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Whispers I Make to the Sea by ~kLiT-sHy:iconkLiT-sHy:





never did i attempt to pee in you because i know how it feels to get pissed after all the fun
if i did, maybe i was too young or maybe, the female CR was too far and too dirty.
usually, i meet you because i am sad, because no one seems available for some emotional talks
because everyone seems busy with their lives and with the recession.
most of the time, i meet you because i cannot think at all and i guess a driftwood
has no better place in the world but your arms.

i feel beautiful today. so i sit here, on top of this rock flaunting my big brown shoulders
you see those boisterous women under that hut? they’re actually sad. but hey.

those little people at home make me tired. my father makes me tired. i wish you can lend me
your infinity. your echoes. your color, but then again, is it not that you just borrow your hue from the sky?

i am here because i want to cry but i could not. the problem with being so independent is that,
people think you’re too okay that they can let you go.
that they can let loose of you. that you don’t need them that much.
sometimes, independence and strength seem sad. you feel unloved.
but here i am, choosing to be alone. something’s really wrong.


wait, i am taking photos of you again.i might lose memories tomorrow
or worst, a bus hits me because i walk too much.


i miss him. i miss him. i miss him. and the way he misses you.
for catharsis, allow me to crumple your sand.
arrrrrrrggggghhh..

oh there are dogs a foot away, white dogs, one two three…
i hope they won’t run after me and bite my ass. i have been jogging around here for 10 minutes and
i am not yet sweating. what the.

i hope Nanay comes home soon. i hope to own a sailboat or a raft. i regret that i was not able to learn
how to swim. but do not tell others that i could not. please. hehehe.

i love you. what i like about us is that we share summers whole year round.

and when i stop visiting one day,
it’s either i am immensely happy
or
i have, finally, given up.



©2009 ~kLiT-sHy
:iconklit-shy:

Author's Comments

... but i could not tell my self out loud

photo by: :iconhearshotkiddisaster:

Comments


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:iconfamiefam:
it's like reading my emotions, written by somebody else.. hehehe

--
the only thing standing between you and I is reality~
:iconposhlost:
I feel like you try to say too many things in this piece, but it can't help but be endearing like all your stream of consciousness. Not sure how the first line reads--I thought you were going for "because I know what it feels like to be pissed on" or something to that effect, but I dunno, it ended up reading in three different ways. Another characteristic of sentences almost bursting, I suspect.

Great stuff, sorry I haven't been reading much lately.

J

--
"Odi et amo. Quare id faciam, fortasse requiris.
Nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior."
- Catullus
:iconetre-aime:
For whatever we lose(like a you or a me)
it’s always ourselves we find in the sea
:iconalecbell:
The sea. At its edges it almost seems as though it might be friendly.

Occasionally it reminds us that it's bigger than a school of whales.

I enjoyed reading, thank you very much.

--
There's always a better poem just out of reach.

Words create situations [link]

The roots of the future run deep [link]
:iconpronetodamage:
beautiful.

--
when the shit hits the fan i hope you can giggle in the downpour
:iconermitanyongiskagero:
minsan na rin kaming naging close ni dagat.. eventually, ayao na sa kania dahil sa isang horrible experience..

pero these days, medio nagkakamabutihan na ulet kami.. iun nga lang, di na kami masiado close..

:D

--
"Gusto ko makarinig ng walang distorted na gitara pero distorted ang lyrics.." - Marcus Adoro
:icondeadromantic:
"sometimes, independence and strength seem sad. you feel unloved.
but here i am, choosing to be alone. something’s really wrong."
tusok.
:iconinsanityandcataclysm:
At least you have her.



Your words are a bitch slap to my face. Urggh. :tears:

--
...And the grave is not its goal; :heart:
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.
~Longfellow

In the end little he can do alone. :jester:
:iconpardonm3:
and i guess a driftwood
has no better place in the world but your arms.


:heart:

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