Growing

Before you 

My changing body only ever stopped my heart and caught my own breath.

breasts, hips, scars.

Unbidden guests

changing life in unwelcome ways.

How could I not fear growing?

Swelling and ripening:

a withering stone fruit past it's prime, 

soft, mottled, oversweet.

Stretched with the whole world inside of me.

Coming apart at the seams.

G r o w i n g.

Now I lie on the floor as you climb 

onto my belly: soft, marked by lightning.

Soft arms, soft legs. 

Soft hugs, soft lap.

Unending places to snuggle in.

My body is a cocoon.

My heart is calm.

Red

Purple

Pink

My soul is a blotchy red-purple-pink. 

You pass by 

and the colours begin to untangle. 

For a moment

it seems there shall be a picture yet 

But then you fold in on yourself,

Draw further.

I feel the pull of you.

The pull of us.

And yet we dance.

Must we dance?

It is a rather odd feeling and one which I have never experienced before. Of all of one's thoughts being consumed by one person.
To say that I have never felt love before would be distorting the truth; there has been much poetry and sleeplessness and anguished mumblings into phone receivers to deny it. But all I've loved before has been in tidy little obsessions which petered out before the week ran out and before I ran out of reasons to walk away.
It is as though I have lived my life backwards. In adolescence I loved with the restraint of one who has lived and learnt and fears being burnt again. And in my adulthood I've come to give without a care for what I get in return. Is this what they mean by unconditional love? I don't quite know yet, but I think it is as close as one can get without.

Although it has been a long time since I've spoken to mum about anything more personal than the state of the weather, we've always shared a respectably vocal relationship.  We talk about aches and pains and careers and aspirations, but boys has always been a taboo topic. I remember the very first time she ever mentioned the possibility of me being with someone. Try as she might, she couldn't get herself to use the word 'boyfriend'. What ensued was a rather convoluted bit of conversation where neither of us was quite sure what the other was getting at.

To think that I must now talk not just about a boy but about a man-ling I want to spend my life with makes me shudder to the balls of my toes. Those being the only balls I can make any claim to possessing at said time.

Bookmarks for Capt. Kirk -3

Happy birthday!

Oh oh oh, The sweetest thing

I am in a state of glorious mush! And this is the reason:



These are the twelve, long stemmed reasons, actually.
In the past I've trusted myself to be a rather no-nonsense, no redroses sort of person, so my 'knees turning into jello at sight of thesomethingred' reaction caught me quite by surprise. Suffice to say I am all kinds of besotted, and then some.
I should watch my step, really, least tuesday afternoon finds me hanging on to the plumbing by a fourth floor balcony for dear life, bellowing "But soft! What light through yonder window breaks"

The blog's precipitous decline to a mush-portal has been duly noted and remedial measures shall be undertaken as soon as one can extricate self from the aforementioned state of mush.

Oh what the heck. *hug* for S!

Bookmarks for Capt. Kirk - 2

Bookmarks for Capt. Kirk

He may act like a greedy little boy of five at times, but you've got to love S. So when he says he's taking the bookmark you made for your book, not only do you let him, you go ahead and promise to make the little piggy as many as his heart desires. What can I say, I'm a sucker for his pretty eyes.
The first one came into being because he was taking way too long to finish reading Maximum City. The meadow ones were inspired by a similar bookmark a different S. once had in a book. The fish one is me having fun with wet-on-wet (no pun intended :P). The last one (the two pictures are the front and back of the same bookmark) was inspired by a brilliant bookmark on deviantart.

The red pencil - 2

inspired by a drawing i saw on deviantart

The red pencil

Lost and Found.

He nudged the door open with his wet, brown nose and padded across an austere grey carpet hemmed in by never-ending walls of blank white. He peeped into one empty room and then another and decided that this probably wasn’t what he was looking for.
So he shook his brown ears rather sadly and started back towards the door.
That was when he saw them: with the rain in their hair and muddy shoes and dancing eyes, laughing on the doorstep with their noses touching.
And the lost little cub knew that this would be a jolly place to call home after all.

Let's do this my way

As I've grown, and changed in the process, I have come to realise that my chosen medium of expression has been in a continuous state of flux too. From rhyme schemes to free verse to attempts at fiction and thence to unapologetic prose. Of late, having moved to a more visual expression of the how and wherefore, I've fallen behind on the churning out of literature, so to speak.
But the blog being my piece of the web pie, I suppose I might as well eat it the way I please.

Something Stupid

I do not want to be a well considered choice. I don't want to be the best bet.

I want to be the impulsive decision you know you might regret having made, but cant possibly stop yourself from making while you stand here in this moment.

Is that too much to ask for? Or is a person you are almost addicted to too high a price to squander on a naïve, unrealistic whim?

Someday I shall be able to decide. Today is just not that day.

.....

As it turned out, I survived well enough without him. And he without me. Though sometimes there still is this nagging feeling at the back of my thoughts that it would've been a glorious life, had he still been a part of me.

A tangle.

A gossamer tangle of cobwebs.
A million threads tied in a knot.
Infinite lines radiating from this standstill;
Diverging, converging, entwining,
Yet each leading its own separate way,
Laughing at the ineptitude of crossroads.

If only I stood at mere crossroads
And every picture were cut black and white
With none of these confounding shades of grey,
Would the choice have been any easier then?

3rd April, 2003
At the back of a tattered physics notebook

Blue

Blue.
Not entirely though…
Purple?
Possibly.
A royal one.
Pink?
I wish.
Fuchsia maybe. A blotchy red-purple-pink.

Yes..
That Is how I feel.
Red.
Blue.
Purple.
Vivid shades all. No tempering china clay to dilute the gaudy brilliance of any colour.

pain

At the centre of my being,
Like curling wisps of smoke
Or rose-green tendrils too delicate to touch,
They reach out;
Seeking,
Finding.
Clinging lovingly.
And in vain do I shut all these doors on them.
Pouring in through gaps and crevices
They shall melt all that stands in between
And slowly rase all barriers.
Spread to caress me, devour me, consume me.
And this knot at the centre of my being
Shall be all that bears witness to the end.

incomplete verses

Incomplete
         verses,
                 for my thoughts are a psychedelic swirl
                 which crumble like crayons on paper.
         letters,
                 for to find an answer to this riddle of us
                 is to gather silver in a pail from starry seas.
         sentences,
                 because the hapless paupers my words are
                 cannot give you all I want you to know.
         conversations
                 that hang in the void between us,
                 now tread on only by a taciturn silence.
         distance,
                 for it is littered with disjointed fragments
                 of incomplete letters, sentences and conversations.

Papercuts

28th Feb 2006, Mum's birthday