Two Fruits

I wrote this poem about two weeks ago.

TWO FRUITS:

There were two fruits, both so different from the other
For one was bitter and one was sweet,
And I desired the bitter one
Though the other was more within reach.
I considered, momentarily, the factors and possibilities:
That I would enjoy the sweet one more,
And I could reach it too if I tried,
Yet it was the bitter one I adored.
And then, while still pining for the bitter fruit,
Trying and hoping to reach it one day,
The sweeter one was taken by another
And my feelings then I could not say.
Later I found out the sweeter fruit
Had already been claimed when I saw it
For the tree stood in another’s yard
And into the delicacy she bit.
And feeling miserable I returned
To craving the unattainable bitter fruit.
And feeling hopelessly hopeful I returned
Heart craving only the bitter fruit.

The entire poem is an analogy. What the bitter and sweet fruits are analogous to varies from person to person. What I know for now is that, to me, the bitter fruit is taken too. I am, perhaps, not meant to reach it, I guess...

Not that I am depressed or anything. When god closes one door, he opens another, doesn't he? That is what people say. But it is difficult to find the open door, mostly because we are still banging on the closed one, hoping for it to open. Is this destiny? Or is this a waste of time? Is this a trial set by the gods and the universe, testing my patience and perseverance? Or is this just me overthinking it? The fun thing about life is finding out the answers to these questions. Perhaps we may not find the answer now, but years later we shall all look back and either go "yes, it was fate, it was destiny, and it was not meant to be" or "that was a test, and I passed, and it was meant to be and I survived" or even "it was a trial, and I failed, wasted my time and energy, invested myself in vain".

Recently (a few days ago, actually) I wrote this little poem when I was feeling particularly angry, sad and horrible. Oh, it felt like agony! I was talking to my friend about it, and on the spot typed this out:

FML wish I could die!
God, really, is this my life?
Tired of being broken up,
Tired of wanting to throw up.
Sick of all the shit going on,
Wish I could join the stars above.
Hate my life, and hate myself.
I’m alive, but far past the gates of hell.

 I won't disclose the reason for this poem. I am sharing it because of the last line: I'm alive, but far past the gates of hell. I don't know how many of you identify with it, but to me the second I wrote those words I thought "this line preaches the truth!" because life really IS hell these days. As I sang in my latest YouTube video, The Fantasy Life, "Is this life, what they call a fantasy? It's been a nightmare right from the start!" Where are the gods, I wonder. What harsh, stinging reality is this?! It would hurt less to be doused in acid. For physical wounds, at least, there are medicines to cure. But for the agony we feel when we are sad? What about the wounds that nobody can see, that only we can feel? No anesthesia can numb the pain of a broken heart.

I wrote that poem just a few days ago. A door had slammed shut in my face (although, to be honest, I think it was already closed to begin with) and I was feeling like I had fallen into the clutches of despair (but I'm a drama queen so I'm obviously exaggerating that bit). But I feel like things are finally turning around. I'm becoming ME again. Don't ask how, because I myself don't know how to describe it. I feel happier and peaceful and I feel AMAZING! A door may have closed, but I realized that the closing of that door marked the end of months and months of angst.

So if a door closes for you... chill. Because something better could be on the way. Sometimes you might want to keep an eye on that door, but don't obsess. When a door closes, it marks a change in the direction of your life, even a U-turn!

That's all I wanted to say.