April 25, 2011 § Leave a comment
just as i am stretching to keep a straight trunk, for i have eaten too much ice and sipped too much milk, i am at awe with the perfection of movements. the headset is conspiring with the media player. they must have paused for the past half hour, for all i know, then played the song just as i picked it up – ready to lay down the new square notes i’ve gathered.
and white lights? i don’t think so.
but they don’t listen to my pleas, nor to my requests. ha, what more, right? completion is hard to achieve in this case. i’m getting old, and i haven’t gotten anywhere yet. not even anywhere near anywhere. here i am, stuck in the same place i have been born. like i got out of that womb just to stay in the middle of the two legs. i’ve tried, but i won’t tire yet. i’ve still to keep trying while i plan for the movements to dock them behind those boons. this could be the end of everything.
but what do i know?
there we sat, around the breakfast table. me, casually dropping bombs of some gig i want to partake this coming weekend. ignored, i was. i changed tactics, as if on monologue, i cried faux wails tinged with morose laughter. morbid, if you ask me. but you don’t. i don’t mind. there we sat. me, continuing whatever it is that drove me to a point of voluntary humiliation. barely, that was my family, the audience, nobody else. after ignoring me for the expanse of two quarters of my dessert bowl,
he uttered a denial of my wishes. oh, and have i mentioned her endless protests? those kind of fell on the background. days ago, i tried telling her, and i’ve heard her side, unfortunately. it’s easier to be apart. we might as well be strangers.
have i mentioned this being hard?
for the next couple of minutes, i tried to defend what better judgment lies in my utter hopes. i was almost winning. for i saw
them both ponder upon the empty space consisting of emptied pans and plates. rattling my spoon against my bowl, i slurped and talked. then, i choked. he grabbed that opportunity to growl. behold, completeness! not of anything i might want to be connected with myself, but the completeness of that two-letter curse. NO. the simplicity can kill me faster than that piece of apple stuck on my throat.
i don’t know you, and i don’t want to.
i kept my hair down, gladly. covering half of my face as i forced the remainder of soupy dessert. sloppy, my eyes felt. then the younger
he started blabbering what nonsense he can contribute to my already burdened countenance. i took fast gurgling and swallowing to keep those tears from falling. ‘don’t saway the old people’, the younger he said amidst the instructions falling behind me. the ‘older people’ have left the table. mark this day, i murmured. ‘what?’ mark this day, out loud. i carried my bowl to the sink, stopping by the calendar to confirm the date. 25 APR 2011. i have gained something out of this. humiliation, yes, but only a little. i have gained a new dream. and that dream, i hope, will drown you on your negativity.
water. deep, going deeper. tankfuls of survival. wilderness. colors. stretches of beauty. tight skin. water. taste. bubbles. flip, yeah. FUN.
and i vow to do this before
meet me in the morning when you wake up.
the light touch of the feather falling dream, just right in time to tickle the nose of those desiring to sneeze.
***disclaimer: italicized lines are lyrics from the album Hopes and Fears of Keane. take time to LISTEN to it sometime. no regrets***
i tried to stay awake and remember my name.
April 24, 2011 § 2 Comments
double black borders
stretching from corner to corner
don’t they understand that
the rectangle has edges already?
they – the pen, the marker.
the insultingly straight ruler.
who thrive on the edges
but disdain the outcasts there between.
April 15, 2011 § Leave a comment
i do secret crying over things that have passed me by. you’re one of them. you knocked on my door. and i didn’t hear it. i was busy talking to myself. you went back to the gate and rang the doorbell. and i didn’t hear it. i talk to myself loudly. you sat by my door, thinking what to do next. you blew my windchime. i closed my mouth. i heard it. i closed my eyes. i heard it. i gave out a sigh. you blew my windchime, whispered goodbye. i heard the clang of metal tubes, and felt something, someone amiss. i did secret crying. and i wondered for what.
March 27, 2011 § Leave a comment
i’ve read somewhere: promote change, but don’t do it so often. or something.
there came a time when i found reasons to cry each night. anything. but somehow, those find a way to boil down to a particular reason. a reason too obvious, too common, and not too unnatural. say perhaps, hunger. no parents at home, no dinner. perhaps something deeper, deep that dried up tears can’t fall down to.
the clack, the crisp clack of unconnected rhymes, or nothing rhyming. or words. the flow that one just has to listen to, forget what it means. it’s the sound you must hear, and listen. no meaning. no meaning. the resounding music of something you didn’t bother to decipher. until too late, of course.
it’s the saliva. when you focus, it’s the saliva you can hear.
=never let me go + keane’s hopes and fears + gap=
i want to be suffocated by people who forgot how to make choices. who appreciated art, and appreciates it still. like the congenital. because, information overload does that to our brains.
but by saving grace, your ma comes home bringing what was left for what was supposedly her share of supper, and you get to it. then you didn’t realize you’ve eaten all of the biscuit sticks. mine did, and i did.
when sunshine sounds like can anybody find their way home, that drop of sunshine stopped at 4 minutes, i don’t know where i live anymore. but it is lovely to dwell on the keyboard. with the calm ticking, it’s the perfect clack, the crisp clack of connecting rhymes. but of course, each punch sounds awfully the same. awesome.
keeping a straight face, i bumped on the question, where have i been all my years? i belong to the vague age, it doesn’t matter. white lights sounds like white lies.
now, i long (to be) être naturelle.
March 22, 2011 § 4 Comments
look at me at my other eye,
the eye that weeps for my past,
the eye that has seen,
the eye that shuddered at blinks and dusts.
and look down to my smile,
crossing my cheek,
that’s half my face.
look at me at the other eye,
that eye that foresees some distant cloud,
the eye that sleeps and dreams,
the eye that fears,
and look down to my smile,
the less chubby cheek,
that’s one half of my face.
look at me at my eye.
but never both at the same time.
but don’t be deceived.
*first draft, edits to go-go*