You Can Tell Me
When songs stop stealing beats from your heart
When smells cease to suffocate
When old words are just sounds
When you’re selfish
happy
and whole
You can tell me
Over a song that’ll get engraved in our hearts
Kite
It’s past five
and my brain’s out there
on a string
on the roof
but the roof’s locked
Fuck.
To My Beautiful Friend
Brave like a baby’s first step
Like a fucking mountain lion
Fragile as a sparrow
Or those stupid ceramic cats
.
I’d wish for an end
To your conflicts
To your pain
But I won’t
.
They make you magnificent
Strong, more you
than you’ve ever been
“you”
.
And so I watch
I watch you suffer gracefully
and laugh
from the bottom of your precious heart
For Richard
On days like this
when I turn the world off
I realize
you’re still with me
Lydia Davis
The notebook that I’m writing in is almost the same colour as the book I’m reading. In this light anyway.
The lines I write in the notebook I’m writing in are almost as good as the ones written in the book I’m reading.
The woman I’m reading is Lydia Davis. Jonathan Franzen refers to her as “a magician of self-consciousness” on the back of the book I’m reading.
Her writing paints her as a conflicted person. Her internal battles are very visibly spilled onto every page. And I like her struggle. I can relate to her imperfections, her annoying rants and her unkempt mind.
I wonder if she compares her words to those written in similar-coloured books.
My Bling
I can confidently say that my wrists are the same size now as they were when I was ten years old.
I know this because yesterday, I dug up two bracelets that I used to wear when I was a kid. They’re both white, red and yellow gold. One has three balls, each a different colour and equally spaced out on a golden string. The other is much more youthful. There is a red bear, a white heart and a yellow four-leaf clover.
The innocence they now bring to my right wrist is comparable to the love my grandfather’s wedding ring paired with an Ankh from my uncle, bring to my heart.
And that love is comparable to the confidence I get from the white and yellow golden ring on my left index finger. A confidence earned when my mother gifted it to me when she believed I was competent enough to take care of something so precious.
These are the supporting pieces of who I am. Necklaces, rings and bracelets from grandmothers, aunts and cousins. Earrings that mark a time when my parents felt proud and a timepiece that takes me back to my grandfather’s arms.
These memories and emotions captured in metals and stones give me all the strength I could ask for. I can do anything — be anything. They believe in me.
And so it might take up one or two of your impatient minutes while I take them off, but these, these moments and feelings belong to me. And I will not share them with anyone.
You Distract Me
.
You distract me
Take over my thoughts
Turn up my temperature
.
I see flashes
Of bodies brushing against each other
On top of damp sheets
.
Your chest
Your hands
Your deep masculinity
.
Unleash within me
Something so primal
It escapes my body through screams
.
Our eyes seek fuel
From those unrestrained
Signs of pleasure
.
My legs
Wrap around your hips
I pull you as close as I can
.
I want every inch
To feel
The anarchy inside
.
I need all of you
To know:
You distract me
.
Wildflowers of Western Australia
“A wildflower (or wild flower) is a flower that grows wild, meaning it was not intentionally seeded or planted. Yet ‘wildflower’ meadows of a few mixed species are sold in seed packets.” - Wikipedia
Jane led a very routined life. From the time she had her first of two cups of coffee to the time she switched on her television every evening after work, she never strayed too far from her comfort zone.
Saturday mornings she went for walks at King’s Park. She loved the landscape, enjoyed watching the joggers in their bright shorts and she especially liked the tourists who were not very good at using their expensive cameras.
More than anything, Jane loved the wildflowers. Her favourite was the Tall Mulla Mulla, a plant that sometimes grew to be over a metre long and which had many tiny flowers that together formed the shape of a purple cone.
The Tall Mulla Mulla flowered in April and this past April, Jane decided to purchase some seeds at the Native Plant Sale on a Saturday morning. She took the seeds home and planted them in a pot she considered then to be of a respectable size. She did have a backyard but she wanted to truly enjoy her new flowers, wanted them close and wanted them to get acquainted without distraction from other plants in the yard. She wanted to protect them from heavy rains, her neighbour, Robert’s uncontrollable dog and other dangerous creatures. She worried about them growing apart or away from each other out in the wild. She followed the instructions given to her by the gardner very carefully, obsessively even, and was able to grow two healthy looking plants.
Her plants continued to grow and she should have planted them in two separate pots but she didn’t want them to be alone. She thought it would be romantic if they shared the same soil and often fantasized about their roots being intimate like lovers away from the eyes of an audience.
Her two Tall Mulla Mullas looked lively but underneath, they were in a constant battle for nutrients. It didn’t take long till their hidden struggles started to surface. They began to bend and grow away from each other. This broke Jane’s heart who then tried to force them back into a happy existence by tying them close together with a string. They tried even harder to pull away which caused their flowers to break off.
Jane was then forced to cut off those purple cones of tiny miserable flowers. She untied the string and planted them in a slightly larger pot except the two Tall Mulla Mullas were too exhausted and upset to flower again. The extra space was nice but they knew that very soon, they’d be forced to fight for their lives again.
It was on a hot July Saturday when Jane realized she no longer enjoyed her walks at King’s Park. She became envious of the happy wildflowers. None of them were turning away and attempting to escape their neighbours. They seemed happy, in control and they did not despise one another the way hers did.
That morning when Jane returned home, she took the Tall Mulla Mullas out of their pot and planted them in her backyard about a metre away from each other. Enough space for them to be happy but close enough so they had companionship. When she was done, she glanced at them with hope.
On a completely related note, she decided that the next time Robert made plans with his friends, she wouldn’t get upset about not being included.
Her Words Because His Were Too Lame
“You know I wouldn’t fight for you.”
“I have too much pride.”
“I know I’d win.”
“If you’re pinning me against another woman so publicly, you’re not worth fighting for.”
“I don’t think that’s sexy; I’m not seeing the amusement there.”
“Empowering?”
“You’re the one who needs to feel empowered; you’re seeking two women to validate your worth.”
“I don’t find this conversation particularly exciting; please take off your pants, I’d like to get out of here in half an hour.”
