let the wound open

yesterday

was worst than

a blizzard

but it

cracked open

a pill i didn’t

know i had gulped

down

and so it gushed

open like

a wound

and i realised

i was out of plasters

 

 

and i scrambled

for tape or

cloth or anything

that could stop

this bleeding

of

accusations

inflations of

future

deflations

revelations

probations (mostly)

 

 

and so i tried

running-

skin against

wisps of wind

and rain

hoping that snake

bite would get

caught between

my huffs and

puffs

and melt away

 

 

but instead

it spread like acid

like inadequacy diluted

with who i want to be

and this whole

time I’m asking

why i’m not who

i want to be

and why i still

can’t talk the right

perfect way

and why everything is

not yet quite perfect

so the mind goes

on a merry-go round

and these thoughts

bleed

spew out

laugh

spit in my face

 

 

i’ll keep

spitting blood

i’ll keep breaking

the veins in my nose

so all i smell is iron

and rust

 

 

finally i give up

on bandaids and

running and let

the wound open

this time i’m holding

a magnifying glass

not a gun

i’m not ready to

fight or

fly

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may you be

may you be

chartreuse liqueur

makes a small den

in the space between us,

wrapping itself up

into a small cocoon

to then slowly have itself

unravel

by my hands-

your hands

 

so as we unravel

and as it unravels

i find myself pinpointing,

us, on a great big

map

dotted lines suggest

where we were

where we’ve been

and it’s one long winding

road, tainted by the same

chartreuse lamps

 

sitting between the

rocks and your legs,

humming

 

too often i find myself

realising

the traced pencil marks

(on the map)

of places we could go

maybe on bike

or car or train

maybe with money or without

maybe the trip

is all in our mind.

so it’s all maybe there

or somewhere else

maybe i would like that

maybe not really

 

my limbs, tangled between

“may” and “be”

and i look up,

back to you,

and start thinking

 

you’re may,

you’re newborn summer

fresh and dirty

full of bee’s buzzing

and may you be

my

emerald birthstone or

simply the sudden rainfalls

you’ll still be buzzing with

that life that reminds me of

may. reminds me

of the day i was born

so i can be born over and

over again everytime

we sit side by side,

small little bee

in may,

you remind me of –

 

may you be

that

or something

else,

or

maybe,

just let me

envelope you.

 

maybe i love how you’re

maybe this or maybe that

remain undefineable

i find that entrancing-

to put it bluntly-

 

(and to put it more bluntly,

every time you’re here,

you surprise me with something

new,

 

a new way of seeing:

like im wearing glasses for the first

time

over and over

again)

spring clearing

polish our kitchen

tiles;

they gleam with

incandescent

neon

green

 

 

clean up the mess up

from the floor

made by the cat

 

 

clean the air between

us

clean my dirty hands

in the presence

of your purifying look

 

 

i’ll clean the mirror

for you

and as I wipe that

reflecting surface

i’ll wipe your tears

and ropes

of hope

 

 

break my mug in the

process,

pick the bits up

only between early morning

and the town outside the

silent windowpanes starts

its engine

 

 

bit by bit

we clean the kitchen

bit by bit

breathe in sliding

socks over marble

and sinks with running

water:

finally the plants

have something

to drink

 

 

spring clearing

your soul,

all those dirty bits

like beer cans

left behind by tainted

people

don’t let them

stay for too long

dear

or the mirror

will get  too

dirty

 

 

not that i mind

coming over

every morning

to feed the

cat.

zoom in//zoom out

zoom in;

you’ll find

cries

and chokes.

oozing

turpentine

emotions

and

footsteps

foot clicks

tiptoes

of people below

and above

and all the way

around

with heads

buzzing like

bees just

like you

 

 

crack open

their bones

to find marrow

consisting of

spider-like

clingy

thoughts more

like knives

in our eyes

but anyways

you get the

gist,

zest of

preoccupations

worries

past

future

past

we go back

and forth

on the

merry go round

 

 

zoom out;

 

 

we unpeel the world

like a clementine

sweet and

raw and forgiving

 

 

zoom out;

you realise

there was no gate

you thought you were

trapped behind

draw dots

spots

ink blots

i’ll show you:

it’s all us,

these freckles

on paper-

it’s all us-

tiny but

crowned with

a softly thudding

heart of hearth

constantly

warm, expanding

beyond skin

 

 

you’ll find

this warmth in you,

in your kin,

to be found in

the secretly symmetrical

leaves

the knees of

trees

and thieves

of wind

so,

it’s always there

this warmth gushing

out of every faucet

out of every locket

 

 

zoom out and out;

this azure orb

of ours,

or shall i say,

we come out of this

azure orb.

 

 

hidden sweetness,

delight

you’ll find in the

way we merge

with the oceans

storms

winds

dirt

birdsongs

whale cries

time going

clockwise

implies

we’re waiting

for ticking

and tocking

but all that

tick

tock

ticks

when only

you zoom in

 

 

and only then

do you capsize

the orb

with fixation

obsession

on the bundle

of nerves

we confine

to define us

 

 

but zoom out

realise

this sphere

floating in space

bubbles with

brewing ardor

and adoration

for what it all

is:

these

incapsulated

expressions

of one occurrence

 

 

nestled

between the

crevices of

this fabric,

a flame

bursting from

this sweet

spring of

creation.

a miracle

blazing,

wildly alive:

you

 

medicine tree

cross eternity

with me

maybe not

maybe hide

behind my medicine

tree

behind pills

and pulls

and puffs

and that’s

where you belong

on that faraway

land

isolated

raging desire

waiting

catatonically

still,

me in

bones

 

 

 

still i cannot

make my mind

up,

will you

be my personal

turpentine?

that’s to decide

until you

show up at

the pit of my stomach

familiar,

hunger

 

 

dear

medicine tree,

 

 

i’m sorry

if i’m not,

chewing

swallowing

chewing

and if i am,

either way,

i’m scared,

but i’m

not

and i

want to

see your

skin tight

dry crusting

lips bugging

begging

but i do

and i don’t,

and i don’t know

whether to swallow

your pill,

or not,

or swallow it,

then spit it out

 

 

so if i have

this masochistic desire that

underwires the

fire between

my brows

forgive me if

i like to deprive

in order

to strive

so slowly,

slowly i’ll

hide a few snicks

and snacks

here and there

and i’ll stop

gulping that last

spoonful

i’ll stop sitting

i’ll stop breathing

i’ll stop expanding

or contracting

 

 

sit under

my medicine tree

i’ll pass you a pill

i won’t ask you to

pick between

blue or red

because i won’t

be the pill

but the space

between them

resting along

your ribs

Alone time is okay.

Alone time is okay. And it’s okay if some days you just want to dig into cloudy soil with muffled breaths to make a blanket out of morning sunlight and just go back to sleep. it’s okay if an assail of jitters takes over and all you do is sink- so let yourself sink, and let yourself fold into a beautiful paper crane. your wings might be tainted with vermillion cuts but know that they will heal with each  peppermint breath of silence. Dear, it’s okay if some days, faraway echos of laughter tug at you but your limbs only want to weave into empty spaces and places where your arms can stretch for miles.

it’s okay if unlike other flowers you don’t explode, pirouette with light around presences and constant talking. instead, you might just want to ease on the accelerator, eyes enraptured by one one pair of pupils at a time.

some take it fast, and gulp down the day all at once- but it’s also okay to glide from one second to the next,

expanding gently,

unfolding,

unbinding

with time and patience.

at times you just need to stop with a mouth full of marvel and a deep breath.

you bloom in quiet beautiful places, and that’s okay too,

because honey, in the end, we all water our flowers in different ways.

So dear, take your time hopping from soul to soul. languidly expand and you’ll find that meeting each individual glow will soon feel as soft as braiding hair underwater.

mystical speaking

she spoke of realms that exceeded the world and overflowed your mind, sprinkling evanescent glitter on the top of your head with the tips of her fingers. Open your mouth, she’ll place a pill behind your tongue; and it spreads like acid as she speaks of these unknown worlds, mouth shaping sound after sound oh so majestically. now you’re in a state of bliss questioning whether space even exists or does it only appear between each blink of her incandescent blue lashes. she speaks in elision and you also wonder if she’s got human blood flowing in her veins or does she come from mercury or some other elegant planet? one moment or another you’d expect her to turn taciturn, lean over, slice your tongue in half, pocket the pill and replace it with sugar.

you want her to teach you how to see sunlight under leaves or count how many arteries a tree has compared to a wave because you feel like she controls it all, controls how strongly the wind blows or how many clouds there will be today and what shapes they will form. but you know she’s most enchanting under an eclipse’s moonlight or early dawn, barefoot on your terrace. jaw slightly slack, eyelids too, and of course, speaking. you’ll make her soft fur accent into a pillow and fall asleep, dreaming of all those faraway realms she says one day she’ll visit.