Fall through

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Perspective

is that soft suggestive breeze

that utters itself

through the mouth

of a friend

who means no harm

Mind the gap between his

two front teeth

as I lean in to kiss him

out of habit.

A force stronger than

the tickle of a breeze

“The kiss, it’s only in your head, “

whispers the wind,

“Memory is just as suggestive, no?”

No!

Memory trickles down into my skin,

embeds in my nerves,

gets to every tip and follicle

Mind the gap

between his presence and his memory

As you lean in to kiss him,

the fog engulfs and

you fall right through.

Black and mould.

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If I had to see you again

I wouldn’t, simply out of fear.

 

Would we still have it?

That soft fluid burning on a thread

between us

each end tied to the pit of our stomachs.

 

And what if it isn’t there anymore?

I would perish all over again, I would mourn,

I would turn to black and mould.

And then there would be the other questions.

 

Did it take a marriage to forget me or just an afternoon?

Did you have to exorcise my memory and feed them

to your demons?

And where do you keep the carcass?

 

Mine sleeps beside me, snuggled,

as you did,

almost every night.

You stay, I’ll go

your future is a map

endless possibilities,

mine doesn’t have you

it simply ends.

 

i have to find something

i have to find an everyday

a sense, some contentedness

 

no, you will stay, i will go

to feel less rejected i suppose

to feel like you were a stop

on the way…

 

…and on the way

to feeling better

i will pass you by

just passing by

 

Glitter,glitter,fake gold.

 

so here’s why

i wrote in a book

and called it a diary

even when i had friends

who said i could tell them

anything.

their secrets

and mine were

different,

their shame was

studded with glitter

and giggles,

my shame was none of that.

the change that

jingled in my pockets

were for three bus rides home,

sometimes my jingles

would merge with the jingles

of all their lost cell phones.

why don’t you want to

hang out,

chill,

have fun,

join us?

i

i don’t

can’t.

i wrote that they had everything

i hate that i wanted their everything

being like them would have been possible then.

i wrote that i was

the break in the link

the bend in the imitation gold

the rusty bit,

the inconsistency in the ring.

my reality was not theirs

their hardships, i failed to see

what fun we had as friends

what frivolity we passed around

my touch lingering

i guess i stayed to feel like them

i left when i went back to read my

own words

in my own diary

of my own life,

echoing my own reality.

Curve, color, repeat

 

Purple. That is what I think the color of ripples are. I don’t know what purple is the way people know what purple is, neither am I familiar with blue, as water is described.But if the ripple of water must have a color, it has to be purple.

I was born from the curse of denatured alcohol, completely blind. Mama has been put away for the knots in her mind. I was also put away for the very same knots many years ago. Since then, I have tried to stay afloat.

Water caresses the thickness of my skin. When I am submerged, the cold fluid embraces the tire rings of my belly, the miles of stretch marks starting from my ass to my well cushioned carpels and all of my chins. I have never seen what I look like, yet being in water is what it’s like to those who seek rewards in mirrors.

My reflection is a bright white. White reflects all colors is the word on the street. I curve into myself, fetal position and uncurl repeatedly, but very slowly. The curve of the curves on my bones will go on curving until I am infinite. There is no trajectory as light bounces off my vessels and veins, hairs and nails, all the colors, slowly and one by one. I am the disco ball in the salty ocean. And since I have no memory of a moon or a sun, I challenge them to match my brightness.

He and his loud friends called me an old walrus when we were all 12. So here I am, I came to the ocean. I met the tide and her waves, and now there is nothing else to hear.

The ocean rumbles and belches, just like I do.

Red.

The ocean gets nervous, starts to think in strong currents, the way I do when I’m alone, and when I’m not.

Orange.

The ocean shivers and shakes and dances to songs of the winds much like the way I can’t help but try to bend, blend, bend in.

Yellow.

The ocean has a bed that goes deeper and deeper and gets softer and softer to stand on. The recesses of my mind and the tunnels in my heart, they start like hot sand and end like cold silt. A little more refined, more knowing.

Green.

The ocean has a temperament that I feel I can match because nobody can see the way I see. They only see what they see.

Blue.

The ocean is fierce on the surface, but once my ears feel the pressure of water, the mighty sea and I sigh and sigh together. We celebrate joy and loss, the subtleties together.

Indigo.

The ocean is all that is there for the ocean. I am all I have too.

Violet.

Where is the purple? It’s somewhere between indigo and violet, somewhere far from sandy shores, miles under water, between my jiggly thighs, behind my hazy cornea, somewhere ensconced in safety. It is also loud and defiant, resonating from the hairs all over my body, making the water ripple. Small ripples first, then waves. Those ripples are purple. Only the blind can see that purple.

 

~fin~

 

Scorpio, Scorpius, Scorpion

  1. Scorpions, belonging to the class Arachnida, are a highly adaptable species. They’re fond of the desert but you can find them in rain forests too. They’re found everywhere but Antarctica, but who, other than the Penguins of Madagascar and their zebra friend, Marty, want to live there anyway?
  2. My Scorpius went off to New York City, he went to meet a potential mate, life partner, whatever. He was here, legs entangled with mine, but then he left.
  3. There are approximately two thousand species of Scorpions and thirty to forty types have a venomous sting. If you factor in the average Scorpion life span, that is 3-8 years then…
  4. The chances of my Scorpius meeting a lady Scorpio with a deathly sting is going to be rare. And so he did, maybe.
  5. Apparently, scientists are baffled as to why Scorpions glow under a certain wavelength of ultra-violet light.
  6. My Scorpius is a magical creature. He knows his science and his food and his making me laugh.
  7. When food is scarce, a Scorpion can slow down it’s metabolism to as low as a third of the typical rate, consequently allowing the being to be able to survive on just about one insect a year if it has to.
  8. My Scorpius can live with close to nothing. What does he need me for. I’m too much of everything, I guess.
  9. Scorpions have two to five pairs of eyes on the sides of their heads.
  10. Has he always been looking around?
  11. A male Scorpion and a his lady friend to be, size each other up. This is in order to evaluate if they are of the same species.
  12. My Scorpius matched birth charts and horoscopes and everything.
  13. Once Scorpions of the opposite sex meet, they engage in a promenade a deux, a dance in which they clasp claws and move around in order to find a suitable place for ejaculation.
  14. My Scorpius, he likes his Bollywood dance, and his lady Scorpio is trained in Bharat Natyam. She’s also a doctor, but what the hell does that matter, right?
  15. To pacify the female, the mating Scorpions may even kiss and share venom.
  16. My Scorpius is a good kisser, when he’s kissing me.
  17. If the dance takes too long, the lady Scorpion is known to get bored and walk away.
  18. Oh but he’s so sensual with his hands and hips. She is going to love him.
  19. Most Scorpion stings are painful but harmless, really.
  20. What about the pain?

Gasping

you are with the remnants of a great wave,

sea foam

and there’s the sea spread out behind you

 

the sea that is your life

with all it’s colors

a mile or two

below the the surface

 

when the waters rock the boat

that has the strength of a raft

you and this white foam

are thrown onto sand

 

splintered, salty,

sad

wet

gasping

 

your life is the ocean

a place you cannot breathe.