Tag: writing

22 Diaries. Story five

~ W. Donovan ~ Leave a comment

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

~ W. Donovan ~ Leave a comment

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

22 Diaries. Story three

~ W. Donovan ~ Leave a comment

I’ve lived mostly in my head lately. Don’t ask me where I’ve been. Don’t ask me how far away.

Have we talked? Have I imagined it. I never say what hurts me, but what hurts me the most is the relationship that we’ll never have. Because of me. Because you’re somebody else.

What I long for is the light.

It doesn’t matter how long I’ve been here for and how many creatures I’ve made up. Even one is one too many. How destructive for my sanity to dream of stars that never shine for me.

What I long for is flesh.

I don’t want to say you pushed me there. You probably didn’t. It’s just… the chemicals in my brain have been inconsistent. But I swear I saw it in your eyes, and now I’m trying not to want. Not to expect anything from hands that never touched my body.

I wish I could say it was something because it definitely was something in my head. Except things in my head are always easy, always vivid, always bright. Never real.

You were unreal in my head.

© W. Donovan

22 Diaries. Story one

~ W. Donovan ~ 3 Comments

You wake up one day and you realize that you slept in again. You open your eyes for a minute only to shut them again, while you step onto the spinning wheel.

You wake up one day and you realize that it’s to late to change anything. It’s too late to unknown things that you’ve already discovered, and you want them to become mystery again.

All the lies that you were told about life, they spread inside you like tentacles, ready to grasp. Everyone tells you that life becomes more with time, but you actually learn that everything becomes less.

If you thought that being an adult would make you free, you were wrong. Because you were told what to become, the decision didn’t belong to you. And the person who tells you to keep your eyes shut when you wake up is actually not you.

You can do whatever you want, but the only thing that stops you is the thing that you cannot do. Which is getting up in the morning with your eyes open.

Maybe…

~ W. Donovan ~ 3 Comments

Maybe I’m the one who’s not normal
wrapped in delusions
speaking the language of nightmares.

Maybe we shouldn’t talk
neither listen
just blankly stare at each other.

Maybe I’m the one who’s fake
pretending to enjoy your company
while daydreaming.

Maybe we shouldn’t smile
just write
symbols with our thumbs.

Maybe I’m the one who’s cold
indifferently
looking you in the eye.

Maybe we shouldn’t hug
just draw
marks on our skin.

Maybe…

Glass corridors

~ W. Donovan ~ Leave a comment

‘I don’t like people’ I told you once. But I lied. I lied to you. And I lied to myself.

Being on my own. That’s what I like best. I know you don’t understand it. I don’t expect you to. But I’m not going to explain it to you. I’m sorry.

But being on my own surrounded by people is a completely different thing. I walk the glass hallway everyday. It’s made me deaf and blind. It’s made me invisible. Yes, I know it’s partly my fault.

Sitting on the pavements, they are somewhere. Who are they if not humans? Just a smile and a few words. Is that too much to ask?

You told me that I’m part of the team now. But I don’t feel like part of anything. Just a crack on the wall. Everyone knows it’s there, but everyone ignores it.

I sometimes imagine talking to you. Not about obviousness. About things you probably wouldn’t want to talk about. That’s why this dream can never be fulfilled. And that is what makes me sad.

Sitting in the corner of the room, I can only spin the wheel of fortune. Shall I come out to smell the sweet scent of rosehips. Shall I stay hidden in the endless corridors of my fears.

Always drifting and talking to the figments of my imagination.

everything I am not

I’m living in a Disney movie

~ W. Donovan ~ 2 Comments

Everyone knows the Cinderella movie, right? The story about a girl who was treated unfairly by people she believed had power over her. Wiping furniture, scrubbing floors and cooking meals. That was her destiny that she couldn’t do much about at that time.

Do you think she liked it? I guess, we’ll never know. Maybe she didn’t like it. Maybe she just wanted to run away. Maybe she missed her father. Maybe she wanted not to be. Maybe she felt lonely. Or maybe she was just grateful for everything she had. I guess, we’ll never know.

She was rescued eventually, though. The prince on the white horse appeared magically and salvaged her from the miserable life. He was charming, handsome and so nice to her. He gave her all his attention. He smiled to her like she was the only woman he ever loved. He put her in the centre of his world. Flattering, isn’t it?

She was led on the wings of love. Her life finally changed for better. She was living in a dream, so wonderful, she couldn’t have even imagined.

So, this is it. She moves into the castle and can expect all the beautiful things happen in her life. This is the beginning of her new life. At least, that’s what Disney makes us to believe in, right?

I want to believe that they lived happily ever after. I really do. But life shows differently. Everything ends when the story ends. The castle is cold, it blinds the girl and devours her heart. It’s like a cage where she can only look out the window and watch life happening without her. The prince turns into a heartless stone sucking in every trace of joy from her body. Watching shallow, boring reflection in the mirror every day, the only thing she can have is a lie. Fake smiles, fake conversations, fake love. Is that what she really wanted?

Be careful what you ask for.

Be careful what you wish for.

A pile of dust.

In case you were wondering.

I (don’t) need you

~ W. Donovan ~ Leave a comment

You see… I can’t remember you very well. I can’t remember what it’s like to be around you. But I’m sure it must feel great. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have dreamt of it. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have longed for it. I still believe that you’re the answer. The only answer for all my questions.

When I was younger I thought you were the only thing I lacked. I missed you every day, even though I didn’t know you very well. At all. Actually, I didn’t know you at all. Just a face carved in my memory, just a few smiles, just a few jokes. The pictures that my mother drew on a mouldy wallpaper were too blurry. They were a lie. I’d been always lied to.

While I was growing older, I learnt how to live without you. I learnt how to take care of myself. I became strong and independent. The hole was still in me, though. Raw. A piece of my body deprived of skin that hurts every time I touch it. The hole that cannot be hidden and, at the same time, cannot be exposed. The hole that was given to me by the ones who should love me the most.

My heart longs and cries for something I cannot remember. The taste of the sweet syrup in the morning. The breeze in the sea of laughters. The warmth in the kingdom of dreams. The sense of safety.

Instead, I’ve been walking on pebbles. Knowing they’re slippy and dangerous, I take every step very carefully, very slowly, counting every drop of water that slips through my fingers.

I don’t know how long I have been like this for. I don’t know how long I’m going to stay like this for. Lingering.

I’ve been dreaming of flying

~ W. Donovan ~ 3 Comments

I’m standing here, on the firm ground
reaching out so high
I’ve been dreaming of flying
to the skies
where I can see my thoughts
where I can unite with myself.
Yet, I’m standing here
chained like a horse
running round and round
with my neat shoes on
I step into puddles
wanting them to be mirrors.

Where do I go
with my broken armor
so indifferent
still longing for something
that has never been here.

born in rain
streaming down my face
drawn in a fantasy
creating unreal realms
revealed in sadness
blackening the skies
i cannot hold a single sphere
dig a hole in the ground
to pour my soul in

Born in rain
I can only become water again.