I quiver at the sight of you.

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0009
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I quiver at the sight of you.

Post by 0009 »

this is a space for my arbitrary writing.

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oh, hello!
your voice has startled the silly rabbit
how may i enjoy your company
without scaring her away?

come,
let's hide beneath the flowers and foliage
while you whisper to me
all that you wanted to say.
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0009
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what makes you who you are?

Post by 0009 »

the thrill o the chase the wind on your face a constant extravaganza a chaos that knows no end
Spoiler
while i agree on the notion that the perception of ourselves is constantly fluid and ever changing as we come across new experiences that subtly influence our behavior, and attempting to strictly define one’s self becomes a challenge that, even if done, may result in a description that quickly becomes dated information. on the other hand, there seems to be a sense of persistence that lies between in another’s sense of identity-- a trait that one deems integral to one’s self, that, without its presence, we begin to alienate ourselves from our own being and a sense of loss overcomes us when undergoing a drastic change that includes the elimination or complete mutilation of this certain trait that we possess. at least, that’s what i personally feel sometimes. i get this sense, sometimes, that i don’t really feel like i’m myself? a part of myself that i avoid confrontation with, sometimes, or try to run away from. i don’t fully understand why i do that yet, though i believe it’s partially due to how confusing everything seems to be in my eyes when that part of me rises to the surface and overwhelms my normally quiet mind. i believe that… my interests play a role to who i am as a person. i admit that it isn’t the most original or shocking of answers, but it is an honest reflection of the type of person i perceive myself to be , which i believe counts as something in the whole grand scheme of things, right? at least, that’s what i think. my interests include the things in life that captivate my attention.. the things that i can talk about in my head all day and continuously poke at it from different angles, and never run out of material to view it from. there’s always some new aspect of my current object of adoration to explore, to investigate, and to understand. i think the way i display my interest in anything is through my curiosity-- my need to understand the thing that i love. when i feel passionate over a subject, it definitely shows. the inflection of my voice, the way my lips seem to move seamlessly like the words that flow out of my mouth and with only the occasional stutter or pause because my body cannot keep up with the thoughts that are coursing through my head as my excitement flutters into a frenzy that mimics infatuation, and i can feel my eyes widen ever so slightly as the world around me seems to brighten and my eyes WANt the light to enter because everything is so much more alive and real with the existence of this subject in question. i would have said, ‘everything becomes a lot more brighter’, but in truth, not everything that i love brings me joy and happiness, despite my occasional bursts of passion regarding the topic at hand. no, no, it stems from my excitement to understand the deeper meaning behind it all, and in a sense, it’s more of a win when i can use it as a source of my reflections. i hold a belief that everything in this world has the potential to teach or reveal an asset to ourselves that was previously kept hidden behind bushes. when confronted with this foreign object, an unpredictable trait from ourselves emerges. i think my excitement is most prevalent with things that i feel that i can connect with, just like everyone else. i seem to form easier connections with anything that strikes an emotional chord with me, and as a result i tend to get attached easily. despite retaining a possessive or clingy nature, i am also naturally distant. i find the contrast to be quite fitting. i;ve come to accept that most people that come into our lives, eventually would like to find the door to find their own way home. this is world, that i possess, is not their’s. but if the person’s visit is one that i found great joy in having, i create a statue of them in my bedroom and caress it with my fingertips, eyeing it with a great level of intensity. as someone, who experiences a lot of her days with, a numbed mind, as a result of not being able to truly find a level of consistency as a result of my undisciplined nature and my natural stupidity, to find something that makes my heart race and bring life into this cold robot brings me joy. people. give me joy. my interest, lies in people. or things, that remind me of people. yet, at the same time, i hate being drowned by the overwhelming sensation of too many people at once. i want to be able to experience them, taste them intimately, know them on a level that no one else can. i crave that kind of connection. honestly, i feel lonely. not because i can’t make friends, and if it was in my nature, i could easily form a social circle of group of my own and even maintain a certain degree of consistency. but, that’s not what i want. it doesn’t satisfy me. and i think, that’s a reason why i have an awkward nature, to purposefully, make it hard for me. to form an image that i am vulnerable by nature? what is awkwardness. i think, no, i’m just being honest. forming words is an act that is. infuriating to me by nature. oh my god. i went. so off topic.
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stare

Post by 0009 »

You are the very definition of the word ‘intoxicating’. I bow down to the slight twitch of your skin, and worship the hot breath that passes through your lips-- I swear to the heavens, how have you bewitched me so? I didn’t even notice the trap that you’ve set, it was slow and almost a deliberate act of faith… which, brings me a sadness that I cannot begin to describe with the unholiness of its depth. How many years has it been now, since we've first met? When I was nothing more than a squealing mess, a pathetic creature that was unworthy of simply existing within the same planet as you? My first glance of you, to think I thought of you as nothing more than another fleeting face... yet, fate seems to cackle at the amount of hatred that I harbor towards myself and fooled me into thinking that we were never meant to encounter one another. Yet, fate was a very kind patron of love. You mean so much to me.
It was your kindness, it was your greed, it was your dance, it was your cruelty.
To the world, you are nothing more than a flawed foolish creature that was simply born to die. In my eyes, you are a savior. I will do my best to protect you. I think of nothing else at night. You are simply... mine.

This sense of possession... is it too cruel-- to cage you for so long?

Darling?
Are you crying?
Spoiler
Themes of possession and obsession are rampant throughout my pieces. I apologize for my redundancy, but I must be emotionally honest to myself, as I have created this place as a form of expression, and if you have found yourself to enjoy the little raw pieces of myself that I've chosen to share in the form of vague nonsense, just, please know that I am so, very happy.
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0009
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ravings

Post by 0009 »

the shirt shared one diminutive detail of sharing a similar vivbrancy in color. oddly enough, each building consisted of one tee shirts waving against the air like a white flag in humble existence. a marking defiance, scowling upon the grey town. eerily dancing with the wind, a contrast to the many colors of the rainbow that it holds on its linen thread. underneath the building, lay a pair of two friends. the boy was of fine health, i suppose. the turkish girl was an artist. she loved to paint. all her clothes were stained with paint, but her parents never really seemed to notice. she looked mischeoiovusly at her asian american buddy. they chilled at the back alley, dancing while listening to some edgy tunes at the fine age of twelve and fourteen, respectively. despite his age, karma towered over tutku with ease, with a slight smug smirk stained upon his countenance. karma was tall for his age, but he never really seemed to attract any attention. he had bland features for someone with bhutanese blood, and he never really liked to have the spotlight. he was always mistaken for a young adult, and his demeanor matched his appearance. he was harshly calculating with the words that drip from his tongue, and always seemed to have a sullen expression-- except. with tutku. he smiled more often when she was around. was it because of her height? tutku was a fierce warrior and had bushy eyebrows and wore flashy clothes stained with paint and the lik, with gruffy short blonde hair and slanted green eyes with short eyelashes. they had fun together, a lot. they played. a lot. and. okay, this isn’t working. my story idea is that in a circus town, there are two nobodies that happen to like each other’s company. one is tall and asian/american, the other is a muslim turkish girl named tut
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