Fifteen, or Maybe Twenty Years

When we are born,
we lose ourselves.
Our parents take us,
nurture us,
or maybe torture us,
stalling our memories of former selves,
keeping us from finding ourselves.
All they seem to do is shaping us in ways they think are best,
or ways they wish they could’ve taken long ago,
but mostly ways that other people told them about.
And all those ways are usually nothing like what we want to become,
and it’s confusing,
and it’s hurtful,
and nothing here seems to work,
because we wait fifteen, or maybe twenty years
to regain that sense of self that was taken from us
long time ago.
We don’t deserve the stalling and the tears,
but thinking about what we could be gets up through all the years
of pain and suffering and not being ourselves.

Maybe you found yourself today.
Go on, talk to yourself, see what you have to say.

Pic.

younger

when i was younger i abused my dreams,
i’ve lost count of times spent with wrong people,
giving the wrong hugs,
losing precious moments.
when i was younger i forgot a lot about myself,
and felt like my value was somehow less because of everything i never was.
i made a habit out of waiting for people to become
what they never truly were.
when i was younger i lost myself so many times,
tearing my heart and dreams away,
giving them to people who did not deserve me,
instead of giving them to me.
when i was younger i was so foolish,
but i don’t wish i’d live that time again.
cause this is the time i am me,
and this is when you’ve met me.

Let’s Talk About Ramsay Bolton

who let the dogs outA few years back I sang an ode to the most incredible pop culture current ever – the appreciation of the villain. I sang praises to Loki, and Bane, and The Joker itself, underlining the exceptional quality of being entirely charismatic in a world of destruction.

This week’s Game of Thrones gave us one of the best episodes (if not the best, as some say) and a battle to enjoy. What’s left of this battle is the collective information that Ramsay Bolton is now dog food, but boy, does he deliver!

Suffice to say that casting Iwan Rheon was the thing that made me watch Game of Thrones regularily. After enjoying his presence in Misfits, a quirky show with plenty of to be-stars and very real in portraing teenage angst, the news that he’s gonna play a new character in the ultimate high fantasy HBO production was very intriguing. After some digging, because I haven’t finished reading the books, I learned that his character was at least evil, and thus, interesting.

I’m a sucker for Rheon, whom I consider one of the greatest actors of his generation, because he’s got that Sunday school boy face and the eyes of a madman – kinda like our little hobbit, Elijah Wood. This combination always catches my eye and interest, so I started binging and enjoying Ramsey.

This is not to say that I agree with his way of living. No way! I’m all for the good guys. But Ramsay has that viciousness that lures you in, and you only realize that when it’s too late. His character is demanding your full attention, his gore will make you sick and his capable mind will only make you envious of its power.

Iwan Rheon was the unnamed leader of prime time television evil for his entire run on Game of Thrones. His Ramsay was the ultimate villain, mastering the fear and plotting torture with a smile on his beautiful, angelic face. A part of me is sad that this amazing work of art will not be present next week on my little screen. A part of me is happy with the way his life and death we’re handled – not some greater than life transformation from bad to good, but a former’s victim revenge. A part of me is in awe that I could ever like such a person. And another part of me refuses to watch Game of Thrones again.

He was the greatest villain of our time, and nothing can fill the void he left.

Pic.

Carry On

Walking through life balancing both of my left feet on a single sharp blade,
I know you’d say that this is hell, but I simply call it home.
I’m used to it – the harsh sound of spilling blood,
The drinks I forgot to have and all of the friends I forgot to call,
All of those times when I said I’d eat healthy,
And that I’d call my mom,
All of those are gone, and I’m just screaming my lungs out,
Drowning in silence,
Drowning in pain.
I know I’m vain,
But I’m not in vain.

Letter to My Unborn Mother

Hello you, I thought I’d stop by,
See how you’re doing.
I just hope you’re fine.
I’m doing well, thanks, and sometimes I miss you,
But most days I go on without thiniking of you.
I hope you’re warm,
Mostly I hope you’re safe.
I hope I’m not a disappointment,
Though you never said you’re proud of me.
I tried my best not to become you,
Not to repeat your past mistakes,
I really hope I managed to do that,
Because most days I feel like a failure.
I’m not in your world, because I shunned it away,
I’m not part of this world either,
Because I lack the basic knowledge on how to be a proper being.
I’m irrational, scared and alone so many times,
I’ve lied to people about you,
About me.
I tried to be the best, and I failed so many times,
I never got the chance to be friendly with people,
And I’m so angry, so often and so wild.
Hi, Mom, I wish I could’ve been better.
I wish you could’ve been better.
For me, for you, for all the gods.
Now let me sleep outside the fogs