubborn strength

a blockade of feeling, a painful detachment.

I used to be terrified of death or dying but lately I’m more scared of getting older than any of that. 

When I was younger, I used to visit an elderly neighbour. She never had any grandchildren, so she always made a fuss of me. She had one toy, one that she had since her daughter was little. It was a tree, about one foot tall with tiny animals such as monkeys and birds that had specific areas to sit in this tree. I used to love her home baked scones and spent hours playing on her living room floor until my parents would come and look for me. After moving from my home town, I never heard from her and only six months later she died, this day seven years ago. I never got to say goodbye but I have always been very fond of her. 

Beliefs are concepts by which comfort can be found in people’s lives. Honestly, if you find comfort in believing that there is some God watching over you and that you have an eternal life to lead, that’s fine by me. Frankly, I find it quite intimidating.

My idea of perfect has escalated so much in the past year that it’s just simply unattainable. I won’t ever reach the standards I set and this makes me very hateful towards myself. What’s more is, that I’m seeking a similar perfection in a lot of other people, making it difficult to make friends. 

Also, on a slightly different topic, I realised that my trust issues are a lot bigger than I thought. I’ve been subconsciously questioning everything and it’s all suddenly hit me in the last few days.