2012-05-31
2012-05-30
erythema solare
May was
loud, and we were barefoot. The filth looked dirtier upon my marble-white feet;
I have a tendency to avoid direct conversations with sun rays. I love the sun just like I love almost
everything else. Silently, from afar;
always buried under/behind layers of blockers and screens. I never truly hide, nor do I welcome being
burnt raw.
We all smelled of sunscreen lotions. One if not another had to put it on my neck and shoulder blades every now and again. My arms could reach back there, but I enjoyed the intimacy. They would mumble and grumble and whine about my obsession. But they all patted me with affection once they were done. I was always given the shady spot, and they all babied me if I got sun struck despite all our efforts. We were young, we danced on dirty streets and sun struck me. As night fell down at our feet, it would now be my cheeks and nose that glowed redredred. My face would burn like a chimney; they would joke about hugging my face to sleep.
Nights of May were kind to us. The pile of shoes in the corner would grow smaller as the cool breeze took over the street. Dirty shoes upon dirty feet; less bare feet for the night crawlers to notice; less bare feet to beat the cobble stones. We all had cups in our hands; cups of wine, cups of coffee, cups of fresh lemonade. I would sneak away to find us a bottle of whiskey. I would always come back with a bottle of Jack, they would joke about yet another obsession of mine. On those little excursions, away from my dirty footed friends I would suddenly transform into an anomaly. Eyes would tell me I was misplaced and out of time. Eyes would ask me about my intentions; eyes would try to decipher the size of my madness. It was an urban May and I looked like the beach.
We all smelled of sunscreen lotions. One if not another had to put it on my neck and shoulder blades every now and again. My arms could reach back there, but I enjoyed the intimacy. They would mumble and grumble and whine about my obsession. But they all patted me with affection once they were done. I was always given the shady spot, and they all babied me if I got sun struck despite all our efforts. We were young, we danced on dirty streets and sun struck me. As night fell down at our feet, it would now be my cheeks and nose that glowed redredred. My face would burn like a chimney; they would joke about hugging my face to sleep.
Nights of May were kind to us. The pile of shoes in the corner would grow smaller as the cool breeze took over the street. Dirty shoes upon dirty feet; less bare feet for the night crawlers to notice; less bare feet to beat the cobble stones. We all had cups in our hands; cups of wine, cups of coffee, cups of fresh lemonade. I would sneak away to find us a bottle of whiskey. I would always come back with a bottle of Jack, they would joke about yet another obsession of mine. On those little excursions, away from my dirty footed friends I would suddenly transform into an anomaly. Eyes would tell me I was misplaced and out of time. Eyes would ask me about my intentions; eyes would try to decipher the size of my madness. It was an urban May and I looked like the beach.
2012-05-29
i ignore my own revolution. i already took down the oppressive government within, yet i still pretend to long for the freedoms i have been practicing for years. obsessed with waiting, i have overlooked the arrival of my golden era.
come on, love; let's tango. i'll learn how to lead if all you've ever done is follow. i'll let my beat tickle your palm and you'll remind me that i chose reality over illusions long ago.
come on, love; let's tango. i'll learn how to lead if all you've ever done is follow. i'll let my beat tickle your palm and you'll remind me that i chose reality over illusions long ago.
2012-05-27
the moon is
39% full says an online calculator; how full am i at this exact moment?
could you calculate that for me? would you need to know every crater, each rock
on my surface? would it be enough if you could only see me in all my glory?...
or is it the same as the moon, does my percentage only indicate how much of me
reflects the sun that binds us together?
2012-05-26
2012-05-22
it was only a few weeks ago that i sat in the corner, close to tears, face pressed against my bony knees: "how will i get over this? this is too much. i am tired. i am tired."
"pfft." she said, just like the way i would (we have the same facial expressions.) :"i have seen you shake off truly horrific things; this is nothing for you. now give me something to read; i need to go to the bathroom."
i still can't decide if i should be flattered by that comment, or pissed off at the lack of concern. yesyes she was right, but that's not the point.
"pfft." she said, just like the way i would (we have the same facial expressions.) :"i have seen you shake off truly horrific things; this is nothing for you. now give me something to read; i need to go to the bathroom."
i still can't decide if i should be flattered by that comment, or pissed off at the lack of concern. yesyes she was right, but that's not the point.
2012-05-17
eternity
i do not need to love you
to feel the magic you possess.
i do find a quicker beat within
as i stand before your grace.
the unfolding beauty of your existence
rewrites the meanings of beginnings and ends.
(the broken clocks
started ticking
as i crept;
i must be dead.)
to feel the magic you possess.
i do find a quicker beat within
as i stand before your grace.
the unfolding beauty of your existence
rewrites the meanings of beginnings and ends.
(the broken clocks
started ticking
as i crept;
i must be dead.)
2012-05-16
bedtime stories: deleted girls won't love
“Hey there,
Frankie. You’ve managed to find me three times in the last two weeks. I am
impressed.”
My lips held their ground but I couldn’t stop my eyes from smiling. It was the dorky slant of his shoulders that got me every single time. It would only appear when he was getting ready to speak. It was as if one side of him kept trying to fall off. There he stood with a smirk, blocking the light, blocking the way out.
“You are too predictable, sweetie. The hard part is figuring out the days you won’t leave the house. You have managed to fall off the radar of so many people; it is getting harder and harder for me to track you down. For a while there I honestly thought you have finally left the country.”
I had stopped dreaming of leaving long ago. I had stopped making plans; I didn’t have any more wishes left in me. I was merely killing time. I was merely keeping myself busy enough to pass as a human being. He didn’t know that though. The girl he remembered had a new wish for every hour. The girl he knew dreamt of train rides and sea voyages. He knew her well. They would sit on street corners for hours and she would tell him of the adventures she craved. He liked the way she started dancing as she dreamt of strange lands and strangers. He didn’t like her hunger for the unknown, but he liked her. He had told her one late night that he would give her everything she wished upon if she could only manage to sleep by his side at nights. He had asked her to alter the dreams a little, he never said give up; he never wanted her to stop dreaming. She had kissed him on his jawline with a little tongue; “you are too delicious” was all she had said.
That girl was gone, that girl was lost; I had erased her, and he didn’t know.
“When are you meeting your friends?” he asked, after he kissed my cheekbones and pushed the hair from my eyes. He didn’t retreat back, and I felt the wind of the words as he spoke. I had to look up to make eye contact, I had never managed to get used to the size of him. Built like a gladiator; he had the softest touch. I pulled away, I could feel the blood rushing to my cheeks and I didn’t understand why I was blushing. “I am not. I’ll go home soon.”
He squinted, I heard the muscles move. I had my eyes pinned on the table. My hands were in my lap, and my body was trying to fold in on itself.
“What do you want Frankie?”
“You do know that my name is not Frankie, don’t you?”
“I am the one who put you together and woke you through a lightning storm. Don’t you remember coming to me with your body parts in a basket? Night after night I stitched you up, vein by vein. Don’t you remember our bloody nights?”
“I remember everything about us.”
“What’s your name then?”
“My name is Frankie.”
“And who am I?”
“You are the love of my life.”
“Wrong answer. You lose."
He smiled again. That smile always made me question reality. He had the stance of a mighty warrior and the smile of a sweet boy. It was that smile I held onto as he cried and yelled in my arms for all that he had lost. Holding him as he sobbed was like battling killer waves on the Atlantic. My arms were not long enough, but my heart drew strength from that smile that I knew he had in him. He would grow calm in my arms and I would start humming. Then his face would appear in the dark, a warrior with wet cheeks; his eyes steady and strong as ever, his eyes would forget the tears in an instant. He would hook one finger on my collar bone and pull me close. That’s when he used to smile. I always thought he was amused by the songs I would hum, he always said he was amused by the look in my eyes whenever he came up from crying.
I wanted to kiss him every single time he smiled. I wanted to sleep next to him even when his torment was over. But I felt responsible, he had just been born again; I had to protect him even from myself. We talked, we danced, we walked. He would give me piggy back rides; I would surprise him with kisses on his face. Chin, cheek, eyebrows; never the lips. I would tell him stories so he would stay by my side. He would get me drunk so I would fall asleep in his arms.
It was when he started smiling on his own, it was then I had to leave. He thought he loved me, but I was just a dream. Everything I wanted lay in the future, the present wasn’t a gift I valued. I wanted to run, I wanted to leave, I wanted to die on the road. Dreams fell off my lips; each word was a falling star I wished upon. He would tower over me, strong and steady and kind; I felt safe in his shadow. All I had to do was kiss his lips once and we would be inseparable, I knew.
It was a chilly October night, when he had offered me the world. “What is mine is yours. All you have to do is write and dream and dance. I’ll feed you, I’ll carry you, I’ll love you.” I had my face buried in his neck; he had me folded up in his arms. I believed him, that was the problem. I trusted him more than I trusted myself, and that was scarier than being alone.
“I need you to go now, Frankie.”
“My offer still stands.”
“Thankfully the girl you made the offer to isn’t around anymore. You can’t give me the world, because I don’t want it.”
My eyes were fixed on his. So I couldn’t understand how he managed to move so fast. In a split second his finger had made it through the scarf around my neck and hooked itself on my collar bone. He pulled me in. He pulled me close. Those lips I had written ballads to were inches away from mine. I could feel his breath that used to carry out pain; it was full of strength now, it was full of conviction.
“You don’t have to be alone any more. I have enough skin for you to rewrite your dreams on."
True love was just a kiss away. True love was the one dream I never wished to dream again.
My lips held their ground but I couldn’t stop my eyes from smiling. It was the dorky slant of his shoulders that got me every single time. It would only appear when he was getting ready to speak. It was as if one side of him kept trying to fall off. There he stood with a smirk, blocking the light, blocking the way out.
“You are too predictable, sweetie. The hard part is figuring out the days you won’t leave the house. You have managed to fall off the radar of so many people; it is getting harder and harder for me to track you down. For a while there I honestly thought you have finally left the country.”
I had stopped dreaming of leaving long ago. I had stopped making plans; I didn’t have any more wishes left in me. I was merely killing time. I was merely keeping myself busy enough to pass as a human being. He didn’t know that though. The girl he remembered had a new wish for every hour. The girl he knew dreamt of train rides and sea voyages. He knew her well. They would sit on street corners for hours and she would tell him of the adventures she craved. He liked the way she started dancing as she dreamt of strange lands and strangers. He didn’t like her hunger for the unknown, but he liked her. He had told her one late night that he would give her everything she wished upon if she could only manage to sleep by his side at nights. He had asked her to alter the dreams a little, he never said give up; he never wanted her to stop dreaming. She had kissed him on his jawline with a little tongue; “you are too delicious” was all she had said.
That girl was gone, that girl was lost; I had erased her, and he didn’t know.
“When are you meeting your friends?” he asked, after he kissed my cheekbones and pushed the hair from my eyes. He didn’t retreat back, and I felt the wind of the words as he spoke. I had to look up to make eye contact, I had never managed to get used to the size of him. Built like a gladiator; he had the softest touch. I pulled away, I could feel the blood rushing to my cheeks and I didn’t understand why I was blushing. “I am not. I’ll go home soon.”
He squinted, I heard the muscles move. I had my eyes pinned on the table. My hands were in my lap, and my body was trying to fold in on itself.
“What do you want Frankie?”
“You do know that my name is not Frankie, don’t you?”
“I am the one who put you together and woke you through a lightning storm. Don’t you remember coming to me with your body parts in a basket? Night after night I stitched you up, vein by vein. Don’t you remember our bloody nights?”
“I remember everything about us.”
“What’s your name then?”
“My name is Frankie.”
“And who am I?”
“You are the love of my life.”
“Wrong answer. You lose."
He smiled again. That smile always made me question reality. He had the stance of a mighty warrior and the smile of a sweet boy. It was that smile I held onto as he cried and yelled in my arms for all that he had lost. Holding him as he sobbed was like battling killer waves on the Atlantic. My arms were not long enough, but my heart drew strength from that smile that I knew he had in him. He would grow calm in my arms and I would start humming. Then his face would appear in the dark, a warrior with wet cheeks; his eyes steady and strong as ever, his eyes would forget the tears in an instant. He would hook one finger on my collar bone and pull me close. That’s when he used to smile. I always thought he was amused by the songs I would hum, he always said he was amused by the look in my eyes whenever he came up from crying.
I wanted to kiss him every single time he smiled. I wanted to sleep next to him even when his torment was over. But I felt responsible, he had just been born again; I had to protect him even from myself. We talked, we danced, we walked. He would give me piggy back rides; I would surprise him with kisses on his face. Chin, cheek, eyebrows; never the lips. I would tell him stories so he would stay by my side. He would get me drunk so I would fall asleep in his arms.
It was when he started smiling on his own, it was then I had to leave. He thought he loved me, but I was just a dream. Everything I wanted lay in the future, the present wasn’t a gift I valued. I wanted to run, I wanted to leave, I wanted to die on the road. Dreams fell off my lips; each word was a falling star I wished upon. He would tower over me, strong and steady and kind; I felt safe in his shadow. All I had to do was kiss his lips once and we would be inseparable, I knew.
It was a chilly October night, when he had offered me the world. “What is mine is yours. All you have to do is write and dream and dance. I’ll feed you, I’ll carry you, I’ll love you.” I had my face buried in his neck; he had me folded up in his arms. I believed him, that was the problem. I trusted him more than I trusted myself, and that was scarier than being alone.
“I need you to go now, Frankie.”
“My offer still stands.”
“Thankfully the girl you made the offer to isn’t around anymore. You can’t give me the world, because I don’t want it.”
My eyes were fixed on his. So I couldn’t understand how he managed to move so fast. In a split second his finger had made it through the scarf around my neck and hooked itself on my collar bone. He pulled me in. He pulled me close. Those lips I had written ballads to were inches away from mine. I could feel his breath that used to carry out pain; it was full of strength now, it was full of conviction.
“You don’t have to be alone any more. I have enough skin for you to rewrite your dreams on."
True love was just a kiss away. True love was the one dream I never wished to dream again.
2012-05-14
if i could whisper one sentence in your ear it wouldn't be about dreams and love, i would apologize for not leaving sooner.
every few years i try on that one sweater that hasn't fit me since i was a little girl. i don't actually like its warmth; and i never once thought i could wear it for long... yet, i still try... i would approach you from behind and a soft whisper would make it through your ear canal "i am sorry i put the sweater on, i am sorry i didn't take it off when it started itching. you'd have liked me a hell lot better in my tank tops and baggy jeans. i am sorry i appeared to be someone i have never been."
every few years i try on that one sweater that hasn't fit me since i was a little girl. i don't actually like its warmth; and i never once thought i could wear it for long... yet, i still try... i would approach you from behind and a soft whisper would make it through your ear canal "i am sorry i put the sweater on, i am sorry i didn't take it off when it started itching. you'd have liked me a hell lot better in my tank tops and baggy jeans. i am sorry i appeared to be someone i have never been."
confessions full of jack
i tell my best lies when i'm full of good intentions. any other time i don't even bother; any other time i choose honesty over mercy.
2012-05-08
i've always believed in the magic of
simplicity and focus. blurry vision and intricate details are only good
for captivating stories that meddle with the flow of time. in real life
they just trigger confusion that we mistake for passion or deceit.
movies and fairy tales have corrupted us,
that's why we keep trying to write the most interesting scripts for our
lives.
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