Misunderstood.

I’m so understanding. Maybe too understanding.
To the point where I misunderstand myself.
Misunderstood.
I’ve hurt myself by telling myself it’s not them. It’s me.
But maybe it’s not me.
But when history continues to repeat itself,
How can I think otherwise?
No hurt feelings. No love lost. None gained either.
Just misunderstandings.
The ones that force an open mind to close.
Because these misunderstandings only lead to insurmountable confusion.
Confusion that causes me to shut out any possibilities of getting close.
Because closeness leads to pain. Irreparable pain.
No hurt feelings. No love lost. None gained either.
I’m so understanding. Maybe too understanding.
I’d rather be misunderstood.

-Angela Ayam

To Sum It Up...

My Plea.

This feeling...that feeling you get when you first meet that special someone. “Butterflies”…whatever that jittery feeling is. You don’t mind it, because it’s accompanied by that euphoric sensation and in some cases, a sense of security. When you feel that feeling when you’re with that person, you know you’re safe.
You enjoy that person’s company, the conversations you share, the text messages that make you laugh, make you miss them, or make your cheeks turn red. Using every inch of technology for all it’s worth: you’ve got all the numbers, email addresses, Facebook, Twitter AND Skype; anything to talk to them. In a weird way, they’ve become part of your schedule. When you don’t hear from them, the day seems slightly off.
But what happens when all this comes to a screeching halt?
And what happens when that person’s actions begin to piss you off to no avail? But you still get that feeling when you’re thinking about them. Phone calls, text messages, and even tweets serve as reminders of the weak spot you still possess. In cases such as this, the situation becomes all bad, seemingly unfair, and somewhat confusing.
I don’t know if anyone else is feeling/ has felt the way I do, but I can’t help but wonder what I did wrong. I mean, his end stopped without explanation as my feelings remained the same. How do I contain it? Why the hell did it happen in the first place?
Since this “connection we have cannot be explained,” does that mean we’ll leave it at that? Or am I to search for answers myself? In limbo…
After a Twitter conversation with my good friend Jalisa and using “missing pieces” as a metaphor for this strained friendship, it started making a little more sense. As she said:
“Pieces aren't missing...sometimes there are just too many or you have them turned the wrong way.”
With this conclusion, I’d like to stress the fact that I’m not mad at him, nor bitter about whatever went wrong in this friendship. Hurt, yes. Don’t know what factor flipped our pieces, but they’re definitely not fitting the way they used to. Wrecked puzzle.
It’s not even about making that next move, taking that next step. I’m over that, and I gave up on the idea of a relationship long ago. I didn’t think I asked for much, but maybe broken communication and possible misunderstandings on my part are what led to the wool being pulled over my eyes. I’m still unsure.
It would have been nice for things to work out, but everything happens for a reason. I know what I want though, and that is to go back to that brief Twitter conversation that started it all last October. I want that feeling I had after meeting for the first time in November. Even if getting a text every now and then or a brief Skype conversation means letting go of how I feel no matter how hard that may be. I’m willing to make that trade because, truthfully, I just want my friend back.
-Angela Ayam

Prisoner.

Old poem, written around Nov. 2008. Don't remember exactly what I was going through at this time but umm...definitely had something on my soul.


I am a prisoner…
Trapped in my own skin, not satisfied with what I have because it’s not enough for you
Why should I try so hard to please you when I only get less than half of what I invest?
But yet I alter myself, happy with the fact that I damage my image to make you look good.
I am a prisoner…
Who walks around like the world around me is all peaches and cream knowing it’s hell.
Allowing myself to be belittled to take away your insecurity but deep down inside it’s all I know as love.
Sad ain’t it?
To put myself in the position to be stepped on, not worthy of the praise that I deserve because of you…
Hell yes, I am a prisoner
Because I can’t see my beauty because of bitterness
Because I cry when I see myself in the mirror
Because you’ve led me to believe I’d never be wanted
Enslaved in what’s supposed to bring the best joy, being with my soul mate…
Yet…
I’ve allowed myself to become this prisoner, tortured mentally by my own thoughts and verbally by your words
Dying slowly from lethally injecting myself with negativity
No longer in control of my own destiny, but letting you take the wheel and steer me down the path of destruction
So I stay
Because it’s love
Your “girl”
Your slave
Your prisoner

-Angela Ayam