piscespixies

brighter than sunshine by aqualung

Mother used to tell her;
Sit straight, smile and look your best.
No, not like that
Tuck your shirt in
Ensure they don’t look like second skin
People talk
Their wandering eyes will linger
In times of aging and scrutiny through glass screens
Don’t you dare be yourself,
Don’t you dare wear those slacks and muddy shoes,
Don’t you cut your hair above your ears.

Here,
Taint yourself with shades of deception
Smear it along your opinionated mouth
Because a girl should not do anything but
To look beautiful.

Am I beautiful?
Do I feel beautiful?
She was taught to despise herself
But she made sure to display a façade so someone would love her someday
Because that’s what matters, right?

Sixteen and her eyes were broken taps
Magazine cut outs on the wall were her dreams
But her waistline kept on expanding
And she couldn’t comprehend on what’s happening
She didn’t know that it was not okay to look up to photoshopped beauties
She wasn’t told that high school boys and girls could scar her
She wasn’t told that it was okay to speak up about slut shaming and cyber bullying from immature boys whom she did not reciprocate
She wasn’t told that it was not okay to starve herself because she was still growing
And she wasn’t told that everything will be okay.

Instead, she was told to sit straight, smile and look her best
To tuck her shirt in
Ensure they didn’t look like second skin
Because people did talk
And their wandering eyes lingered.

Twenty and counting
she let go of someone whom she thought was the one
Because he couldn't differentiate between a woman standing up for herself not because it was time of the month
But he was just a boy
And she deserved better.

So, she packed her aspirations, knowledge and independence
And burned the bridges of petty expectations
Because she is worth more than her waistline,
pretty face,
ovaries,
And so do you.

Through glowing screens on the palm of our hands
We were nursed to be
Skinny, pretty, soft, quiet
Manly, athletic, pretty.

“But I don't care whether it's your gender, your looks, your weight, your skin, or where your love lies.
None of that matters because standards don't define you.

You don't live to meet credentials established by a madman,
you're a goddamn treasure whether you wanna believe it or not
and maybe that's what everyone should start looking for.” – Savannah Brown

dusted paperbacks of fictional reality that blurred the lines of realistic romance
a collection of old 80s films sorted alphabetically
silly thinking of a boy putting up a boombox over his head playing my favourite song outside
to convey his infatuation with screaming verses of young love
aggravating the bitter skeptics who snide to the gesture

circling around the record discs of sad British pop music
thinking love comes in drumbeats and fast-paced guitar riffs
the sound that exudes technicolour of make believe
hoping someone would take me out tonight
and if we die, at least we die together
and as our song fades out
so is our wuthering romance

as history repeats itself
i have loved only a few
and memories of rom-coms and ballads confused me
numerous amount of unrealistic expectations from a non-fictional human being overwhelmed my beliefs
i am a wanderer
possibly a seeker
wandering since early adolescence seeking love and affection
trying to find a place and somewhere worth staying in

now i realised love is not a sad pop music
but i am guilty of pouring my aching heart to it
and writing stanzas in blood red ink that irritatingly rhyme

i have grown
the song of my slow-paced romance is a mixture of Simon & Garfunkel's bookends
and there goes the fear by Doves
coincidentally, they are both from my favourite film
but the words in the songs are more than what it was

the constant dilemma in my mind on why or how love come to be
and how time could pass by till all there's left is a figment of innocence and confidences
the firsts and what actually matters

there's a quote by justin young of the vaccines;
you want to do things differently
well do them independently
in which is self-explanatory
                         and so i did.

i have not come into terms with my body
i look in the mirror in 180
pinching the excess of skin that i despise
the itching sensation of remorse
it besets my psyche
forcing me to run
miles and miles
i run further
till my knees give in
till my lungs burn
till the numbness comforts me

source; tumblr.

I feel... I feel like a vacant vessel dispersing into the polluted air. My hands don't intertwine right, clothes are either too loose or tight -- I can't stop this addiction on finding a glove that fits. There are shadows that mirror my silhouette beside him (can I ever be certain that they're mine?). I'm lost in the depths of my insecurities... I don't want to go into deep... Which is ironic.
My chest beats like a drum -- within each beat, I succumb into the sorrows, whatever they might be. The pain is expanding like a black balloon around prickly walls.

take me over by ari roar

server by dead sullivan

my surroundings are in monochromatic moods that contain cinematic values. as i put on my headphones simultaneously, colours begin to spread out in heavenly hues and things make total sense.

i am in the 'study room' right now, and there are collections of folders across the table in dusty shelves -- how long have they been there? i remember when we used to have a keyboard in this very room, my cousins and i would blast Red River Valley and sing along while reading out the lyrics from a song book. in addition, the very space behind me used to be where i built forts and conquered a land or was isolated in an island, my imaginations ran wild and free -- everything used to be colourful.

now, i live in black and white. an overused quote from belle and sebastian's the boy with the arab strap "colour my life with the chaos of trouble" is somewhat equitable, but it sounds rather masochistic. i still see colours according to the measures, rhythms, melodies and words of a song and in the eyes of someone i love. consequently, it has made me appreciative because of its once in a blue moon rarity.

if you ask me what colours i see right now; i see a gradient of ocean blue and a hint of the tangerine sun. perhaps it is similar to charlie's (perks of being a wallflower) contrasting emotions; "i am both happy and sad at the same time and i'm still trying to figure out how that could be." 

p.s: there's a video on youtube by boy scouts called 'did you see me cry.' in the comment section, there's a thread discussing about why one finds peace in sad things, and what caught my eye is a response from maicol vaughn; "maybe we find peace in sad things because at least we know its an honest feeling, not like that fake happiness thats wears off." it kind of hits close to home.