The moon, barely a crescent, Hangs by my bed and waits for slumber to drown me in vivid visions it dips itself in nighttime as I stir in my sleep, turning my mattress into an ocean Night sweats: a result of running for years from monsters in my sleep. it comes out almost full, filling the night with its aura but all I see is the outline of its dark side I know it’s what chases me when my eyelids give up the fight and drift off into the grip of my mind. surrendering to the stillness of dawn
when I was a child, I always saw women on street corners with children piling up on their bodies, a newborn every other day and I always asked myself where the fathers were they must not have gotten far the infant has not crawled yet I always wondered how these women were impregnated and where the fathers were were there men hiding in the night leaving babies in the wombs of women as they pushed themselves in and out of their bodies? I wondered if I ever saw them wandering the streets in day time avoiding the corners in which the children they left behind hid from the scorching sun. the sun was not as kind to everyone as it was to me.
written from a dancefloor after a cup of cacao
- I write to you from the ground, my bare feet stained with the specs of dust left behind by the feet of many I have not spoken to. Oriental music is playing, mixed by a woman who goes by Winnie. A man sits parallel to me, his thighs folded on his lower legs as if his prayer is coming to an end. he speaks to himself. a girl steps on my foot, interrupting my observation. minutes later, i still feel the weight of her body on my left foot. another man makes me want to burst into uncontrollable laughter every time my eye catches him. but something tells me that would be mistaken for rudeness. another girl steps on my right foot and now i have the weight of two dancing girls on my body. one feels lighter than the other, i see why when i watch her move with ease. i wish i could focus on every individual dancing in their own universe, but the weight on my feet distracts me. the funny man frowns. he laughs. he smiles. he looks angry. then he gets confused. he runs he sits he lets it all out. they all move their pain into expression, their limbs into canvases exploding with colours my eyes hardly recognize, sculptures of the endless possibility of the human form. a little boy with hair to his elbows flosses behind his mom as she converses with the attractive man i can’t get myself to say hello to.
I dreamt that rainbow clouds were twisting and turning, folding in like giant waves on the blue ocean of the fourth sky outside my window, I stood there and felt the magic as I stared out into the distance at the Jerusalem dome that somehow traveled nine thousand three hundred and sixteen miles to find itself outside my window.
There is an immense emptiness that occupies me, Which can only be filled with smoke Smoke from the burning of wood Smoke from the smudging of sage Smoke entering my lungs filling them with substances to numb me to my core And the smell of it all My eyes grow weak My hands go numb My fingers fall at the edges my pinky drifts off into the stillness I wait for my tea.
the taste of blue
the sky fills me up with blue, tucking it under the lump in my throat I cannot swallow. I sneeze out clouds that leave no gaps in the ceiling of my vision. I squint, and in the distance, a colour i cannot name stares at me, unattainable. the plastic flower moves itself slightly, inanimate object, fooling me with hopes of sunshine. I blame it on the absence of the moon, a companion whose face no longer roams the shores of my memories.
I'm tired of comparing pains, of showing off bruises and tracing scars with shaking fingers. I let my weight fall as I wrap myself around you and let you enter my body to take me back to better days. you tell me I've disappeared and trace your fingers on the bones bulging out of my breaking skin. You tell me I'm yours But disappear into the day as you exit my body, and walk back into your paranoid soul. You tell me you love me and I see sincerity in your eyes, but your tone betrays your words. And I ask you why you're lying. You tell me nothing is permanent but time is slipping away and my arms are growing weak fighting it's hands.
There’s a layer of numbness attached to every emotion I have, a thin fabric separating it from my being, I can feel moved to the bone by the immensity of something, yet feel slightly unmoved by it, recognizing how separate that thing and myself are. Sometimes the filing system in my mind breaks down and I find memories mixed up with dreams, becoming completely unaware of my own reliability in recalling an event. The way I remember memories is as if they are separate from me. The memories of a child I left behind in a city far from here. She walks parallel to me like a distant memory. So distant, we walk beside each other, but our paths never cross. The memory never feels like it is mine no matter how strong the emotions it fills me up with are.
passion projects/not lovers
one after the other is this about me, they ask not necessarily, I say they visit my blog to read about themselves I go from hurt to inflicter of pain