Time

Time changes everything
Faces become images
Then memories
To be played like slides
With a smell, a sound, in the dark

Time changes everything
When you're away
You lose sight of who you were
Sometimes that's good; other times
Do you even know your name?

Time changes everything
Today, when you're with family
You're back after a long while
A long while means difference
And no one here seems to remember that

Time changes everything
When you're alone in a crowd
It means you've forgotten
How to fit in when you're alone
That's how it used to be

Time changes everything
Every place, every face, every feeling
It's because of time you have to move on
But does starting off by yourself
Have to be so bumpy and painful?

Everyone has it wrong, you see
When the world's your oyster
And you're the only one to take a certain path
You're in charge of your own destiny
It doesn't change how lonely it can be.

Time changes everything
It changes your perspective
It changes day and night
But most of all
It can change how strong you felt before

Petrichor

Don't be flattered, petrichor.
You are but squelched earth hiding,
The sins of sins, seeking and finding,
Poisonous refuge in earthy grave.
You are odour; I refuse to crave
Your sweet - your bitterness
After a night of wetness,
Of gentle showers and sorrowful downpour
That shake me to my very core.
You are wrong for my soul.
I once welcomed the joy you seem to dole
Out, to the world and upon a time,
To me; it is now a crime.
Stop arising, just do not be.
I scorn you, I detest you,
I curse you as the foul smell of rue.
None can see you, but I can feel
Terrible sadness, played around the wheel
Of time that cannot anymore be lived.
I work in clear sheets, with droplets livid
In their rage against the ground, in the air.
I am the moment's anger; it isn't fair.
You are not to be remembrance,
You are not to let me reminisce.
T-this - stop, stop! I will not bow!
Petrichor, if you insist on stooping so low,
Then learn to live and let live.
If you must take, I will give
And let my tears, the bitter smell of salt,
Join in convincing you of your fault.

Today

I do not want to regret

Regret, like taking the first train

Jumping off the platform

And finding myself bent double 

In a crowd full of every woman for herself.

I do not want to regret

Regret being sliced and diced

Refrigerated and folded

Packed into a tin

Along with a hundred thousand others.

Today I take the first step

A small one, but it's a start.

I tire of the taste of ashes

Of dreams only dreamt

Then burned like this scrap I write on.

Today what I want to say

Will begin to take shape.

The deadline's in clear sight

And the trail less so.

I follow the lead of my heroes

Perhaps not to bleed for a greater good, yet

But to bleed for myself

For not now, then when?

When will I become like them?

I will not regret

Not fighting tooth and nail

To shine inside out

Today I take the first step

And it won't be the last.

Catharsis (Billionth Time's the Charm)

art by Narniakid on DeviantArt

Look. Listen to me. L-hey, you're not listening!

I did too tell you to do it the first time.

Well now that your head is partially turned in my direction - Goddamnit, didn't I just tell you that it was a stupid thing? It's not worth paying attention to! Look at me!

Oh, okay, okay, you're actually watching me. You're - okay, okay, I...um...wow, it's like I've forgotten what I had to say. Heh.

All right, see, it's like this. The first time I saw you, I was terrified. I'm not even kidding, I was trembling. Oh crap, you're chuckling at this. You're actually chuckling. God, I'm making such a fool of myself.

Oh, you weren't laughing at me? I believe you.

Anyway, what I wanted to say was - you were so bright. Dazzling, in fact. Do you know that in the Bhagvad  Gita, when Krishna blows off this spiel about dharma and fighting and shit to Arjuna - you know, I've always liked the guy despite everyone now saying how arrogant he actually was - anyway - so when he reveals his true form to him, to convince him or something, Arjuna had to cover his eyes? Because Krishna's true form was Vishnu, and Vishnu preserves the universe and the universe is so vast and incredible that a human couldn't comprehend it and that's why he nearly burned Arjuna's eyes out? That's what you were like. For me.

Oh, crap, I've digressed. Here - I'm here for heaven's sake! Okay.

So after I finally got up the balls (heh, I'm a girl) to talk to you, let's just say that the dazzling thing? Didn't stop at your appearance. I mean, you were something different totally. Here I was, a naive child, so goddamned stupid and innocent, and you knew everything that would take me years to catch up to.

So I tried to be smart. I wanted to talk big, talk smart. All so that you could get that gleam, you know, that gleam you get when you're like, 'Ah-ha. This is worth paying attention to.'

Good God, it was like trying to break through a wall, only to find bars of steel were actually holding it up, thicker than...well, whatever's like the thickest thing in the world. Ahem.

I spoke too quickly. I rushed over my words. I ranted over things I knew close to nothing of, just to impress you. I wanted to be Hermione - no, Harry Potter is not just for children! - brightest star! Prodigy! Somebody different! And you were so cool about it - you listened so very closely at first. I felt elated. I was the crowned one, amongst every other girl who vied for your quick, sharp smile, your sardonic nod, your face suddenly softening in those rare moments, while I watched you constantly. NO I'M NOT A STALKER.

(PLEASE - ahem, please put your hands down. I am calm.  I am Zen).

Yes, you were definitely kind. It could be anything, a work of art your friend had done that you appreciated, a nervous kid who'd lost their way and just needed a word of advice, a fan (not me) who was obsessed with you and you never, ever, not even once told her off. It was her right to be obsessed with whoever she wanted. As long as she didn't watch you sleep. 

But you listened to her.

I loved that about you.

Love.

And me? I contradicted everything you said just to get you to talk to me. It was so hard at first; I was jealous of anyone you conversed with, anyone who lit your cigarette (it's a nasty habit by the way) and got your sudden, grateful grin in return. Anyone you glanced at. It had to be me.

And I tried. I tried so hard, believe me. I tripped over my own feet in my attempts, I showed off my talents only to realize that you'd seen better, and in turn, whatever I did took a turn for the worse. You made me fidget, scratch at non-existent itches at the nape of my neck, scream when I should have whispered, push when I should have desisted, doubt myself, look at my toes more than what was normal - damn.

I had no self-esteem around you. I had to slip into shoes that fit exactly what you liked, tailor-made to your tastes. I wanted to be your soul mate.

YES, IT'S BULLSHIT , ALL THAT SOUL MATE NONSENSE. Please. Please - don't mock me, don't be a cynic now.

And - and then, that fateful day. She came. The unexpected woman who'd - excuse the fairytale cliché - sweep you off your feet.

You still talked to me in a familiar way. But my crown was gone. I didn't matter anymore.

You should know that I didn't cry. I wept.

One by one, those who knew, confirmed. She had done the impossible - worn that stone heart down. You see, the difference was that I'd rushed headlong into it, and gotten a Tom-and-Jerry-cartoon-sized bump, instead of the clarity that's supposed to come with realization on the other's part.

She just had to be.

The tears didn't come the way you'd think. My heart bled hard.

(Yes, it was real enough for me).

The hole yawned wide. And everybody I knew told me, 'Move on, you guys are different people for God's sake! Why do you care so much? He's an assh-le! He's not for you, you're too young, too trusting, too hopeful, too childish. You're an oddball, he's not. Just find someone who'll accept you for who you are.'

Please tell me. What was wrong with me? I knew it, it was the talking. No, no, that time I thought you were being serious and when you said it was a joke, everyone around started laughing while I blushed. No, f-ck, it's that time at the party where the three of us - you, me and her - were talking and you were just standing so close and I swear I could hear the crack. On the inside.

Oh, I stopped giving a flying f-ck ages ago. You're almost my mentor. We can chill. We can talk normally. No, I do not still experience flutters in my stomach when you hug me. No, definitely don't mention you in every other conversation. Nope. Wasn't me who toasted you drunkenly when it was graduation day for you. We're friends now.

WHY WASN'T I ENOUGH?!

(No, I'm not f-cking crying! They're angry tears! I'm not upset!)

So what now? Why aren't you saying anything? What are you thinking? Please don't leave me hanging. How will you react?

Hah, and as this page (3 pages to be exact) blurs before me and my eyes burn with the effort (totally not the sorrow - f-ck, just look at me!), I'm just going to crumple this one up and throw it into the growing pile of sickening love confessions. Mine, to you.

I'm going to relax and watch you talk to her, touch her shoulder, smile at her like I wanted you to smile at me, like I thought you actually did at one point of time.

What a child I am.

I can't tell you. Never.

(Okay, okay, I just sent you a message! Check your phone!)

And the circle begins once more

Bathtub Musings (Without The Scented Candles)

art by Paula Mihele on Etsy

I lay in the tub

I was just bathing

To the outsider it might have seemed

A scene fresh out of a horror flick

They said, 'No, it's not a trick

Look at her, pale and trembling

Arms splayed, fractured bones of a broken wing

Look at her sitting so still, wide-eyed

She's a form that can never abide

By time, by place, by reality, by universe

She's too much for us, she might coerce

Us, to sit there drowning with her for company

Let us thus abandon her, she is one, we are many

She cannot pull us down with her!'

I was just bathing

My chest was covered by the water

You couldn't see me naked

Maybe just the sticky strings, all vividly red

I was bathing and bleeding, you see

Because every word outside cut me

What had I done wrong? Was it

Really that awful to simply sit

And let them see me as I was?

Every person that tried

To lift me out, to stretch me wide

To fit with them, in them

Failed. And then lied in tandem

To the world that I was unfit.

Then some tried to sit

With me and clean me

And pull me into them, to see

If I would fold and lean

Forever into them, forever unseen.

They failed too, and lied in tandem

That I was unworthy of them.

All I wanted to do was bathe

And rise. And do everything

That I was supposed to have done

If they hadn't pounced and cut me

I wouldn't have bled and stared

And they couldn't have called me a ghost

I was in terror more than being a terror.

You see, I hadn't ever expected this, so

Maybe they were right after all.

Haiku Hassle

So, I got bored with the conventional poem, at least, with the kind I usually write. After dancing around the rhyming scheme and making Thesaurus.com my best friend, boy was I tired of stanzas! A vague idea of writing haiku instead began floating in my head. The first time I’d read it was in the House of Night books (back when sexy Loren Blake wooed Zoey with his mesmerizing ones. Yum.), but I still had no clue what a haiku was. So, it was back to the ol’ Google search engine.

Basically, a haiku is a very short form of Japanese poetry, and by very short, I mean ve-ery short. It’s usually three lines or so, in three phrases of five, seven and five respectively. Despite its size, haiku are actually pretty complex, and there are three major elements involved-

 ‘It is impossible to single out any current style or format or subject matter as definitive. Some of the more common practices in English are:

1. §  Use of three (or fewer) lines of 17 or fewer syllables;
2. §  Use of a season word (kigo);
3. §  Use of a cut (sometimes indicated by a punctuation mark) paralleling the Japanese use of kireji, to implicitly contrast and compare two events, images, or situations.

While the traditional Japanese haiku has focused on nature and the place of humans in it, some modern haiku poets, both in Japan and the West, consider a broader range of subject matter suitable, including urban contexts.’

(DISCLAIMER: Yes, I copied and pasted that from Wikipedia. So, the information ain’t coming from me. Sue me.)

After I went online and did some research on it, I tried writing a few of my own.

The first one turned out like this:

Moaning, groaning, slimy

In a pool of pale blood

My lovely baby.

Eeesh. See what I mean? It’s quite difficult.

Eventually, I did manage to crank out a few, but I’ll let you be the judge of how good they are (I’m pretty sure that they aren’t haiku at all, just random lines. Ah, what the hellJ)

The moon is Mikado-yellow

Suspended against a night of veiled beauty

Dreams explode above.

A Muscat evening

Warm, with a hollow roar

A shrill screech and people die.

Basketball swishes

The net plunges; I scream

Only sleep is my witness

Mysterious night

Dangerous lovely, what would you have me see?

Only nothing. Death.

Scopic sky

Nostalgia drags my wings

Mother, why would you have me leave?

In short, haiku are simply the most beautiful forms of poetry I’ve ever read. They’re short and get to the point quickly, but at the same time, they have this air of mystery that puts me in mind of a cold, moonlit night under a pear tree, on a snow-capped mountain in Japan. Good stuff.