Weakness - Blog Posts

Jealousy is a sign of weakness, so don't let it get to you.

Inktober2018 day 15: weak(ness)

Weak

I am feeble to the winds of your words and the gaze of your azure orbs 

As well as girls with nose rings... #weakness #mce #nosering @tiara_thomas

I was your place of calm in the night You left me broken and abandoned  I wish I could go back, standing strong in the corner of your heart But now I am broken, shattered into a million pieces, ripped out Only left are my splinter in your skin

I want to go back in time  Be fixed, stable and loved again Not standing in the rain, soaking the water into myself  and feel my wooden heart swallow

Stop feeling sorry Stop feeling disgusted  Look at me and remember the past The number of nights we spend together  But all I see is you wishing for something new A new place of calm in the night

I can’t sleep without you without feeling your resting body pressed against mine I am awake and so are you By breaking me, you lost your place of calm I am broken and you are restless  We did not think at all

You can blame me for my weakness But wood is not meant for eternity And no matter how much you crave for something new I will always remember the nights we shared The calm of your breath  whenever you were about to fall asleep  I would be there to catch and hold you until the morning sun arrived 

But that's not on me anymore And even when I am gone remember me remember our nights, dreams and smiles Just a moment before you fall asleep remember the comfort  we used to find and the love we used to share

(from "on the settled life") sitting against a little light in the dark struck across a flash of strange feeling with a sinking heart, I turned my face and there, behind the empty space, remained only the familiar scenery if a stranger was standing there, the sin of unnaturalness would run rampant through the body weakness, ignorance, cowardly hope, cowardly belief, unlike all of those that stays in only slight desires, the sin of unnaturalness would run rampant

Discipline is Hard but Weakness is not my Game

I’ve been feeling waves of regression washing over me recently but at the same time I’ve been leaning forward. My ambitions, exuberant and overwhelming, have been leading me. And, again, I’m arrested in a state of complete antinomy: I’m satisfied and dissatisfied, hopeful and disillusioned--I feel these over the same things.

Leaping toward the shimmering notion of how I think I ought to be is what I’m trying to do, yet there’s this unbearable inertia in my life. If I say I want to write, I find I should throw away people, or care considerably less. In my constant struggle for creating something noteworthy I encounter discouragement. Well, on the heartfelt occasions. Of course I get the you’re great and the it’ll be fine but what are those supposed to mean? Not even the ones closest to me think of my writing as a tangible thing with tangible effects. For my environment it’s no more than a dream I’m sometimes having. Certainly romantic but not to be pursued to the damage of even the smallest thing.

I often wonder if the world’s as small as some people see it. Do I need a small job in order to this and that? Well, I refuse the necessity of it and always have. The start of a career or a seed-like job is a different case but I’m regularly pressured toward being practical the ordinary way and I see that as derogatory. I do encourage some folks to master base skills and unromantic professions and I am not against the concept of these, only I feel they get the wrong animal with me. I can’t do all that other people can but I have a strong conviction that I can excel, even create new frontiers, where our race seldom goes: the abstract, the grand and often vain projects that frighten so many. I crave those paths but I get the feeling that with it I frighten those, who love me.

Yet, after all, on a few days I too wake up with doubt. I despise doubt and loathe it, along with cowardice and ignorance but, much like the next person, I’m susceptible to all of those. Sometimes I read back what I’ve written and I’m disappointed. Then, of course, I get down to the part of grinding and go over it once again, until I can accept it but the next day it’s exactly the same amount of disappointment over yesterday’s promising new words. The temptation is unceasing, the beating inside me is counter-driving my soul, into disbelief and the will to abandon my work. But then it’s the universal beating of all ages and if anyone ever amounted to greatness, it’s no more than walking without letting herself be broken. We don’t need anyone for that--to break us. We are very efficient at giving terrible advice to ourselves, although it’s true that the world around us lavishes it at us without limit.

Similarly, in my emotions I’m conflicted. There are things that I want and there are people I want. My desires are sharply defined, there’s no need there, but I regret to want them. There’s no smart way around this though. Truthfully I don’t even know the objects of my desires thoroughly, yet if I were made to choose I would throw away all I have to have those. I think it would be painful but it wouldn’t take me more than a moment of having to contain whatever is trying to get out through our throats, when we feel profound loss, then I’d be immersed in the crisp breeze. I am certain I have the capacity to be like that only I know it’s wrong. It’s immoral and unwise, yet the demands of the soul of a man, who’s otherwise consciously fighting to reach his other desires, called ambitions, are hard to put away.

My desires resist and pull me. Whichever is to be attained is painful, and the ones that I denounce, will not leave me. Everything’s hard--said the poet.

“The sun rises and the sun goes down, and hastens to the place where it rises. The wind blows to the south, and goes round to the north; round and round goes the wind, and on its circuits the wind returns. All streams run to the sea, but the sea is not full; to the place where the streams flow, there they flow again. All things are full of weariness; a man cannot utter it; the eye is not satisfied with seeing, nor the ear filled with hearing. What has been is what will be, and what has been done is what will be done; and there is nothing new under the sun.” Ecclesiastes 1,5-9

“i’m a fearsome indestructible monster of lore whose one shocking weakness is fire” buddy everyone’s weakness is fire

Tan lines

Seasons

Trees in the winter are skeletons

But now they are beaded with buds

Grass greener than ever

To make up for being dead

Overcompensation

Before burn out

It will all soon happen again

And without knowing it,

I will grow into

Good territory or bad

I may be stuck here but

It’s my choice where my roots go

I will see it through in the weather

And the seasons of weakness

Thoughts on Love #18

You make me strong. Not because you are my other half, but in fact because you were not. You broke my heart- you broke me- so I had no choice but to grow stronger. I had to make sure that nobody would ever hurt me again the way you did. You were my weakness, and now without you I am the best version of myself.

So yes, you make me strong. But it is only through your weakness that I had ever achieved it.