A bath-tub cry.

I’d like to cry
without disguise
stifling it
with my will
I cry for
the bee who
submitted its life
on its last trip
called back to the
cosmo’s beehive
I cry for you
my friend
though it’s
joyous
and complete
the trace of
the line
I cry from
the well
never knowing
why
I think maybe
it’s just acting
my eyes washed
chest replenished
here comes the
thunderclap.

Period.

I’m in love with my bed. Or at the moment just the sheet. It was washed and tumble-dried and I still remember how toasty it was last night. I didn’t think about my sleeping position, I just wanted to go fetal and let go. And I was rewarded. I had candied-dreams last night. The kind that you can hold in your hand as if they are cute little jewels that are wrapped in even cuter wrappers. I didn’t even mind having to wake up to change my un-sanitary pad in the middle of night.

But the wind, oh the wind, or rather the air. It’d been blowing the whole night and well into noon while I’m still in bed (because I can’t bring myself to leave). The air is fragrant, like how it was long ago, like how it should be. There was no sound of traffic for the longest time, so the air remains unpolluted, undisturbed. It caresses me with its gentleness and its scent. And I remember…

Outside of the window, the occasional courting birds hide under the fruiting tree, and the feasting butterflies picking out the rotting fruits on the ground. My roaming eyes seek them out, while my body, my sensitive body like my sensitive nose picks up the friction from the sheet and the air. It is good to have a body. Even a bleeding one. I cuddle with the sheet, bunch them up and hold them close to my bosom, as one would with a loved one. For my body is in love with the bed, as my mind is in love with the moment. I can’t bring myself to leave.

Across the street, balloons decorate a neighbor’s front yard, “15”, big and red. Do I want to be 15 again? No. If I’m in peace at this moment, all the moments before led me to this. I can have no regrets. But cake, mmmm, cake. I wonder if I will leave this bed, this moment for another moment with the half eaten cake in the fridge…

Sunset diamonds.

Sunset diamonds
through the leaves,
there’re millions of you,
make me dream.
Through the fruits ripe
and the butterflies’ wings,
intricate webs,
a blissful paradise.
Like honey-white gold,
but no,
quick-silver
until
chances maybe:
another angle,
another glimpse.
Fleeting.
Sunset such as this,
priceless diamonds indeed.

To the swells.

I miss that feeling I get when I’m in the middle of the ocean, and the tides and the undercurrents are at odds working together. I get scared and exhausted. I remember that feeling.

Then it’s time to learn what’s wrong with that. Why I can’t just let it go and not worry about the future. Things become predictable, or appear to be so.

Waiting for the bubble to burst. Too scared to do it myself. Who am I to demand and claim? Even myself?

I try difficult things to beat myself down. “See? You can’t succeed. You don’t have what it takes.” Eyes on the prize. Keeping things outside.

Have I grown up? Am I still that child trapped? What should I do?