and to be perfectly honest..

roll away your stone, i'll roll away mine. together we can see what we will find. don't leave me alone at this time, for i am afraid of what i will discover inside. this is the truth. uncensored & real.

[perfectlybonafide-blog]

013. belonging.

I have never felt like I belong anywhere.

People, they come and go. Offer a semblance of familiarity if only for a moment, and they're on their way soon enough.

Places, offer comfort and intrigue for a few days, months, years. But even they eventually begin to feel suffocating.

You. 

You.

I thought I could belong with you.

I don't belong anywhere.

[perfectlybonafide-blog]

012. weakness.

You do not deserve my unsteady hands. They are loyal, ready to comfort. They are fearless, ready to control. They are mine, and they used to be steady.

I thought this day would never come. Truthfully, I silently hoped that it wouldn't. I don't enjoy this silent, gnawing feeling that exists from knowing that you bear no mind to me. How I constantly fall into this trap, I do not know. I certainly thought it would be different. I thought the first person to make my steady hands unable to exist in solidity would be somebody kind and thoughtful. I have told myself time and time again that I am strong. I do not require the sentiment that so many others seek. But here I am. Writing this message. Cursing myself for recognizing my first fatal flaw: weakness.

This will pass. The beginning is always the worst. I am not entirely sure how to proceed, what mechanisms to adopt in order to keep my vulnerability sealed. You feed off it eagerly. I know this. Perhaps the worst part of all, I know.

One day I will wake up and this will not matter. Years from now, I will look back and laugh. You are insignificant in the general scheme of love and life. You are every red warning sign, flashing urgent, angry color and prompting me to keep a comfortable distance. My apathy will kick in eventually, it never fails to make an appearance.

Usually I begrudge it, wishing for just a little while longer in the sincerity of human emotion. Now, I welcome it with ease. When it arrives, I will embrace it as an old friend, with my perfectly steady hands.

[perfectlybonafide-blog]

011. disappointment.

I don't understand what it is about you. Or what it is about me. Or what it is about us. I don't understand why you don't know how to be happy. Or why you conveniently stay a little longer, darling I don't want you. I don't want to hear it. I don't care about what you said. I don't care about what she said. I don't care about your obsession with those characters or with the constant crying that never seems to cease. I don't care about love - not really. Not now. Sometimes I get lonely, but I always thought you could make up for everything else. As long as I had my friend to listen and understand, I wouldn't need a distant stranger. But it seems this house I built has been taken over, and I am no longer welcome. That's perfectly fine. I don't think you know how I feel, how can you? You never asked me. You just expected me to care. You don't understand why these things excite me. You don't appreciate my passion or my drive. Every time we talk, you put yourself in the center. Pardon me for wishing that, just for once, you'd do something of that sort for me.

I don't understand how you can be such a disappointment. Perhaps I can never truly tell you. But for tonight, I cannot bear to be disappointed again.

[perfectlybonafide-blog]

010. someone to love.

I've never been the emotional type. Sentimental words and tearful promises; I've never known them. I keep myself at a comfortable distance, close enough to enjoy somebody's presence, far enough to be apathetic when they eventually leave. I've never been the type to reach out first, pull someone into a hug, cry on somebody's shoulder. I have been on the opposite end many times, but I've never thought of it as a reciprocal gesture. My friends have known love, and they have known heartache. I hear stories, watch them glow with the intense joy of having met someone who makes them blush and makes them feel like they have a purpose; and then I watch them cry when it all comes tumbling down. I've told myself time and time again that I do not wish the same fate for myself. I do not want a relationship like that. I do not need a relationship like that. I am fine alone.

But sometimes, on very rare days, I find myself wishing. I'll be alone in a cold room and for a brief moment I'll be hit with this devastating realization that I have nobody to hold me. I have nobody to love me. I'll find myself at night, when morning has bid adieu and gone off to bed, wishing that I had someone to call up and talk to. A friend first, lover second. Someone to divulge my emptiness, someone to tell me things I don't entirely believe but accept because it's coming from somebody I trust. Sometimes I wish that I had someone to love.

Perhaps I am not ready just yet. Maybe I don't deserve it. I don't know what it is that keeps me on this side of the fence, watching other people in silence, craving what they have. It seems like all my trouble to avoid heartache has only lead to it, in the end. I know I don't need it. I know that I can proceed alone, and that I will succeed alone, but I don't want to be alone forever.

I am a coward, though. And I'm afraid that I can't admit this to anybody just yet. I am afraid I haven't found the courage for honesty.

[perfectlybonafide-blog]

009. none of you matter.

none of you really matter, anyways. in the end, none of you will matter. you're all a bunch of people meant to keep around and discard when done with. don't pretend like you didn't think that about me. don't pretend like you didn't befriend me so that you could just use me like you do to everyone else who seems insignificant. how dare you propogate this self-sufficient image of yourself, parading around like you could've gotten anywhere without me.

how dare all of you ask me to do these things for you constantly, how dare you forget that i, too, am just a simple human. imperfect, small. not limitless. not a superhuman. how dare you ask of me things that i cannot do, and then have the audacity to get angry when i can't follow through.

none of you really matter. none of you matter because all of you are the same. all of you are just out to serve your own self-interests, all of you are just out to get to the top. and i helped you, don't you ever fucking forget who got you there. don't you ever forget the scared, self-conscious person you were before. you thought you were a loser. the truth is, you weren't. but you are now. you are the loser. i hope doors slam in your face, the way you slammed them in mine.

i'm so sick of all of this bullshit. i am so sick of it. what i need, what's best for me, none of you give a shit. none of you care. none of you matter.

i'm so tired. i'm so tired and i'm so angry, and i was doing so well warding off these negative feelings away. the very fact that i have to be here, posting about my anger because all of you fucking bombarded every other secret outlet i have to vent, proves how desperate i truly am for just a single solitary moment of peace within my own mind.

all of you are fake.

to be perfectly honest, i am sick of letting you all matter.

[perfectlybonafide-blog]

you have total and complete ability to express whatever you want. i’m trying to become more honest, so help me by admitting something, honestly. maybe it’s the fact that you’re sick and tired of the people you’ve surrounded yourself with. maybe you put up a front but you feel entirely different on the inside. anything honest. anything you hide. do it anonymously or not, it doesn’t really matter. i am a complete stranger, and i find that strangers are the best people to indulge in.

just be honest.

[perfectlybonafide-blog]

008. losing

Nobody wants to lose. We all take chances and risks because of the thrill we get when all of our efforts pay off, when every reservation we've ever had can be left in the dust; as we've done something wonderful, something nobody can ever take from us; we've won. But occasionally, the story doesn't play out how we want it to. Sometimes we do not get to bask in the joy and gratitude of taking such risks in the first place, as they do not pay off. We do not win. And it is in these moments, as you sit there and watch as the opposing team celebrates, that you feel an almost inescapable sensation of emptiness. You will get up, eventually. You will rise and pretend like such a loss has had no effect on you whatsoever, so that you can be strong in the face of defeat and show everyone that you've got more on your mind than the failure that you've just publicly endured. But on the inside, you're hurt. Even if you had foreseen this loss, nothing can numb the pain of losing. Even if it is the best thing for you at the moment, or will pay off in your favor towards the end, for that moment, you are the defeated. Someone else has risen above you, someone else is wearing the smile that you should be wearing. You congratulate them, forcing yourself to smile and appear as though none of this has gotten the better of you. You feel the pats on your shoulder from sympathetic supporters and the questions, "are you okay?" constantly being thrown around you as you move dully through the day. And you tell everyone that you are, and that you will be. But you have lost. By how much? Does not matter. You have lost. That is all there is.

We will not conquer every single battle we take upon ourselves. We will not always win. But that doesn't stop you from feeling bitter, or from locking away your real intuition safely within the confines of your heart so that those who have depended on you will not see your weakness. Sometimes things don't go how you want them to go. Sometimes, they go even worse. And in those moments, right after the news of your loss has been announced, you consider what could have possibly persuaded you to try. It's okay to wallow in your loss, so long as you know that you will not let it slow you down. You'll let it bring your down for a moment, but then you'll realize that this will never stop you from trying again, and again, until you finally achieve what you sought out to do. That is human nature, that is the truth.

So do not fret. Look away from the celebrations of the winning team and instead focus on your own. Build yourself a higher pedestal and don't be afraid to stand on it, above those who doubt you now, and recognize that eventually; you will prove them wrong. These are all tests, and you will be thrown more losses than you believe you can handle. But you can, and you will. Because the defeat lies not in falling, but in allowing such a fall to keep you from ever getting up again. And when you do, rise up above everybody else, you will understand that you are a winner. You have always been a winner.

Nobody wants to lose, but every body must. Be grateful that you have had your dose and look towards those celebrating with pity, for soon, they shall know their own losses; as well. Be grateful for the opportunity that has been given to you, and the sign directing you to another door, away from one that has not been destined for you to enter.

You have lost, yes. But to be perfectly honest, you are by no means a loser.

[perfectlybonafide-blog]

007. same old, same old

i've been away from home for quite some time now. prior to me coming here, i had dreamt up scenarios in my head about how much i would change on my journey away from the old. who would i be, after this time? what would i accomplish? it is with much distress that i reveal a very simple truth: i have not changed at all. and though i act the part of a spiritually renewed wanderer quite brilliantly, i am ashamed to admit that i do not feel it. i've wasted so much time, but if i were somehow able to go back in time, i probably would've conducted myself in the same way. i do not know how to change. i can't possibly be awaken from a dream if i have not yet fallen asleep.

on top of this, i'm scared. i only have one more year of the familiar. and though i have craved this moment for so many years, wished for it time and time again, now that i am actually facing the thought of permanently leaving; i'm terrified. will i make it out there, alone? i've one more year with the same people and same antics that we usually get up to, but i don't honestly know if i'll be able to act the part so easily. i want change, and yet i fear it. i seem to have this problem of dreaming up wonderful ideas about how the future will unravel, so that when it actually does i am horribly disappointed and depressed. i've faced it time and time again. i've watched my friends grow and attain the lives that they wanted, and all i can do is sit on the outside. i used to envy them, but now i just let them go without so much as a word. i know this is how things go. i've come to accept that not all things will go according to plan. but sometimes i wish i would be the one getting the things i had wanted. sometimes, in moments of sheer selfishness, i wish that i could be on the other side. confident, collected, content.

i have an almost ironic sense about the year to come, and though i hope for better days, i know that it'll be just like it was before. humans have the tendency to dream beyond their capacity, and for a short while, in moments of ignorance, we can bask in the glory of a world we hope will be ours. of course, such things often do not happen. and then we are left with broken hearts and the horrible task of picking our dreams up off the floor and rebuilding them to something new.

i'd like for the experience i wanted to become a reality. i will deal well and alter the seams as i see fit, but i'd like for some sort of sign that i will get to become the person that i've always wanted to be. despite everything, i still have hope. i'm not exactly sure if this is my greatest strength or my greatest downfall. i suppose we'll have to see.

but for now, quite honestly, things are same old, same old.

[perfectlybonafide-blog]

006. apathetic goodbyes

i don't even feel like being artistic. i don't even feel like carving blocks of emotions into words so beautifully sculpted for only the artsy to comprehend. i don't feel like appealing to the likes of pretentious writers who use so many word replacements, you actually begin to wonder if they carry around a mini thesaurus in their pockets. i just want like, half a second to feel bad. i just want a single moment for my own thoughts, without yours barreling their way through and attempting to battle mine with obnoxious force. can you please shut up,for just one moment. i didn't see it going like this. i was never good with goodbyes, even if temporary. i suppose i should thank you. i suppose i should extend my greatest and sincerest compliments to you for being such a ridiculously pompous ass; as to actually make me want to leave. i will not miss you. and when i walk through those gates, away from you, i will feel a great burden being lifted right off my chest. and for the rest, my friends, who never bothered to send a mere text or quick phone call, thank you for helping me realize what a waste of time you are. thank you for not caring; expect the sentiment to be returned in kind. i am bitter. i am resentful. saying anything less would be a blatant lie and beautification of myself, and i wish not to beautify any aspect of me. goodbye, for now. i'll be back, hopefully. please do not pretend to be anything less or more than what you actually are. i don't feel like reacting to your dramatic lies and acts of deceit. i don't feel like doing anything except giving you what you appropriately deserve; an apathetic goodbye.

[perfectlybonafide-blog]

005. nothing matters

i am a product. shades of blacks and browns twisted and wrapped with care, left at the side of a building that is otherwise unknown and unloved. and what a life one must lead, to understand the pain of a building that towers above all. seemingly untouched and unharmed, though the chipped walls and colored bricks would say else wise. i was once new, too. fawned over and kept pristine. left only to the careful hands of those with evident experience, the insides kept safe from the acid rain of a society that doesn't, wouldn't, can't know better. but such things do not last. no, such things do not matter. isn't it true, though? isn't it true that inanimate objects, too, feel animosity? you were once important, too. wrapped with hours of invested time, tied tightly with a bright red ribbon to indicate the novelty of being something fresh amidst a city of old. i understand. such things do not last. no, such things will never matter. i cannot be who i was, just as you can never be what you were. and really, it isn't anybody else's fault but yours. who else is there to blame for your lack of appeal? for your dull and apparent lack of allure? who else can take fault for your inability to conform to the likes of the society in which you were placed - not asked - but planted. you are no longer a place of marvel, and i no longer have a place to consider me marvelous. you and i, we are two of the same seed. they look past you, they do not bother to inquire about me. they do not care for what i stand for. i am nothing compared to that of the new. i will be nothing until i do for them what they please. and i am inconsistent, unapproved, illogical. we stand amongst the others, crowded by their fresh appeal; by their naive and clouded sense of a world that will not love them forever. we have been tampered with, you and i. colors painted over our chipping walls and eventually left to gather dust. eventually, perhaps, we may be redeemed. new eyes are exposed every second of every minute, and every day i wish i could be in any other place but here. in a new place, where words do not beseech me. in a friendly place, where all is called to greatness. but such things do not last. such things will not matter. you are a product, and i am a package, and one day these ribbons will not matter and these confined lines of blurred realities will not smother us with their fake appeal, for we shall produce alone. the words we speak and the things we do will be a product of our own. and such things, such things matter.

[perfectlybonafide-blog]

004. and que the symphony

on any regular day, i'm a walking-talking newspaper. i'll share the stories of pain and disdain, cutting into your otherwise fluffy conversations with things like, "hey, did you watch the news last night? what did you think about that riot? that crisis? that story?" and more often than not do i receive ignorant, irritated looks and a swift, "bro, no one gives a fuck." and that's okay, because you know what? i'm just going to come back tomorrow and do that exact same thing. i don't like living in a pretend world where the woes of a child in a war stricken state is that of fiction or myth. i'll read the heart wrenching story, share it, and then continue to reference it from then on.

but sometimes i avoid typing the online newspaper link into the top bar. sometimes, on very rare occasions, i will sit outside, alone, and allow the wind to caress my face. the newspaper can sit at the doorstep for a couple of minutes. i'll answer my phone and summon up anger within me so that you don't have to feel bitter all on your own. but for now, i will sit here. and i will let the strum of the guitar lull me into an absolutely free and shameless sense of sleep. i have much to do, time constraints on every exam i must study for or assignment i must hand in, but all of that can wait for just a moment. and i know that in the future, if i'm not as prepared as i could've been, i will curse myself for allowing myself those few seconds of rest. but while i am here, ever present, i will enjoy it.

the world is a sad place a lot of the time. there is suffering here. sadness and grief here. there is loss here. but then there are the moments where all you can see are the colors around you. all you can hear are the leaves rustling and the wind whipping by you. all you can feel is the sun on your face and the breeze to keep a constant level of comfort. and everything else falls away. i will return to my general state soon. i will get up eventually and return to the real world where things aren't as simple as they appear at this exact moment. but for now, i will sit amongst the orchestra, and allow the symphony to play.

[perfectlybonafide-blog]

I mean i think we all mask things sometimes. But i try to be pretty up front at least 90% of the time. and yeah baby steps is probably the way to go, although that phrase isn't really in my vocabulary. good luck!

we definitely do, but i've always had a problem with being up front. the only time i do is when it doesn't regard me personally. but when it comes to actually affecting how a course runs in my life, i hide it. or sugarcoat it. i can't be honestly blatant. thank you! honestly. x)

[perfectlybonafide-blog]

“We are like roses that have never bothered to bloom when we should have bloomed and it is as if the sun has become disgusted with waiting.”

charles bukowski

[perfectlybonafide-blog]

Secret tumblr :)Shhhhhhh.

nono, it isn't a/ secret/ tumblr. the only secret really is the author of it. otherwise, it's gloriously unsecured.

[perfectlybonafide-blog]

003. release

He is silent. I can see him from where I sit, stuck amidst a group of people chattering and laughing amongst themselves. My legs are tucked under me and my head rests comfortably against the plush lining of the old and worn out couch. He doesn't see me, though I can't be sure if he can really see anything. To everyone around us, I am merely a part of this boisterous conversation. I am not a separate entity to anyone else but me, but this suits me just fine. He is alone, and this intrigues me. He shows no longing to be a part of the festivities, but he doesn't appear to resent it, either. He gives the illusion that this is his party, and he is merely resting his feet before returning to the center of the circle to take up the mantle of acclaim once again. If I got up right now, untucked my legs and managed to wiggle out between the thick bodies that surround me, I could easily approach him and strike up conversation. If I just got up right now I would have the perfect opportunity to speak to him without the reservations of being watched and judged by the rest of these eyes. If I just got up right now..

I am still. You stand there before me, nose flaring and eyes red with accusation. I don't remember how this started. I can't even remember what I did to make you so angry. Pick my bag up off the floor, whip it across the room. Stupid, worthless, unlovable. I try not to listen to the words you spew at me, but I can't ignore them, either. I brought this on myself, you say. I never do anything right. No one will ever love me because I am nothing, nothing. Emphasis placed in all the right places, I feel like we're in some sort of twisted soap opera. I want to laugh at the absurdity of this situation, but I realize that this would only make you more angry. I'm nothing? I am quiet and I swallow everything I want to say. There are moments where you wait for me to speak up, moments where I know you want me to stand up for myself and justify the decisions I've made. If I opened my mouth right now, maybe you'd hear me. You don't appreciate what I've done to be of some worth to you. You don't know how it makes me feel when you break me down and expect me to be like them. I've tried. I promise, if I was dying right now and there was only one truth I could share to save my soul, it would be that I tried. I did. You're always yelling at me, always criticizing my disability to do things right, but you never bother to explain how exactly I'm doing things wrong. If I just opened my mouth right now, right before you turn your back and storm out into the night, maybe you could actually listen..

"It's fine." You ask again and again, your face full of worry and fear that you will do something that could potentially hurt me. "It's fine," I repeat. Over and over, the same words tumble out of my mouth. Leave, if you want to. Don't stay, if it makes you feel uncomfortable. It's fine. I'm fine. Are you sure, are you sure, are you sure? You keep asking and I keep replying, but I know that this will end soon. You will eventually convince yourself that I am actually okay with you leaving without me, even though you know I feel exactly the opposite. You can't blame yourself, after all; you did ask. You asked plenty of times and I had every opportunity to tell you else wise. I can sense that this back and forth will end any second now, and all I have to do is speak up and tell you that I want you to stay. "Are you sure?" Finality in your voice, feet positioned and ready to retreat. "No," on the tip of my tongue..

I do not get up. I stay on that couch the whole evening, and not once do I get up. I talk myself up in my head and when I finally look up, ready to make my move, I see that someone else has made their own move first. You are looking at her with bright eyes, laughing at whatever it is she is saying. I sit there, stuck. In a conversation that is of no relevance to me, with people who I don't even particularly like, I am stuck. And you are with her now. And I have missed my chance.

I hear you slamming doors beneath me, and I sit on the edge of my bed; perfectly still. Same look on my face, same position of my body. A sudden surge of unexplainable rage explodes inside, and I pick up the closest thing to my hand and slam it into the closet door. It shatters, and my hand begins to throb uncontrollably. Tremors of pain and remorse through my body and I slide down the door and shake with tears. I didn't stand up for myself. I didn't explain why I had done what I had done. I didn't justify my decisions. I let you tear me down without talking back once. I wish I could yell right back at you. I wish I could slam the door for once, I wish you would see my anger instead of constantly showing me yours. But I have missed my chance.

"It's fine." And you are gone. Why did I let you go? Because I'm too much of a coward to open my mouth and tell you that I want, need you to stay? You would have, too. You would have dropped your bag and put on that warm smile of yours and wrap your arms around me in comfort. But I let you go because I am stupid, and because I thought that I was testing you, by seeing if you would stay irregardless of what I said. But I know you would have if I had just said no. If I had let you hold me, and admitted that your company was the only thing I really needed right now to make myself feel better, you would have stayed. And I hate you. I tell myself that I hate you, but it isn't true. This is misplaced anger, directed at your fading shadow but meant directly for me. For I have missed my chance.

So many of them come and go. So many opportunities to speak up and say what you really mean, but do you ever take them? Do you ever take your chance?

[perfectlybonafide-blog]

thanks for following back!i'm one of the most honest people I know so I really appreciate this honesty blog, it's an awesome concept.

I envy that of you. I mask almost everything I feel, which is why I decided to start this blog. Baby steps, right?

[perfectlybonafide-blog]

You are more than welcome!

(: