I could like whatever I wanted to like

My dad got upset as he always did
Usually something unpleasant for me
Until I decided that it was simply funny
And that I got a kick out of it
And though this was not true
It helped a bit


It was raining and I was walking home from school
Soaked and miserable
Until I decided I liked to walk in the rain
And the rest of the walk went by
---no pain!


I had tripped and fell
Bleeding and trying not to cry
Until I decided that people just decided that pain was a bad thing
So I told myself that I enjoyed it
And it helped a bit

Misspoken broken half-truths and lies;
Classic.
The dump button glows nearby;
ten second delay.
Let 'er rip and kiss it goodbye.

The lifetime spent before it writhing in sheets,
hastily erected schemata with guts knotted up;
misjudged calculations and justifications -
not so easily dumped.

Tripped over admissions and half-felt surprise;
Classic.
The eject button lights up nearby,
hovered over with shaky digits.
Hit it quick and let 'er rip.
No time for goodbyes.

Count the secrets that you keep.
Fingers crossed the roof won't leak.
Took a chance and caught a peak.
Count your blessings and be careful what you seek.
Test the waters.
Talk is cheap.

Stolen dance with mistaken feet.
A lit up button to admit defeat.
Hesitate until it's too late to get away.
Classic.

Falling in love; well at least falling for the person- the narrative
of our love, a romance narrated from a distance — seen in third
person. You’re the third person I find myself whispering, “I love
you,” sharing so much about myself, sharing so much that it
aches to be so personal.

Sometimes my words disappear under your breath; I’m fading
away, and not feeling as myself; no longer existing as a person-
impersonal.

I catch glimpses of uncertainty in your eyes, and I sense that my
many personalities can be overwhelming- please don’t take it so
personal. You sometimes feel diminished in their presence, as if
you’re non-personal

Yet, as the day draws to a close, my greatest desire remains:
to know you deeply and to call you, my person.

THROUGH MY EYES -
BRAHMS’S HIDDEN POEM (1857)

Women I love with my heart and soul
But I am not made for matrimony
A domestic life and its trappings
Would destroy my creativity.

Clara I would protect and worship
With my life - she is perfection -
Love I would blemish and defile
If I were to mention - ‘Give me your affection’.

Ah, my beloved Robert is gone
In his tomb my heart is interned
My mentor, my friend, my inspiration
Alas, how little I gave my master in return.

My music is Robert and Clara
Our souls are by destiny wrought
History shall remember
But would understand us not.

[The reference to Robert is Robert Schumann (1810- 1856) and Clara, his wife (1819-1896). Johannes Brahms lived from 1833-1897.]

Loll in a realm of no regards, shuffle the game of life like
a deck of cards — playing into the quest to uncover who
you really are. Each life begins with a question:
“Is it a boy or a girl?”

“Will I be a nurturing mother? A father who can provide
for their all,” each life begins with a question – especially now,
as we ponder this curious phenomenon called life; is it still
worth it, at all. Cloaked in whispers of our cherished dreams,
the most fragile among us are those who beam brightly, even
with kinked teeth.

The gentle craving for a richer life is as tender as the insides
of our teeth — revealing everything we risk on the overflowing
platter of those we disdain; initially, it was a pleasure to meet.
Yet, I was lost in my role in this world at first – bestowed a name
at birth, still grappling with its significance in a titled world –
entitled!

Don’t we pretend that’s what we deserve even from man’s great
fall, who inherited their sin galore. I question it all. Don’t we
all act as if we deserve it all, even after humanity’s great fall,
which bestowed us a legacy of sin?

                                I question it all.

she wore a dress of silk that day
a coral comb set in her hair
to dress her curls a dark array
all black as night, as cold as air.

a sweet seductress so beware!
no man could ever win her charms
her beauty was a vision fair
a hellish haunt that death disarms.

she walked towards her lover's house
her soul was calling out to him
as quiet as a timid mouse
her pounding heart all silent sin.

for he was flesh and he was bone
and she a ghost, a cold temptress
and in her hair she wore a comb
to match the silk of her blue dress.

so how could any man resist
her ghostly spirit, cold as night
as if the very moon that kissed
the soulful sky that shone so bright

was hunting, searching night for him
her lover waited, knew her near
her ruby lips, the lanterns dim
in distant dreams she would appear.

she wore a dress of silk that day
a coral comb set in her hair
how could she so her love betray?
i'll tell the tale and climb the stair...

the moon a phantom all despair
he shook and then a deathly cry
she cut his throat, this vision fair
and flew from him across the sky.

they buried him beneath a tree
his life that languished at her hand
and now i'll end this fantasy
of ghoulish love in spirit land!

beware the witch, beware the knell
where ghosts do flaunt the midnight cold
for devil's pave the way to hell
and steal the souls that darkness sold.

A tiny feather small and soft
makes little impact
when it floats aloft,
ten thousand feathers
make a bird
which sings out loud
and can be heard,
it’s hard to be a single feather
but we are strong
when we fly together

Sighing memories washing over me in the flow of a deep
blue sea, — my skin glimmers with the love of the sun, but its
affection is too overwhelming; my tears cascade, transforming every
ground beneath my feet, into an ocean the moment I step outside.

Please don’t crash into me as if I were an unguarded entrance –
the outside world hammered at the door of my heart, demanding to
be let in by any open conversation — but it takes more time for me
to open up.

Those open scars, raw and untended, are like emotional
whirlpools, dragging me down into the abyss of pain and sorrow.