“Close your eyes, count to five then guess what Barbra is putting on”
“Kiss Daniel for one minute without touching” “Mm this is fun”
“Take off two pieces of clothing”
“Put four fingers down your throat without choking”
“What’s your most embarrassing moment?”
“Grind on your opponent”
“What’s your biggest secret?”
After billions of years of evolution, man starts the faster process of devolving
And O, we’re all caught in this.
Who really started this among us?
Us, overgrown primates
Us, blinded by overreaching vision
After centuries of secrets being kept as the most sacred sanctimonious bond between two parties
Our youths – and adults alike – have learnt the art of sharing them in a game they play out of boredom
Secrets are now kept for fun
When the silence is too loud for us to hear our own voices
When our ideas get too clouded to let us think of ourselves
When my heart loses its function and stops pumping
Baby, I’ll still have you in my mind
If I ever metamorphosed to a magnet
If I somehow became an ion with poles
If I was somehow put in a magnetic field
Baby, you’ll still be my center of attraction
The only thing I want more than you is to have a child with you
And watch them grow
And we’ll teach them how to love properly
Not like the warped feelings humans portray these days
I love you, I love you, I love you
And even if I’m too introverted to ever be able to speak it out
Even if I would have to take a full poem to tell you,
I love you more than my medical books
The poems all lied
No two lovers ever exchange any organs
Stop partaking in the charade
Don’t tell me you will give me your heart
You will end up dead
And I still won’t use it
Because I already have one
I was taught to, as a poet, be a murderer. And to kill for fun. Sweet.
But my victims always being found on the pages of my poetic lines and the blood being the ink sunken into the pages of my sheet.
Come to think of it, are books measured in leaves because each one that you turn shows how much you’ve left behind? Shows how many souls have been closed off, and how many mouths jammed shut.
Why is it a cliché to no longer be a cliché?
Most assassins, as I’ve heard were born in November, but I was conceived in May
And birthed two years later on the anniversary of the date of my conception
The idea people have made up about me was propagated by my reflection
I don’t own a shadow on some mornings. I’ve learnt to send everybody away
The next person that would leave might be me.
I should also add I have never written a poem in my life.
All the pieces I’ve gathered and produced were jottings of a soul that once inhabited this flesh
But I sent him away as well
Well, I’ve mastered the art of spiraling out sweet nothings and conjuring up everything but spirits
Afterall, isn’t that what poetry is about? What else is in it?
Maybe you weren’t meant to be beautiful
Forget poems calling you pretty too
Maybe you were meant to enjoy your ugly
And embrace your unfine face and love it
And if people called you names and laughed at your face, all to make you cry sore
“If they want to give you a name take it make it your own. Then they can’t hurt you with it anymore.”
You, embracing you as you are without any embellishments with it
You, loving yourself without lying to yourself that you’re pretty,
That in itself is what is beautiful
You may as well enjoy your ugly too
Call me crazy
It’s just your opinion
You were the one who said you loved me
My mother taught me that once you’re in love, it should last forever
We’re lasting forever whether you want it or not
If you ever say you want out
I would write you music
I can’t write songs but I will fill your eyes with symphonies of my body
And your lips with mine
I’ll make your heartbeat rhyme with mine
And you’ll watch me
And would be unable to run
Because it would be in your dreams
You’ll wake up with me staring down your forehead
And I’ll track your every move
You would never be able to escape
Cos even if I somehow died, my ghost would live in your living room
But we could avoid all this if you just love me for eternity just like it should be
I’m not crazy
I’m just crazy in love
Sometimes I try to be like everyone else
I look in the image plastered on my mirror and hate my own reflection
I try to make up my mind and end up with foundation spilled on my forehead
I want to have someone admire me and tell me they love me
I want someone to say I look good
I want someone to tell me they adore my fashion sense
Get people to approve of my taste in music
I sometimes hate social networks because someone I used to crush on said they’re dumb
Some other times, I want to be like people that are not part of everyone else
Those classified as different
I wear unmatching socks
I leave out wearing wrist watches
I talk to myself while walking on the road
I tell people I’m weird, or abnormal, or odd, or any of those fancy terms people use to describe those kind of people
Both these two times, I want to be a lot
Both these two times, I want to be someone else
Both these two times, I stay away from being me
Then there are times I try to be me
But I fail everytime
Cos there’s no real exact me
There’s no defining the way I comb my hair
Or keep my nails
There’s not a particular way I like acting
I don’t know if I like football or not
Or if I really actually like music
Or if I like me
Sometimes I’m scared there’s no me
But there are the fewest of times when I don’t try to be anyone
Not even me
And even though there is no particular form or action I seem to recognise being in
I remind myself that maybe, just maybe, that’s who I am
Maybe I cannot be described by actions
Maybe I am above words, and music taste and fashion sense and poetic metaphors
Maybe I am just me
In all the plainness of that
In flesh, bone, blood and sweat
Maybe I wasn’t meant to be described
Maybe I wasn’t meant to have poems written about me
Maybe I wasn’t meant to be
Sometimes I do things nobody does
Like I enjoy listening to the beat of tappings I make when I type on my pc
I love perceiving the smell of petroleum
I put on music and don’t listen
I make jokes with myself and have a wide grin at really awkward moments
I enjoy the feel of my shower, and pretend I’m under rain and kissing the love of my life
I dance offbeat to a song
I stare at the mirror and hate my image
I stare at the mirror and wonder at what sexy beast is staring back at me
I sleep at awkward times and stay awake at more awkward periods
I randomly stare into nothing and pretend I’m Plato
I convince myself I’m a better artist than Da Vinci when I can’t draw even a straight line
I pray to myself
I belch loudly
I become sad for no reason
I am rude to my friends just because
I slow my car down and provoke the drivers behind me
I hold my breath for as long as I can
I turn off the light in my room and enjoy the darkness
I listen to songs I have no idea what language it is in
I reduce the volume of my TV and enjoy the pictures
I dress with off colours
I tell my friends I can’t see them because I’m busy, then stay home all day watching House MD
I talk loudly
I whisper unnecessarily
I do a lot of awkward stuff
Sometimes, I live
Other times, I’m just like the rest of you.
My alarm rang this morning.
Another shitty day yet again.
And I’ll have to go to work and face my boss.
And be disgusted for a whole full day.
Then I opened my eyes.
And my lens was directed to your sleeping face.
And though I knew the day would be thoroughly stressful
I knew it’ll all be worth it, coming back to this.
What if mosquitoes are the most friendly beings on earth
And only hover around you because they want to talk
And only suck blood because they think that’s how to kiss
And they hover around your head to protect you
What if mosquitoes are actually psychopaths?
And want to only touch you in unwanted places whether you like it or not
And give you malaria as an STD when they rape you
What if they all were serial killers stalking you loudly
What if things are not as they seem
And I really never meant to say mean things to you
And when I hit you and broke your arm, I only wanted a hug
What if I’m not lying about loving you?
Take a look in your eyes, what do you see? What image comes on?
I can never really tell for sure. It always looks like a mix of awesome and imperfection
My mind projects you in so many lights
But the one that makes the most sense is something about
How your curves are projected on your lips
How you toss your smile around. Turns my world around, you’re my sun and Eclipse
If every gyrus on your brain were to represent how much I adored you
There’d be no smooth surface. I can never afford to –
Bear to lose you. Or even survive
Which sounds weird since you’re not even mine
Your smile is really like Leonardo Da Vinci’s painting of the Last Supper
And all your flaws are represented by the Holy Grail, because they’re absent.
And the disciples are your cheeks
Because Jesus is your lips.
Can I Judas him with my tongue and bury him in my frenulum upper room?
I’ve stalked you all my life, and it might seem creepy
But I can’t wait for when it won’t be a serial killer move when I watch you sleep in
Because it’ll be under my roof
And we’ll be married. And we’d plant a tree. And our love would be the root.
Baby there’s a glint in your eyes
Would you love me more if I could Captain-America-into your heart and blood vessels?
Would I be more attractive if I survived suicide?
Maybe this is how we are supposed to end
Maybe fate played us once again
And took us for fools
Maybe we could have altered our destinies
Maybe we actually belonged together
Maybe one day we’ll sit on a table and discuss all the mistakes we made
And talk about all the things we could have been
Then we’d walk away holding back tears from pains we should have felt
And we’d never see ourselves again
And we’d only have blurry memories
Or maybe we could just go back to the past
And walk past ourselves
And never have a conversation
And never feel all this pain
Maybe we can avoid love
Has it ever occurred to you that he’s as hurt as you are
And his heart is more broken
And with every word you use as a form of rejection, his life grows paler
Have you ever considered that he actually cares for you more than you do for yourself
And each time he sees you cry, he dies a little
Maybe your past is as ugly as your exes who gave them to you
Or your “friends” who left you to them
But has it ever occurred to your senses that he doesn’t care how wrecked you might be
He still wants to set sail on this relationship
And he wants your story to become his-tory
And he never wants you to remember the former times
Just to consider future and all the perfection you both could birth
Maybe you should give him a chance
Not everybody is Uncle Dan
You keep telling me about all the pains I could suffer, staying with you like it’s a prison
About the possibility of me being forever heartbroken because you could die anytime from parkisonism
About the struggles we would have to go through because of the rapidly increasing dementia and your ill health
How often do you tell yourself that to send you far away from yourself?
Maybe I should tell you
On that railway on that Saturday afternoon when you walk past my car holding your dog in your arms
After we had gone three years of being separated because you had to move to Hawaii with your dad
At that moment, I chose to stay with you through thick and thin
And never leave your side again
I chose this
Just like I chose you
And no matter what you do, make yourself believe or make me go through
Best understand you’re stuck with me for eternity
Even after our deaths
So stop trying
What steps must be taken? What actions sought?
What toes must be stepped on? What battles fought?
In my pursuit of victory, what choices must I take?
On the pathway to a better me, what friends must I forsake?
Is it worth it? Am I deserving?