Saturday, August 26

I wish for you, a sandpiper;

A little more joy, a little less sorrow.

A little more hope, a little less pain.

A little more love, a little less indifference.

I wish for you, all that soars in the sky,

And glides where forever melts into a line.

I wish for you, the radiance of the dawn

And the steady grandeur of red dusk.

I wish for you, rainbow dust after the rain

And leprechaun gold at the foot of the curve.

I wish for you, gurgling laughter in your arms

And tiny hands catching at your hair.

I wish for you, a sandpiper.

yours truly
11:47 AM
5 comments

xoxo

Thursday, June 8
She sits, shivering slightly in the synthetic cold. The trembling is almost uncontrollable, but she seeks it, drinking eagerly from a chilled white mug with green umbrella trees on it. The foggy rain falls unheeded, locked out by double-glazed windows and steel grilles. She hates humidity.

She's sprayed flower fragrances liberally all over the room in an attempt to mask the smell of the mug's contents, but still she worries that someone might open the drawer and find her secret stash. There is a cold heat growing like a grape vine within her belly, and a pounding migraine at her temples. She wishes she could transfer her thoughts, anxieties and hopes like an electric current, flowing seamlessly from one mind to another. Or ought it be one soul to another? She is unsure, she is already succumbing to its sweet doubts. Words are clumsy, wooden and stiff, bounded by definitions that attempt to capture ideas within their nets, but let the tiny unspoken guppies of dreams through. She wishes she could paint, but crayons break in her hand. Music frustrates her; she cannot attain the perfection of expression that betrays vulnerability. Words, words. She's sworn off them, and lies instead, drawing pictures on her skin with red ink and sipping unidentified liquids. She smiles, a cheery, seemingly unguarded and delighted smile, and laughs hard enough to fall off her chair, but the red pictures go on dancing over her legs. Another bottle, another pouring of apple-juice fluids splashing gleefully over ice.

She wishes, afterall.

yours truly
12:10 PM
0 comments

xoxo

Sunday, February 5

would you like me better if i were a simpler girl?

if i were as empty as an m&m shell;
sugary-sweet and melt-in-your-mouth-easy

would you love me any better

if i thought less, argued less, accepted more;

if i cared less about God and morals and
rightandwrong and blackandwhite
(and only about my looks and hair and figure and
clothes and shoes and bags and
all other things that they care about)?

if i confused you less

and demanded less of your time and energy -
demanded less, period?

would it be easier to care about me,
if i were someone easier, someone
sweet and simple and
as empty as an m&m shell?

yours truly
9:07 PM
2 comments

xoxo

Thursday, January 26

you feed on their emotions,
letting them diffuse like dreams
into your sieved void.

their small joys buoy you up, eagerly
contented, as you struggle
with that life jacket.

they're the flame on your birthday candle,
you burn when they crash.

you cut yourself with their pain -
theirs' seem more
real, more legitimate, more
painful. somehow.

yours are like glass.

you take on their emotions,
because your own are too
volatile, too intense, too
frightening -

and they scare you.

yours truly
10:19 PM
1 comments

xoxo

Wednesday, January 11

why do you whisper? when
no one hears
the hiss of your breath
escaping from deep inside
your swollen throat.

your tamed fire blazes behind
averted eyes. there is no one
to read your agony and unleash it.

you have forgotten how to speak
and your silence no longer disturbs you.

yours truly
8:56 PM
0 comments

xoxo

Tuesday, December 27



yours truly
10:00 PM
2 comments

xoxo

Thursday, December 8
(i)

She was seventeen when it happened; too young to know the promise of a clasp, yet too old for make-believe. She was seventeen, a rose just beginning to bloom, and I was the thorn on her stem.

I think back now to how she'd been even before they'd met, and realise that such an end was, after all, inevitable. Hers was an uncontrollable surge of emotion weaned on feel-good fairytales and fantasy novels, and slow ballads that she danced to when she thought no one was looking. She'd also kissed every frog within the mile-radius, like the foolish child she was, but to no avail.

That is, until she looked up one bright June morning, and realised with a start, exactly how clear and bright eyes could be. Like a pair of exquisitely cut black diamonds, she said, that spoke eloquent volumes in a glance, while hinting at greater, hidden, secrets. Isn't it ironic how at seventeen, it's possible to see everything and yet comprehend nothing?

I remember standing just out of their range of vision, watching him watch her. Would it be too late now to say that he fit into her, a key to a lock? The trouble with identical twins is that sometimes the locks to their souls are identical too. And sometimes, just sometimes, there is only one key with the exact configuration to bind the two souls - leaving the third one out in the cold.

yours truly
7:54 PM
0 comments

xoxo

it's over;
May 2005
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