The Last Poem I Wrote About You

painting by Naomi Okubo:

The greatness lies in the words.
The scribble of an ink on paper
could easily be what your mind is screaming in your closeted head
or the thumping in your chest.
Why does the brain let us think that it is the heart that is the greater, while all it does is pump blood in our veins, on its own instruction?
Why do I think you are the greatest, when you just told me things I should have known last year, or the year before it?
I should have told myself that I am a caring person
and I am a sweet girl and I dont deserve anyone making any less of it.
I don’t deserve myself making any less of it.
You are different, for not who you are because you are just another lesson on a boring school day.
No, you are different because I thought you could’ve been.
But damnit, you just had to twist your words with your action.

I had a good time while it lasted.
I had a great time while you were there.
And then it was time for us to leave.
You could’ve enjoyed the good bye, been less hasty,
I wouldn’t have minded.
I could’ve complained less.
We are who we are.
You are who you are.
But it was my pleasure that you stopped by.

Painting Courtesy: Naomi Okubo

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Making Up Words

"No one is you and that is your power." —Dave Grohl   artwork by Daniel Segrove:

As I sit there,
looking out of the moving window
I feel all kinds of feelings stir in me.
No, just the melancholic ones.
They overflow through my
eyes.
Just a little.

Just a little
more time I wish
I’d had
She bolted away before
I knew,
she was gone forever.
“It was nice knowing you,”
she said, leaving a
kiss on my cheek
I touched the spot,
“Likewise”
I should have sayed.

Should I have stayed?
Does he care that I left?
I didn’t want to.
All my instincts only ever
wanted to stretch this
affair as long as
it could endure.
But I have seen too
many stories end on a
sour note when
enduring is all that’s left
I wouldn’t let it happen to mine.

I shouldn’t have let it happen.
I shouldn’t have let her go by.
Does she think I don’t care?
She said, “Now I need to run away.”
Did she not care?

If only he knew
running away might kill me
show up as stains on my face
and bruises on my lungs
But some doors need
to be closed behind us.
Maybe we will meet again…
Fate is funny that way…
I hope he remembers me then…

Someday we may meet again.
Let fate work it that way.
I pray she remembers me then.
I hope she remembers me then.

Artwork Courtesy: Daniel Segrove

Wounds

Did you ever realize how much your body loves you? I mean its always trying to keep you alive. That’s all your body has to live for. Your body is making sure you breathe while you sleep, stopping cuts from bleeding, fixing broken bones, finding ways to beat the illnesses that might get you. Your body literally loves you so much. It’s time you start loving your body back. —Unknown Sculpture by Justin Novak: Did you ever realize how much your body loves you? I mean its always trying to keep you alive. That’s all your body has to live for. Your body is making sure you breathe while you sleep, stopping cuts from bleeding, fixing broken bones, finding ways to beat the illnesses that might get you. Your body literally loves you so much. It’s time you start loving your body back. —Unknown Sculpture by Justin Novak

It always starts innocently enough…

Like when you are picking at a wound, its just for relief you say to yourself
but soon enough you have scratched open your wound, raw skin and blood all over.
You end up enduring a worse injury. And to be honest, aren’t you to blame for it?
So you start picturing a future together
Irrespective of whether you even have a present (you don’t)
Soon enough in between clinking of glasses and laughter and kisses
you realize, how will it ever be?
And you realize you are further down the pit than you ever thought
Raw skin exposed and blood all over.
Just give it time dear,
wounds close and the blood clots and they heal.
Don’t go picking at it.
It will heal.

Unlike scars.
Don’t scar yourself.

Sculpture by Justin Novak

Scene

Lights. Camera. Action-
You come in.
You sweep me off my feet.
I hit the ground hard,
Breaking a bone or two.
You creep in under my skin.

Cut!

Let’s do another take.
You come in.
You make me laugh.
You are still lodged in between my broken bones,
And it hurts,
The space that you fill.
You make me laugh.
And then I cry.

Cut.

That wasn’t in the scene, darling
Keep the laughter on,
Or at least give away smiles.
Can we do another take of this –
Let’s make this perfect, shall we?
From the top, people:
You come in.
You sweep me off my feet.
You make me laugh.
You make me breathless.
But you are in a hurry
And it all happens a second too fast.
A blurry mess.
You are gone.

Cut!
I think we had a miscast.

Painting by Nigel Van Wieck

Oh Well.

I won’t lie, I expected it all to work out.

I really thought the bad guy would be it.
I was the classic good chick. He was the classic man-whore.
Turns out, he had his eyes on the other classic good chick.

I really thought that the good guy would do it.
I took one out of the zone. Pushed him to it.
He complied. He complied with everything.
I got bored.

I made up my mind, the older the better.
They mature with age, don’t they? Like wine. I liked them wines.
He was the perfect wine, made me the right amount of tipsy.
I blabbered. He told me I wasn’t old enough to hold my wines.

I thought the funny one would be fun.
He laughed it off.
Oh well, I was kidding too, you know.

I couldn’t make up my mind about the younger one.
His perfect face convinced me.
But my age and wisdom didn’t make me more secure.
Or worldly enough for him. Medieval worldly.

I tried to drown my sorrow with the tortured one.
But sorry boy, I’m not that down in the dumps.

Oh well.
I made my mistakes.

Untitled


Please don’t collide your world with her’s-
She barely can keep things straight in there
How do you suppose she has the answers for your cyclones and quakes?
She is the child, not the mother
Rage, greed and lust haven’t been done raping her
Don’t ask her to approve of you-
She is just someone walking by,
Without a map
Do not follow her, she walks on to be lost-
In the woods, in this haze, in her hallucinations
Among the murderers and the other criminals
Wicked she follows, don’t follow her
There isn’t redemption where the road leads
There isn’t hell at the end
It leads you on and on
She leads you on and on
Never ending, never ceasing
Tiring you, frustrating you, beating you

 Photograph courtesy: Sarah Ann Loreth

Let me tell you


Something about me,
I wake up wanting to chew 10 heads for breakfast.
People piss me off, with their scrawny little faces and puny little brains.
Don’t you go caring about me, I am not going to return the favors
I care about myself enough for both of us.
I think of myself day and night, week over month and month to years
Except that one year, I got my heart bull dozed over.
Or that other time I fucked up real bad.
Self obsessed, self centered, selfish. With a low self esteem.
I think of myself enough.
Loner, people hating bitch with more friends than I care to count.
Way too practical considering the whimsical fairyland going on in my head.
The voice is my best friend.
My hair my worst enemy.
Am I superficial or do I feel too deep, too much?
Its the paradox of paradoxes.
My brother says, I’ll end up being alone.
My shrink says I better put my guards down if I want anyone in.
But a boy is much too overrated. Care to try a girl?
The night is not going to end, because the morning never starts.
Its going to be a bitchin’ time.
It’ll pass. Just give me the size 4 pumps with a 6 inch heel.

Illustration : Self made.