Resignation

March 4, 2006

I am nobody’s weasel
Amelie

 

I am a nobody.

My days are loitered in aimless pursuit of something unknown. My purpose is undefined, constrained only by what is impossible and not by what is reasonable. I don’t think someone understands this.

I live my day wanting so hard not to end it without some sort of cataclysmic occurrence. If I can only stop another sunset just to give me time to figure this all out. I reckon and continue on reckoning. Is there anything at the end of this entire chase? Like some sort of oasis on an arid desert?

I am semi-hopeless, hopping on risky fences of illusion and disillusion, between enlightenment and darkness. It is sad somebody leaves me hanging like a loose thread on a poorly sewn shirt. I don’t think I am capable of holding myself against the fitful behavior of somebody. I want to regain equilibrium.

I am a nobody I said. I am not being lowly, but it is a sick fact about me.

I am the bigger disappointment over somebody’s disappointment. I am not appropriate for somebody because I am a mess in my own right. What I need is a total fix. I am screwed.

I am mistake incarnate. I flop, always. I say the wrong words. I stir bad emotions. I misunderstand and misinterpret the most honest lines. I listen to the wrong mouth. I shut myself away from genuine intentions. I wallow on mundane things. I think too much of my self. I hate myself for all of these.

I want to go back to orange-chrome days, when purpose burns fast like cigarette. I want to define myself according to my terms and not of somebody else. I want to be heard like I always was. I want to speak less but be heard more. I want to end all these uselessness that has cradled me like a long lost friend.

I am writing now my letter of resignation to indifference, to broken promises and false hopes. I am giving away myself to the recesses of my core, to what makes me real. I am foregoing of the things which bother me or make me feel sick.

I am a good person. If God loves me, He should surround me with people who I like and who likes me in return. Maybe it is time for self-redemption. It is time for stopping my general hatred to the world.
But it is time now to spell things with joy, of returning to what I love most no matter diminutive. It is time to go back to things that matter, to gather my senses and realize how much I have truly wasted or not done.

Maybe my purpose and somebody’s purpose on me is strange. How can I talk when I don’t even know what to say or define what I have to say?