I adore the freedom poetry grants us- while each poem will mean a certain thing to its author, the words and phrases used will never be interpreted quite the same way by its readers.
This allows us all to analyze poetry differently, make up our own picture of what it is, and make art anew
Give me any topic, and hundreds of different poems, and I'm positive that I could interpret them all to fit the chosen topic.
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thinking about her (three sword style Nami that Oda drew for One Piece magazine vol. 13)
I have not been able to stop thinking about her ever since I saw this design. I took some liberties with the outfit, giving her more of a sports bra and biker shorts and a sleeve (I am not sure if it is a sleeve or haki, I am running with it)
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Paradoxical.
There were times I almost believed you loved me, that you were sincere about what you were saying and doing. But I had to psych myself up, knowing you still love somebody else. I could see it in your eyes whenever you remembered her or talked about her, how much you loved her and still do. Even notes about how much you miss her still linger in your room. But then, you would suddenly switch into this lovey-dovey persona, saying, 'I will be here for you, regardless,' which caused my stomach to churn. The idea of being a replacement for someone terrifies me the most. But then, I believe you can never replace anyone because everyone is made up of such beautiful specific details. What is lost is lost.
I was not afraid of loving your aching soul, but I was afraid of not being enough for it. That every second you will spend with me, it is her that you see. It is her that you remember. It is her that you love. I was afraid that one day, you would wake up and hope she was there beside you, and not me. That if only you could turn back time, you would wish you had chosen her. I was afraid that you would spend your entire lifetime yearning for her soul, even if she betrayed you—and vice versa. I was afraid of being a collateral damage who just intended to love you in your brokenness but ended up hurting you the worst way possible as you cannot be with the one you truly love. Paradoxical, right? I never wanted to be a liability either. So, I had to choose. I had to choose for you, since you cannot choose for your own damn sake. I had to play dead. I had to understate the weight of the pact we made that night in my hometown. I hated that idea—that pact has been the only precious thing i’m holding on to and keeps me going with all the pain and uncertainties for weeks. But, enough. I ought to do it. "Let him go, please," my pleading mind and morals conveyed to my troubled spirit—which developed huge separation anxiety and strong attachment already. I had to pass the time, gulp my saliva, and hope I would not express my desire for you from the moment I have laid my eyes upon your flushed face on our first. I believe you would have psyched yourself up to stay, even if you wanted to leave. I had to bite my tongue and know that it is best not to put up a fight for your love, but to support your happiness. I really wanted you to be truly happy—even if it is not with me though deep inside, I hoped for more. I asked you multiple times, 'Will that make you happy?' You uttered, 'I do not need to be happy. I just need company.' I watched you look down and think deeply as you continued slicing your food to take a bite. No. I know that face. That is the face of someone who wants to go back, who has self-assessed long enough to know he cannot forget her and cannot be happy without her. Maybe that was the reason why you did not reach out for the past two weeks. After all, how can a person just jump from a two-year-long relationship to another in just a month?
And so, I played dead. I pondered, hardly enough. 'I was ready for this,' I thought. Well then, I thought. But little did i know it is going to be this hard to suppress what I felt and hoped to share with you. You see, I am used to being abandoned, and I am quite hyper-independent, so it was plausible to accept. Though that does not mean it did not hurt. It ached. My body and soul ached for months after that day, not to mention. And so, I let you go. Not because I wanted to, but because I needed to. Afterall, we accept the love we think we deserve.
That morning when you started singing 'Sleepyhead,' which I sang along to, as I wore my loafers left me in a chokehold. I turned the doorknob open as if it was the hardest thing to do. "Why does it have to be like this?" I thought. I knew I would be stuck in that chokehold for a long time. But I chose my poison, like a bull eager to strike a matador despite the chance of breaking its own horns. Though it was supposed to be bloodless bullfighting, why did I end up bleeding? I walked down the stairs and almost tripped as my knees weakened and my head giddied. "Fuck, if only you'd apologize, make up your mind, and take it back, I would stay," my mind echoed. I could even hear my heartbeat, knowing it would be a whole new era once I leave through that gate. And then, I quietly kissed you goodbye. It was real when they said there is no such thing as goodbye, huh? It was so fast yet so slow. I could not speak. 'I miss you,' that was all I thought. 'Didn’t you know I yearned for you for weeks? I didn’t bother you as you live such a fast life and I didn't want to come off as needy. But then, who am I? It's not I that you love, so I understand that I cannot receive such affection.' I was so annoyed. I wanted to say it out loud, but I could not. I should not. I must hold my tongue. I cannot ruin you. I cannot let you ruin yourself. Or the entire lifetime waiting for you to be held once again—just because of that song you probably sang without context, or maybe dedicated to her, whoever she is (the ex, i suppose??)—for I am just a mere catalyst that will block your possibility of happiness once I start to claim mine. I am sorry for coming into your life. I did not mean to be selfish, or to wreak havoc. I love you, but I cannot.
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