I told myself that all I needed was time
to find happiness.
And time delivered what it could:
everything that can make you happy.
Yet, here I am, hours after sun set,
consumed by the guilt of still
feeling lost in the depths of misery.
But how could I tell them? In my mind, I
see their confusion contort into contempt.
And so I sit in the shadows of the past,
jealous of reason.

A life
looking for
happiness
in the lives of others:

a million pieces
broken
and reshaped
into something unsuitable;

into something
that saw
solace
in quiet surrender.

Into something naive enough
to believe that
only I could shape my own
happiness.

While wanting for nothing,
you showed me that
I can just be
me.

It's
true:
the shape of happiness is
you.

A second
choice:
A comfort to have,
a sad thing to be.

You!

You made a liar out of me:
I told myself that I didn't need you,
that this was it,
a life in service to solitude,
unfit for happiness.

But I caught the liar.
Silenced him.

For now

I heard him say that she was the most beautiful
woman in the world
I looked at her and knew that she wasn't.
I heard him say it again and again
-day in,
day out-
and I still could not understand

until I met the most beautiful woman in the world.

A moment entered for an eternity;
a belief that departure would be at my own design

A moment broken into infinite pieces;
glimpses of another time along serrated edges

A moment forged into a hushed silhouette;
an attempt to cure solitude

And so I concede to this moment
as an eternal citizen.

Fixated
on your cold embrace,
and the comfort of your calculated whispers,
coaxing me into your paradise;

Enveloped
by your delirium;
Your toll exact:
Release by ruination.

I wander between worlds,
Each one as before:
Vast and vacant,
Save for a lake
And you;

I cheat and shirk my bonds along the edges of your mastery,
But your grasp is
Inescapable;
Your perfect reflection stretched out before me

And in a maddened frenzy
I have drowned you a thousand times, and now once more;
Beneath the surface,
Your face serene;

You rise again,
A smile etched between your cheeks,
Sinister by design,
For it is your turn now.

Five feet down in an open box,
a twinkle from the set of sleeping figurines caught my eye
They were animals -an assortment
of dogs, horses, hippos and all.
A silver cat, emerald eyes embedded,
midst a golden throng.
I touched it;
It was warm, not like the others
It shivered and alive it came, snagging
my skin on a razor claw
as it leaped to run on four then two.
She passed between this world and the next as if boundaries were nothing.
I dared to follow,
finding myself enveloped by the light of a winter sun,
the air cold and crisp,
the soft snow stinging my feet.
I sat beside her;
I glimpsed a jade version of me
as she smiled at this parallel paradise.
Her hand brushed my cheek and I laughed
at a touch so kind and delicate.

Borne aloft on broken wings
among the Angels and Demigods, with a hand in mine;
eager eyes fixed upon our arrival to paradise;
and a song greeted us through sealed smiles.

At the mercy of that blissful hum and soft, feathered fingers on my cheek,
I fell into complacency.
The gates opened:

Angels and Demigods and Demons revealed,
skin, flesh and bone peeled away,
blistered tongues waved in the wind,
silent howls of madness echoed in time.

And at their mercy, I turned to see whose hand beckoned me;
a familiar face,
there stood Solitude.

Solitude, my old friend.

A newspaper in hand,
glasses on his nose,
he sat on his big blue chair,
with a carefree pose.

A fire by his side,
the commentator in his ear,
he'd pause his daily routine,
and change what's on his mind.

He'd greet me with a big
"Hello",
in a deep country voice,
lots of questions followed, all the while quietening Marty's gig.

I saw him in bed that night,
the mask of life around his mouth;
this time I greeted him with a big "Hello",
hoping he'd reply.

His eyes remained closed,
his hand in hers,
the sound of the commentator unquiet,
the newspaper at his bedside, untouched and exposed.

We met upon a fleeting chance
and grabbed it by its sail
A chance so slight and improbable,
it was surely set to fail
One hand tightened, the other outstretched
not far enough, yet my eyes could see,
between two soft, round cheeks,
a smile welcoming me
On a sea of clouds,
we passed through an ancient door
guarded by angels and demigods,
to dance in a foreign land, forevermore.

I see it in front of me,
those black orbs ready to swallow me whole
Must I face it?
Its arm reaches beyond the barrier,
its fingers curling around my neck
I turn, but my feet, somehow one with the clay mud,
are rendered immobile.
Tendrils snap at my limbs, latch to them and embed themselves deep within.

I see him beyond the broken barrier,
his eyes pointed towards the dimly lit ceiling, searching.
He cannot face me,
but I face him with my gaping maw,
ready to devour him whole

We met in a familiar place,
of quiet serenity,
It had no other parallel,
becoming uncommon to someone else.

You whispered to me of my perfection,
my goodness
and kindness
and beautiful reflection.

You whispered to me that I was the one,
your light
so bright,
You became the sun.

You whispered to me that we were the same,
a male version of you,
identical, in unison,
but that was just a game.

Now I sit here, with my perfection,
my goodness
and kindness,
scanning my reflection.

And you there, I see,
your soft hands curled around a mug,
his around you.
You sit there, with him, his lies and impurity.

I was once a faceless doll,
clean and concealed.
I remained that way for a time
'til curiosity caused my new form to be revealed.

At first my face was plain.
I was content and free,
but curiosity was not the only artist,
you see.

They seamed in their stitches
and drew upon my face.
I was new yet again,
changing with an unbelievable pace.

They said I was no longer just a copy
but unique and enviable.
But was I not formed from their desires,
an image which their liking could resemble?

Were these thoughts even mine to own?
I wish I could be that faceless doll once more,
but I am ragged and marked now,
though their drawings have not soiled my core.

I am an imperfect artist,
and this is my canvas.

Your radiant presence leaves me speechless.
I say the words,
just to myself.

The sweet scent of tea lingers on your lips.
I want to taste your essence,
know what you know.

I want to fill my soul with yours,
learn from you, laugh with you.
I want to feel content.

But I can't, for I am an imperfect artist,
and my canvas is not worthy of your portrait.

As I gazed at the celestial sky, I came across a star.
It was bright and brilliant yet unattainable.
My power was limited,
my hunger insatiable.

I thought if I stared long enough,
my limits would be surpassed.
But I was wrong.
Desire demanded action. And without it, forever it would last.

I searched within myself to find the answer.
It remained hidden from detection,
so I searched you instead.
Your eyes were flawless gems and untarnished was your complexion.

Those gems reflected the heavens.
And had captured what I desired.
I was complete.
Nothing more was required.

I had managed to attain the unattainable.

A visit was due.
It had been a while since our last one.
I buttoned up my coat,
for winter had come.

The walk was short,
my father at the lead.
He held the bouquet and cake
and he moved with speed.

We came together to celebrate,
Each of us bringing something to the feast.
It was her day.
Yet he sat in his seat, uncaring at the least.

I had to be civil,
so I walked on in,
and shook his hand,
I wished him well, though I think I lied. Was it a sin?

No, then I realised I meant it.
Not for him, but for her,
to ease her worries and cares,
because I cared for her, she was my grandmother.

The room was full.
We were together as planned.
The fire blazed.
Cake in our hands.

Her favourite show came on,
but he called for a change as his attention drifted.
It was her day, I thought,
and she deserved to do what she wanted, to do something different.

It was getting late,
and he wanted to go and rest.
But as she helped him up, he produced something,
A necklace of silver, pure and brilliant, and whispered, ''You're the best''.

Then as he exited the room,
I wished him well once again.
He nodded.
I nodded back with love this time, not disdain.


I realised then they were from a different age,
An age of hidden emotion,
but it was theirs,
and they loved each other through the quiet and the unwanted commotion.

The day was young and bright when we first met,
She had stared at me,
appraising.
Her eyes had set.

I was an alien,
an invader.
She had to search my eyes,
to check that I, too, was ****-sapiens.

I thought she was done,
for she accepted me then.
But I was wrong.
She peeled at my layers like I was an onion,

discovering who I was. I hadn't known what I was concealing.
My life was a charade
till, like a lioness,
she had begun ripping, revealing.

I was no longer an alien,
She had heard my tale, both the sorrow and joy, and I hers.
Yet she searched my eyes again
and discovered that I, too, am ****-sapiens.

I remember the Big Red Man,
Oh, I remember him well,
The house was filled with holly and pine,
That fragrance, that smell.

I had to get clean
And dressed for bed.
"Go to sleep, love,
or he won't come,'' my father had said.

His was the ultimate voice of authority,
but I couldn't obey.
During those nights,
I would hear a bump, and not a word I would say.

The Big Red Man had arrived,
I knew.
My eyes were shut.
The boards creaked beneath his shoe.

I wanted to yell, to call out to him.
But I knew I couldn't, for, during those nights, he was the law.
Then when he was gone, I would be so full of excitement,
I had to clench my jaw.

Presents galore,
My family would wake.
We'd play with our presents,
then after church and dinner, tuck into cake.

I remember  one time,
after the holidays,
these girls brought in his glasses,
I was amazed and jealous, for I could only gaze.

Though, now, I laugh at those times,
An age ago.
That Big Red Man,
How I miss him so.

The dirt beneath him was damp,
yet he lay there for a time, unknowing, contemplating.
He had brought nothing
and had nothing except for this camp,

Where the trees seemed to reach out at him, twisting and writhing.
No kind soul to keep him,
but his own.
None to confide in.

The dying fire illuminated less than half of him, and the crescent moon shone on his back and side,
casting shadow in all directions.
The cold burrowed deep into his flesh.
There was no escape, he knew, yet still he tried to hide.

It seemed to work; he was back home, in a garden-field.
The grass was warm and dry,
the trees tall and everlasting.
He heard a voice say: ''Dear, I cannot find you, where are you? I yield''

He couldn't recall who it was, but his troubles faded at the sound of their shout.
The dirt beneath him was damp,
yet he lay there, unknowing and contemplating.
The fire almost out

He added more fuel,shaping the twigs like a dome,
then curled up into a ball.
He thought of the garden;
he thought of home.