justruby Poetry (4)

I wish I had my rose-coloured glasses,
so I could see the colours of your optimism.
You say we can be stronger than our painful wounds.
Maybe it's true.
Maybe I could play the same role again too.

I could love and get myself hurt,
all over again,
and survive through each rejection,
getting by after mind games
from every conniving player,
standing tall after the most familiar...
...sense of abandonment.

Yes, I can.
In fact, I've done that often.
I have no doubts over my own perseverance.
Remember, I've been so good at being alone.

For too long,
I've stopped with all the expectations.
I'm a lone warrior.
I've treated my own wounds,
by making myself feel numb.

I know I've been strong enough,
but what if I've grown tired?
What if I'm fed up with playing the same damn role?

R.

The dawn isn't close enough,
yet I am jolted awake
from a dream that felt
like a time machine,
throwing me back to the past, so mean.

Who has resurrected
this silly girl I once was?
I thought I'd left her buried,
dead and forgotten in the past.
Now her restless spirit has returned,
trying to take over
this same old body, heart, and soul,
if possible, swallowing me whole.

The current me is struggling
to keeps what's been mine all along.
Still, she is so damn stubborn,
demanding that she too stay in the present.
I wouldn't be having this breakdown
if she weren't carrying you in her mind.

This is not the time
to let her stick around.
Perhaps I must exorcise her again,
before she starts giving me a lot more
than this nonsensical, 3 a.m. breakdown…

R.

They all say the same cliché:
“It's better to have loved than none at all.”
Our story had been short and not worth it,
yet I've been cursed with this ability;
this giant elephant memory.

Let's be selective?
Some advice to give.
It's been two years since you said you wanted to be
with no one else but me
until I realized I wasn't the only.
Oh, I had never been.

The story didn't just end there;
like some typical, cheesy rom-com plots
before the leading lady finally deserved
the prince charming she'd eventually get.
In this department, my storyline's been bleak,
‘though I still refuse to let myself get weak.

You were the monster with a handsome mask.
That must've been an exhausting task.
I was glad the truth was finally out,
as you ran off, ghosted me like a coward.

It's been a year since I heard my own version of happy-ending:
You're finally in prison.
Yay!
I felt so sorry about your youngest victims
who had probably known no concept of ‘consent'
when you chose to force her, leaving permanent scars.

I was off the hook;
probably the smallest casualty in your betrayal and wickedness,
but I guess I'm still dealing with my own hurt,
because the idea of starting over…
…is still as scary as the possibility…
…of facing another monster…

Our short, fabricated love story has never been worth remembering,
but I still can't erase it – so it's been permanently written,
a vivid reminder of my past failure
and why I glare at romance with cynicism…

R.
(Jakarta, October 1, 2020)

This is why Time Machine is only fiction

You can only look back
to search for what you've lacked:

Words you should've said…
Love you should've shared…
The lost moments…
No second chances…

Only memories return
with regrets that burn
Sometimes they can all come again
only to relive all the days when…

This is why Time Machine is only fiction,
because some people leave you behind
for some new chapters
episodes without your part
while you remain outdated
with old feelings and ideals inside your head…

R.