#unspoken
“You say I’m not your type and that you’re into her. But when put in a situation that I’m standing next to her, your eyes don’t seem to acknowledge her as much as she wish they would. Your eyes instead land of the presence of me. How oblivious of you to think that I could not see you stare at me from the corner of my eyes. It has been months and I don’t look at you like the way I used to and we don’t talk anymore, yet you still continue to stare at me whether you’re sitting behind me, diagonal from me, or right in front of me. So tell me, am I really not your type? And does she really have your heart?”
— the words I’m dying to tell you
I miss you.
Are unspoken words I want you to hear. I hope you realize how much it aches my heart to see you and not tell you. I miss you. I will always do.
Her mind was hardly ever silent.
Mae, inner chaos
The heart recognize what the eyes fail to see.
Mae, recognition
Imagine writing the most depressing poem written with the most beautiful handwriting, but no one is really focused on the meaning of it. Everyone is more focused on how the handwriting is so perfect.
Sometimes we tend lose ourselves, concentrating on the irrelevance of something more meaningful.
letters words subject and predicate
all a vitality to a sentence
phrases sentences paragraphs
all spring from thoughts, courageous enough to be turned into something more
languages and conversations, monologues
links and soldiers of communication,
keys to expression
they provide meaning to an otherwise uncharted topic
it’s only fascinating how each word is important, how each symbol guides the direction of the story to its resolution and these served as a flourish,
distributing the ink to the paper
if i said something else as a reply to your lame hiother than my lame hello
things could’ve taken a different spin instead of this wacked up russian roulette
if i replied with a knock knock joke that you woudlve laughed at out of its corniness to your puns you’ve thought of at the last minute as those three dots flicker as i type
-i wonder which lane we’d end up in or if we’d have taken a detour,
on which road, i wouldn’t have cared
if i typed out my real fear instead of saying how much i hate the dark (even though it’s overrated) when you asked,
maybe you would’ve stayed longer
if i have been straightforward when we got soft serve that day,
really how hard could it have been?
i should’ve replaced the smirk i used to cover the loss of words with i like you
when you started flirting with me
i should’ve whispered in your ear how much i wanted to kiss you at that moment
see, even the unsaid have the force, the ability to control
i could’ve asked as this dragged along, whatever this was,
what are we? are we on the same page?
clearly im lost but instead i went along,
with your tales and dreamy prose and realistic fables
no, we didnt need a label to be grounded
unlost, baby i just needed to be on the same ground as you
i didn’t need to be unbound from the boundaries
so we kept on spinning a web of words
filling up pages
everything that happened, dragged along our story
it seemed as if i was your papergirl
and all along you held no strings, just matches,
that kindled my paper heart
-caela m.
roll the dice,
take one step forward
looking through a fishbowl as you look into my eyes
iceskating on slippery sleet smiles
violin strings strung on fingertips touching
let’s play a game
roll the dice
take two steps forward
euphoria sizzling high as the rooftop
twirling around above city lights underneath
smoke filled lungs, warmth in each other arms
blue and red chrome lights lace up the hazy atmosphere
roll the dice
climb up a few
intoxicatingly the closest we’ve ever been
my insides hum a lullaby, my gut screams for more
until we’re intertwined from limb to limb, physical interaction ending nowhere
butterfly wings fluttering on skin through each kiss
your crooked teeth reminding me of a zigzag road on a road trip
earth and dusk collides
as we again let the dice roll
for there’s not a win nor a loss
let’s do a rematch
roll the dice
never ending exchanges of profound colloquia
revealing obscure enigmas safely kept within
that makes the jigsaw pieces of our persons unpuzzled
and it turns into a cycle of all the craters we’ve managed to explode into
falling and tumbling down, skipping rocks, your hand in mine,
scattering pinpricks lined on my spine
roll the dice
it goes on, farther
the snowball gets bigger, bigger
the strings are all tangled
i wonder, if i undo all the knots,
would you still be there? would it be the same?
roll the dice
i get my answer almost as quickly
as a car stuck in traffic
a clock without batteries
a land cursed with drought;
all this time we were stuck in this twisted play
and to go on to the next level meant we have to be together
to fight on the invisible force pulling us apart
and im all out of lives,
can’t restart the game
this can’t be dealt with by only one player
unretractable, numerous crashes, unrestartable;
game over
i lose, you win
she’s shining as you hold her, your trophy
guess i got too caught up in all that holographic glamour,
the joke’s on me all along
unrequited’s overrated
now the only thing’s left to do is accept defeat, no truce
game over
-caela m.
remember that time when you were just a child and everything around you were gigantic, monstrous masterpieces? the main significance was the night sky; it was your first love and not the boy who happened to be your next door neighbor when you were eight. it’s just everytime you looked at it, it gave to a sense of wisdom. you knew the world and the secrets it behold, protected by the stars. yo didn’t have the need to unravel them. and of course, you can’t forget the moon who you sang songs with all those times. for once in your life, you were content with the art of being. magic surrounded you as you stood there, six feet underneath a world unknown. if you reached out one hand with your tiny quirky fingers, you swear you could’ve flown, you could’ve made gravity drop to zero. and just like that, levitate and be one with the stars, closely bask in the moonlight. you could’ve been to neverland, just the second star to the right. you could’ve landed yourself into a kingdom of galactic wonder, strung up constellations based on all the cool stories you’ve made up in your head; everything could’ve fallen into place.
but you pulled your small fingers back, clutched them into a fist and looked up again in awe. not today you whisper
it was a dream child you had. a promise kept-that one day you’d lift your hand and let the sky take you, guard their secrets, journey to another world.
come years pass, and you look up at the same sky you fell in love with as a kid with a totally different perception.
the magic’s all gone and everything’s just as it seems.
so you tilt your head up at the striking, mocking entity six feet above
deep breaths. then you extend a hand outwards
you’re ready to go somewhere else, where you belonged once; where you are from
you’re ready to fly and bear no weight at all, leave these baggage from all the cosmic showers that occurred through time.
you’re ready to infinitely witness the wonder and be a part of it
you open your eyes and you’re still standing on the ground;nothing
you reach out farth e r f a r t h e r
then you realize it’s a lost cause
here’s a promise you thought you could keep
it was just a one time offer and now your luck has ran out
you could be with the stars;
but you don’t have a spacesuit
or a rocket to blast you off
or a pair of wings
not even the mere ability to float into thin air
you could’ve had it all
if you took two steps forward
exerting all the force you’ve got in your entirety
you would’ve reached the stars,
snagged one
-or so you thought
because there’s this invisible force that drags you back everytime you do
all you can do is watch it all from a distance
somewhere up there formed by constellations
you lie under the moon
under the rain soaked grass
with a head full of dreams
dreams trapped in jars tightly sealed because if dared open, they’d shatter around you
showered in shooting stars
-caela m.
there are these girls
with flowing golden hair radiating against their vibrant auras on a sunset along the shore
and those girls,
with icicles in their stares who spoke sentences that leave you with a frostbite
there are summer girls and winter girls;
and she’s more of a summer girl;
i can see why you fell for her- the sun- and all the forest fires she’s started in the crevices of your paperheart, torches lighting up every time you hold her hand
of course who can forget the orange glow the world around gets every time her lips are against yours?
she’s the epitome of a perfect sky capturing all the gleam you’ve ever and never thought of
then comes the winter girl
a hundred and one warnings about her have been told
number one: she’s crystalline and soon you’ll be nothing but jagged cracks
number two:she’s not as pure as snow is
number three: you do not want to turn into a hypothermic misanthropy so run run run run run run run run run run run run run run run run run run run run run run run
yet somehow underneath the layers of her icy composure lie delicate snowflake structures. you get a glimpse of what’s underneath the tip of the iceberg
and she proved the warnings wrong one at a time
it’s like you’re iceskating for the first time, tripping, but she’s there to catch you just in time. she’ll remind you of the giddiness of the snowball fights you had with your childhood friends all those decembers ago. being with her is as right as a warm cup of chocolate on the first snowfall
and you dwell in her chilling comfort once the sun vanishes, taking away your summer girl
but in the end,
you still choose to end up with your summer girl and the bronze sparkling moments
leaving the wintergirl caught up in her blizzards in reckless abandon , existence crumbling
and i understand why
for who would choose having no permanent residence over a fully furnished home?
but then i should have told you from the start,the secret:
you shan’t choose between those girls
or even turn them into something but just a plain casualty
because summer girls’ flames will engulf your whole being until you’re robbed of the capacity to blow out the candles
you’ll strike all the matches you can find just so the love will never turn lukewarm
and you’ll thaw the winter girl’s frozen soul even if it numbs you to the core
these girls, they’re powerful gypsies,
personifications of destructive illustrious love
-caela m.
You are a pyre I do not wish to visit.
This metal in me does not want to be refashioned.
I, unlike others, do not dream of days spent in your hands.
This is not a metaphor.
There is an unspoken name for this disdain,
the idea of being held, thrust into flame,
intentions placed in betterment.
“Do you not seek refinement?
To be lean, smoothed?
A sense of purpose can make any stronger, valued.”
What if I want my own weight?
What if this strength,
raw, gnarled,
is praise?
There is something to be said for our ignorance on steel’s raw form.
That we often think of it only in the means man has manufactured, deemed useful, appealing.
That it is not even named steel.
It’s resolve, ironically, foreign to our tongues.
I often find myself in the midst of this nameless,
noting its absence in your thoughts,
biding time before capture.
In honour of the publication of Sarah Rees Brennan’s new book, Unmade, I wanted to do a trilogy of blogs about the Lynburn Legacy series! I just picked up my copy of Unmadeat Waterstones today, and I am rereading from the beginning. The first book, Unspoken, is a really fantastic modern gothic take on the idea of soulmates, Byronic heroes, and female friendship.
Kami, our protagonist, has been close friends with Angela for years. They don’t have any male friends because Angela doesn’t like having guys around, and doesn’t like the way that they treat her: as attractive and desirable before anything else. This seems to have spread over to girls that guys fawn over too, like Holly: Holly rides a motorbike, she has big boobs, she’s pretty and she knows it. All the guys want her, and all her friends are guys: she has become untouchable and resented by her female peers and pushed out of their circles. Kami has to learn the hard lesson that she should never look down on another girl because of her desirability or availability, and as soon as she makes an overture of friendship towards Holly she is met with open arms and enthusiasm. Holly, like Angela, is desperate for a friendship in which she is comfortable and free from the messy trappings of desire.
Holly makes an interesting foil for Jared: they are both sexy and flirtatious, but while Holly lives out the stereotype of the so-called ‘bad girl’ Jared appears to be a typical bad boy but has never kissed anyone and is uncomfortable with even touching Kami. Jared is the one who calls out Kami for her treatment of Holly and her dismissiveness, and who makes the effort to understand Holly and realises that Holly craves female friendship, and finds a way to give it to her.
Jared and Kami have been mental companions for so long that the mere physical presence of each other discomforts them, and they lose their easy and honest connection. Jared is mired in the expectation that men and women can’t be friends, and instantly demands that Kami go out with him. In his eyes, dating is the only way that they can be close and spend time together. Kami is unimpressed, especially when upon declaring his sexual interest she tests him by unbuttoning her blouse and he begs her to do it back up: he is terrified of even touching her and doesn’t desire her in the slightest. He tries to stake a claim and she refuses, seeing how uncomfortable he is and forcing him to meet her terms for their relationship and also to examine and embrace his own comfort levels. Kami always stays in control of their bond and understands his inexperience and assumptions, and tries to guide him to what is right for them both. She acknowledges that he is attractive, but also that he can’t cope with or can’t even consent to a romantic relationship with her, and dates other people while attempting to build a real friendship with him. They are too far inside each other’s heads to be normal, but they always try to understand and defend each other, and offer advice.
Angela is an interesting spanner in the works to Holly’s newfound female friendships. When she kisses Holly, Holly is upset and horrified: not because Angela is a lesbian, but because Angela betrayed her trust by treating her like the boys did and being dishonest about her own intentions. She believes that Angela only pretended to be her friend because she desired her, and that Kami only pretended to like her to help lure her in. I think that Angela is guilty of this to some extent, but she also cared about and did her best to help and welcome Holly while struggling with her own feelings. Angela has never kissed anyone and never expressed desire for anyone before; she has also never tried to make any friends other than Kami, and deliberately isolated herself. She is strong and fierce, and can do her best to bash in a grown-man’s head with a chain, but she is so complicated and unsure in some ways. I can’t wait to see how she grows.
I really enjoyed this book because it really is about the importance of honest friendship and consent; obviously there are also magic, murders and sorcerers, but human relationships are the centre of novel that the plot orbits around, and Unspoken is a stronger novel for it.
