Well, my hatred for melodrama, overreacting, and emotional instability is a solid and very firmly established principle. Or so I tell myself. As much as I hate to admit that I fall into some sort of stereotype, it is really freaking hard to not be categorized as “woman who sometimes lets emotions get the best of her”–its inevitable, I suppose. Which is a ridiculously inexcusable paradoxical statement. I can help it, but really I can’t from time-to-time. Hormones are useless to me.
I was thinking about pretentiousness today. I was thinking about how much I hate people who possess this quality. I was also thinking about how pretentious I am for hating people who are pretentious. Then goes the vicious circle.
I always associate pretension with a quality someone who is really sure about themselves possesses but is, in fact, clueless, condescending, contradictory, and close-minded (and yes, I DID work hard on that intentional alliteration).
I don’t even really know the point I’m trying to get across other than: I want to be introspective but not emo and I want to be cautious but not judgmental. I’m finding a hard time accepting a balance between being expressive and being that annoying girl at summer camp who won’t shut up about every minuscule detail of her life. Also, I’m having a hard time figuring out when or if I can or should judge people.
Really, this was all an excuse to put up a poem I wrote. I hate that sentence, in and of itself it sounds pretentious. Oh, I write poetry, blah, blah, blah. Actually, this is the only poem I’ve ever written and I really like it so that equals 100% success rate and I’m not sure if it really has any meaning anymore to me but I just like it. That’s all.
Also, I used various forms of the word pretentious way too many times for one post.
I Wait
Calm, serene, patient, somber, naïve,
I wait.
Quietly contemplating my next move to be made on timely beat,
Dancing the perfect pirouettes in tune with the rhythm, I seek,
Only to impress your glancing eye.
Only to be fed a temporary means, a sedating lie.
With innocent eyes, glassy, wide and raised to your line,
I crave with childish fervor to be the singular thought on your mind.
Restless, worried, intent, anxious, stirred,
I wait.
With determined vigor I plan and plot your affection,
To make sure the priorities from you all point in my direction.
Tapping my toes at an unnerving exponential rate,
Wringing my fingers with thoughts diverted to avoid the hate,
Of what you did, what you are doing, the ignorance to come;
Thoughts overtake my heart, my common sense, and with your bribes, I am done.
Withdrawn, anguished, careless, angry, exhausted,
I wait.
No more exhortation left in airless lungs.
Void of sensation, salivation no longer haunts my tongue.
Daring steps towards distraction become my focal purpose.
Brave façade and shielded heart, I rise up effortless.
The line you draw which I cannot surpass,
No more wasted attention will I let pass.
Naïve I may still be,
For I wait.
Intent clear to see,
For I wait.
Anger will not flee,
For I wait.
And so I will always beg with inaudible plea,
I will always wait.