Author: W. Donovan

Weronika Donovan is an amateur writer and photographer. She's an artistic soul. She was born in Poland, where she was brought up and educated. Her adventure with writing began in her late teens, but she started blogging only ten years later. Her poetry has grown since that time. She started to use words more consciously. She defined the journey of her life, portraying it in four volumes of poetry. First of them called 'Ghosts' was self-published in 2019. Weronika is a loner. She likes wandering to interesting places, always choosing her own path.

22 Diaries. Story thirteen

~ W. Donovan ~ 8 Comments

So, the other day I watched a youtube video called ‘I don’t want to be here anymore’. When I saw it, it hit me like a wave of cold water. Because those words are the exact words I’ve been telling myself lately.

My life changed so suddenly, so quickly. What I’ve got left now are only memories. Memories of delusions I’d been fed with or, perhaps, delusions I created out of the words I’d heard. Delusions I wanted to believe in.

‘Unexpected visitors’ knocked on my door. I was reluctant to let them in, though. So tightly wrapped up in the luxury and easy life, given to me on a golden tray. But that life is not there anymore, and what I’ve got left are pieces of a broken shell strewn on my bedroom floor that I walk on everyday, letting my feet bleed.

No. I do not care anymore.

You can tell me whatever you want.

No. I do not listen anymore.

22 Diaries. Story eleven

~ W. Donovan ~ 3 Comments

How did I find myself there? Why?

That’s the questions I keep asking myself.

At first I thought it was a great place to grow and learn new things. It wasn’t.

Then I thought it was about you, because I’ve never experienced a connection like this before. But you turned out to be a liar.

Then why?

I believe that things happen for a reason, hence the questions I keep asking myself over and over again. Why?

This story was supposed to be addressed to you, but I don’t feel like I can trust you anymore. So, there it is as follows:

I know I’ve been here before, in this place. All the people and all the events. I’ve met them, I’ve seen them. The feeling is so strong that I almost cannot deny that this is the right thing, no matter how wrong it may seem.

You once told me that everything is written in the stars, that She plays every part in our lives, that everything gets Her way. I remember that it came with such a relieve, because it meant that we don’t have to worry about anything…

Perhaps, the thing I thought I was wasn’t true. Perhaps, I believed in the image of me that people created. Hearing everyday how good and unique I was, I believed I was good and unique. Perhaps, what I am is the thing I am right now. Nothing more.

All the things I learnt were just useless things easy to learn. Life itself wasn’t written in the book, though. That’s why I didn’t know how to learn it. That’s why I don’t know how to live a life that doesn’t go beyond the cover of the book. The real life.

And this is what makes a lot of sense.

22 Diaries. Story ten

~ W. Donovan ~ 1 Comment

Once I said to someone that I felt drained, out of energy, mentally tired. They asked: ‘Why won’t you do something for yourself?’

I assume he wanted to suggest I buy something to myself or travel somewhere or go out for a dinner. The thing is, I do a lot for myself. I buy myself flowers, I take baths with bubbles, I eat chocolate, I travel a lot and I buy pretty things.

As a half orphan I feel the sense of abandonment under my skin. I learnt that you can never rely on other people. It doesn’t matter what they say and how many promises they make. They can never love you as much as you can love yourself. So, yeah, believe me I know how to take care of myself. Physically… at least.

I do not believe that material possessions can heal your crying soul. Wonder why I’m so tired? Because I was dismissed. Because my skills apparently meant nothing. Because I wasn’t good enough. That is what pains me more. You do not have to love me, but you have to need me as a professional. Without it I feel useless.

The forgotten dreams lie heavily on me, crashing my inner self of belonging, where towers collapse releasing demons, which chase me every day.

And this is where it begins…

22 Diaries. Story nine

~ W. Donovan ~ 3 Comments

Dear You

I hope you are (un)well.

I am writing because I have a lot to say, or a lot on my mind I should say.

You probably do not think about me. You probably erased me from your thoughts like chalk from a board. That is what you do, is it not? You erase everyone and everything that brings a whit of contemplation. A life on a white board, where you feel nothing. Where you see nothing but your notes.

You probably do not know what damage you caused. You probably are comfortably sat back in your chair already. I cannot blame you really, since I knew what you were. An egocentric, deprived of empathy, living only in his circle and caring only what’s in it. Like the robots that you build.

You probably do not know how much I cared. You probably do not realize how important it was to me. Being in a place where the sun shines at you in a midday. It does not matter, though, because you turned out to be a snake, swimming in the calm waters of my life.

Tell me now how do I explain myself to other people without telling lies. Tell me now why should I engage with people, knowing how cold they can turn.

I do not care what you have to say. I do not care if you hate me. I do not care if you like me. I do not care about anything anymore. I just want to be alone.

That is what they did to me.

(not) Yours Sincerely

© W. Donovan

22 Diaries. Story eight

~ W. Donovan ~ 4 Comments

Hi lovely people.

Have you ever read a fairytale where a princess becomes a maid? No? That’s because there isn’t one.

Usually, it’s the other way round, right? Poor girl finding a prince, lost princess finding her family, princess finding her purpose, queen finding her freedom. All of these stories have happy endings, there’s no tales about girls who lose everything, never getting anything instead. Why? Because no one wants to read about unhappy endings.

I put on a dress and I pretend to be a lady. I talk like a lady. I walk like a lady. I smile like a lady. But all I want to do is scream and dance on the streets of my imagination.

Is that what society wants me to believe in?

They say that life writes best scenarios. I disagree. Because if that was true no one would write stories. Any stories.

Life doesn’t write anything. It just sits on your chair passing by, waiting for you to die. Life doesn’t care. If you stand still, you’re going to stay still.

Do you believe in fate? In an invisible force that takes you to the path where you belong. It doesn’t matter what decision you make, doesn’t matter where you go, doesn’t matter what people you meet… You’re always going to end up in the place where the universe assigned you to.

That makes a lot of sense for me right now. And knowing that is devastating and relieving at the same time. Why should I try if my trying doesn’t bring me the desired outcome? Why should I put all my energy in something that is not meant for me? I only caused myself pain and now everything hurts me inside.

Someone who was born in dirt will always end up in dirt. I cannot fool my destiny. I cannot fool myself.

Life doesn’t have a happy ending. No one truly cares about you, and in the end you die anyway.

© W. Donovan

22 Diaries. Story seven

~ W. Donovan ~ 1 Comment

Dear Reader. I must tell you, that nothing is for free in this world.

When you feel like something came easily to you, that should be a warning sign to you. For things that come easily are never worth it and, sooner or later, you’re going to pay for them. Except the price will be high. You’ll pay with your tears, with blood and flesh. They will leave you scarred for life.

How do I move on now, when all I feel is your warm embrace. When all I feel is your cheek on my cheek.

You broke me, drained the energy out of me, took away all my warmth. What do I have now, when I have nothing? When I don’t have you…

Perhaps, caring too much is my problem. Caring about things that aren’t mine… and will never be.

Just be an icicle. Exchange smiles. But stay indifferent. Like they all do. Hate everything and everyone around you, so that it’ll be easier to just leave. Is that the solution?

Perhaps, I shouldn’t have treated you like a friend. Perhaps, you shouldn’t have acted like my friend.

Tell me now, why shouldn’t I crawl back in the shell, not showing any signs of interest anymore.

I wish I could say I don’t care. I wish I could say I don’t… But I still want to be… I want you to be around.

But the only thing around me right now is the emptiness and the memory of your face leaning against mine.

The open wound in my stomach, dripping with rust on the fluffy surface of the conversations that never took place.

Remember, nothing is for free in this world.

22 Diaries. Story six

~ W. Donovan ~ 1 Comment

What people in your life really mean to you?

your family, your friends, your colleagues

Do you even have any friends?

Friends who never let go and never let you feel the cold. Friends whom you feel safe with. Friends whom you feel free with.

content isn’t enough

They talk to you through the clouds, not through the metal that makes them blind.

I cannot recall.

But I exactly remember the day everything ended. I remember how it made me feel.

How can I say a word now? When all you want me to be is a silent machine of your imagination.

You told me once to always say how I’m feeling. My truths are blunt, though.

Sorry should I feel…
or say.

However, I’m not the one whose words float in the air.

Careless. Like the soul that never found its home.

Understanding. It’s what you expect, giving a shake of your hand in exchange.

and that’s all

Everything we’ve had. Everything we’ve built. There’s no room for it anymore. Even on the dusty shelf of the forgotten.

Shall I stay put, even though the words were never said. But the leaves that fell from the trees cannot grow back on them.

Being still in your arms, I should feel love, happiness and safety. But all I feel is nothing.

Splinters of the shallow and mute guard that are still stuck in my skin.

They will remain only splinters.

and that’s all

© W. Donovan

22 Diaries. Story five

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What is a home? Where is your home?

You meticulously build your life around things and people that you know well, hoping they will never going to change. Since there was too many unwanted changes in your life. Since you’ve come out from nowhere, you plan to head somewhere. To a place that actually matters.

Eventually, you feel like you belong somewhere, like you’re in the right place. Wanted and appreciated, you know you’re going to be safe. You cosy up with the comfort in your mind, the comfort that they created.

Little do you know whom you surround yourself with. Cold-hearted people with warm smiles and welcoming arms, pretending to be your friends. Always saying the words that you want to hear, but not doing a thing.

Suddenly, you find yourself grasping for a breath when a huge spider jumps on your face and you don’t have a chance to defend yourself. All the arguments that they listen to only selectively. Again, nothing matters anymore.

Abandoned. Always unwanted. Desperately trying to belong somewhere, you blindly meander around the wrong people who know how to use you. Who suck the energy out of you and then throw you in the landfill.

Where once the home was, now there’s a hole stuffed with shredded photos that you used to take. And you realize that the only human you can rely on is yourself. And the things that you can safely surround yourself with are some old furniture and a rabbit.

© W. Donovan

22 Diaries. Story four

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and you showed me
and you told me
Born in sunshine
where everything is bright and warm.
Not born in darkness
left on its own in cold.
where I don’t belong
where I should head next
Perhaps the only thing I should want
is not to want anything.
the unreal views
mixed with dreams
like a herbal tea
mixed with poison
where does it take me
to another dimension
where I cannot remember anything
where I have to start all over
Rarely crossing paths with the light
I always shut my eyes.
Perhaps I’m wrong
and everyone around me is right.
not to grow any further
that’s what you’re telling me
just be
right here
right now
to cherish every moment
however dull
however boring
however depressing
You ungrateful bitch.
just stuck in limbo
drafting lines
the ideas in my head
should have been
just ideas in my head
Stick to the rules
follow the followers.

© W. Donovan