Back to the back to the front

I was cleaning my old scrapbook of sorts when I chanced upon stuff I had written a little while ago. It totally amazed me how much wrath I had within me and frankly it frightened me. I look at the same person that had written those poetry and prose in such unapologetic anger, it was as if she was a she.

She was a she that was me.

I guess I may have to thank my pen in those days of unleashing the venom as I had within me, or I'd never have realized I was that angry. What do you do then when you feel the rage seep into your bones turning them knuckle white? Do you throw something out, smatter the unwitting tatters around you? I think it was my pride. I couldn't start a clamouring session about how painful pain was. I didn't want to burst into tears every five minutes in front of people who really just had a big Mac for breakfast and wanted to keep em, macs gut in. So, I think I eloped with unhappiness and told myself it was time for soul searching. But hardly if you notice was there any form of "searching", just plain pitfalls for the unwitting victim. I had increased my rage enormously with more walls and more trapdoors I couldn't get out of. And cried in sleepless nights that I hurt. My swollen foot hurt. My defaced heart hurt.

Gladly, the seething times are gone. I'm a complete embarrassingly mesh of cheese now. Yes, universal love. Heart you, heart me too. Muah muah muah. Let's all do the cancan Mary Poppins style.

Some things never change though. For example, the sarcasm. I'm the insolent, undaunted type that would literally lap the entirety of ironic situations, and return it back to you Christmas present style. So bad, so bad you shake your head. No, not the rude,uncouth toxic poison of gossip. That is in bad taste. Unclassy. I prefer to deliver parcels of "Go figure!" set in rhinestone to the rhythm of my beating brain in poems that teach you more to utilize the vocabulary they teach you back in school than to massacre people.

Cool beans.

This was written a long while ago last year.

Thisbe's Anger (II)

Teach me how to briskly walk suave

The torrent of emotions and yesterday's deeds

Recorded and etched in grim gravestone

Murder from a cacophony of wails and mourns

Kill kill kill

Kill then my music of nostlagia

Kill then my music of reminisciences

Kill then my undeniable irony

Kill then my unfailing loathe

Kill then those reels that spin

Kill then the motors of the unwavering saw

Kill then my restless heart

Kill my love for you.

Or let me wither as a rose drawn

In solitary retrospect

As a bleating lamb cries its last

The slaughterhouse relieves

A healing balm to my treachery

Asylum for the lost and lost love;

Savage soulmate kill

On certain days like this

A kaleidoscope of you

And mishappen memories

Draw my gutless breath wan

Years and months nor days

Solve not the scorched tongs

That sear into the soul

Farewell I parted thee I said

Kill Kill Kill

My bottomless abysss of irony

Where my wretched anger beats

To the snare of revolving blades

I wish,hope and spill

The cauldron of every you.

Thisbe's Anger

A pallid child with naught but the bulwark of fear

Startles at your minacious forked tongue

Rage is a child-old gnome with decadent sores

He hunches,fury blanched with knuckles wan

Silent stirrings from the secret whispers

Cast Cast Cast

That die to Fortune's mysterious ways

Courage under fire

Or fury from a stalwart of rage

Crystallized to saturated age

Venom of your lily livered worth

Nurtures frantic naivety to impertinence

Breathe the breath

Fire Fire Fire

Fiery red in furious candour

The coward's song is the sorriest sorry

Trudging boulders;columns weight

Forgive then and fly child

With crooked feet and a bulbous hunch.

They mar and carve your fraility in delight

Sorry Sorry Sorry

Is the worst cure.

ERM. Yes, I know I wonder too what was wrong with that Thisbe chick. I mean, did she miss her hormonal cycle or what? Obviously someone must have stolen her food!

I think it was really a horrible, horrible time back then. What with doctors telling me I had some incurable swollen condition, and my distrust towards anything that breathed, mum having her cancer and of course the breakup, plus three hundred other things convincing me to just be miserable. Misery, misery, misery, came the cantankering whispers. You, sad sad schmuck. And I fell for it. Into that cesspool of bitterness and cynicism.

Then God just healed me. And I've had leaps and bounds since in my disparaging views of life and people. I didn't have to ponder over why my sad fragile piece of heart had to be stung. The difference is that sad fragile piece of heart was never meant to be stung in the first place. If only I realized that the only thing that ever mattered was my relationship with God, then perhaps I would have wasted less time cleaning the blood from my heart. It still gets tempting, to be drawn in,to be sucked in, to judge others and hate them for it. It still gets extremely near, within fingertips to blame others, to blame ourselves. But blame is clearly blameless. It's just anger speaking.

How very relevant to understand that intensively internalizing all those events made for the very purpose for what I am doing now. Better than ever too, except no more misguidance from the abyss of emotional repression. I recognize that it's a choice now to soak in solitary misery or wail in the truest infantile form to God.

I love listening to the sermon where pastor mentioned about the 'disciple that Jesus loved'. It was in John's own gospel! That confidence and not-so modest way in declaring upon the perfect love of God is just priceless. Our love for people will never be perfect. Nor attempts to perfect our love for God. However He is.

Yeah, I AM that daughter that Jesus loves.

PS: did u think that was holier-than thou? Read my lips PFFF---FFFFFFFFFFF T.

*footnote: PFFT: expression of dismissal for those of you who think I'm swearing.

• Thisbe and her pet platypus have dedicated their lives to Christ. The author is ecstatic.