Just A Small Rant

via Daily Prompt: Instinct

I don’t share my grief with people.

Call it instinct. Or call it pride.

Show of sympathy by others when I’m grieving is just that – a show. “I understand what you’ve been through…” No, you don’t. You are just trying to make me feel better, which I appreciate, but the words you speak are as genuine as Donald Trump’s tan.

When I’m grieving, leave me to myself. If you want to help, make a cup of tea.

Don’t give me the “There is a life after death”, “It was meant to be” bullshit. Please.

I may not be an adult, but that doesn’t mean you need to dumb down serious things like death for me. If it hurts, it hurts. No two ways about it.

I like my tablets like I like my words – without sugarcoating.

 

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How To Deal With Disappointment

  1. Shrug your shoulders.
  2. Smile.
  3. Say that you were wrong for expecting too much, and that you realize it.
  4. Say that it is not such a big deal.
  5. Go to the bathroom/bedroom, whichever is nearest.
  6. Cry your heart out. SILENTLY.
  7. Wash your face, and think of something really funny that is bound to make you smile.

 

 

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8. Come outside, and smile again as if nothing happened. If unconscious tears seep out, you are having dust/pollen allergy.

9. Drink a hot beverage to calm your nerves. I’d recommend tea.

10. Never expect anything again. Atleast try not to.

Talk To Me

Talk to me.

Tell me why you left me.

Flash that grin once again at me

It will last me for an eternity.

Talk to me.

Tell me why you left me.

A whisper in that husky voice

Will silence all my heart’s noise.

Talk to me.

Tell me why you left me.

I’m ready to wait for an infinity

To see that familiar wink at me.

Talk to me.

Tell me why you left me.

I miss your ringing laughter,

But I’ll love you forever after.

Oh, talk to me, please!

For Poetry 101 Rehab.

Reflections

Shaky, unclear, hazy

Memories of what I’ve been.

A little stupid, a little crazy,

The things that I’ve heard and seen.

A small ripple will set them off

Like a bottled up volcano.

But the pain can’t be even reduced by half,

Of the things that I’ve been before.

So as I look at my reflection,

Smiling sadly with her sorrowful eyes,

That girl inside me decides tor run,

Looking for some respite.

Unsure, but confident

That truthfully telling lies,

Will somehow make me not repent

Fleeing from this world of cowardice.

For Poetry 101 Rehab: Reflections