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Aug 2014 · 1.1k
all sadness is a tantrum
samasati Aug 2014
I'm sure my mother breastfed me enough
& coddled me when I gave up on ever cleaning my room
and keeping it clean for longer than a week
after she'd clean it up for me

I'm sure I've always preferred taking baths instead of showers
because I like taking my time
submerging my body in a divine
warm pool of pausing life for a minute because I need to breathe
and procrastinate the stressful mess I've made

I'm sure I'm afraid of confrontation and telling the truth
when it means someone will hate me
even if I know it doesn't matter what people think,
I'm sure it's an instant mirror that shows me something about myself
and monsters are supposed to stay under the bed, not inside of my subconscious head

I'm sure I want everybody to love me
but I'm not sure if I want everyone to know that
because what's unattractive is repelling
and if I'm alone it means hurting gets overwhelming
and I'm sure all sadness is a tantrum
but just because I get quiet cold inside instead of **** on my thumb
doesn't mean there's any difference in soothing addiction

I'm sure all sadness is a tantrum
and I'm sure all tantrums are affiliated with believing
untrue thoughts, whether logical or foolish
just because you have a mosquito bite doesn't mean you
need to itch it
Jun 2014 · 1.1k
attraction
samasati Jun 2014
A boyish smile, a frivolous response, lips grazing my neck
Put on a plaid shirt and I’ll take mine off for you
Never ever never ever never ever ever ever
let your pride win
and we can set to sea in a canoe until you can let me in

I’m a sucker for sad eyes. That’s the compassion.
Pair those with thick-rimmed glasses: I’ll believe anything you say --
And I had a puppy once, so it’s a natural reflex to fill the bowl with water and affection and treats of all sorts.
My heart gives and gives and runs dry and quits
My heart quits and quits and floods with isolation and goes back to giving;
giving
giving
Tell me I'm living --
square one, I’m a hamster
You know, exasperation shouldn’t be as normal
as brushing your teeth
But then again, we’re all supposed to floss everyday and I always seem to forget to,
like Well-Being in general as my heart
gives and gives and dries and quits and gives and quits
and quits and quits
on everyone else that exists

You know,
I don’t want a man that fuels a petty cycle as long as a noose wrapped around my neck
I don’t want a man that shrugs off pain because he’s a man
I don’t want a man that eats his feelings or drugs his feelings or explodes his feelings all over the bed

I’ll desire disregard
and not long enough kisses that cut off like a woman’s water breaking midsentence.
A rocket,
An earthquake
I’ll want a fading away so that I can feel like I want something
& I’m a sucker for freckles and hard rock abs and defined biceps.
& british and french and irish accents.
& most of all, a man that doesn’t need me, or even want to see me
all that often

the space to contemplate
Am I Enough
The waver between
I want to be Enough
I don’t want to be Enough
I want to be Enough
No, I don’t want to be Enough
So I can want
Want
Aspire
Dream
Desire
Live in ifs and buts and maybes, dazed like a complete and utter
cliche

I don’t want a man that gives me a purpose
I don’t want a man that gives me flowers
Okay, I want a man that gives me flowers
and chocolate and good morning kisses and his time

I don’t want a man that snores
But he’s allowed to snore
I don’t want a man that cringes at a menstrual cycle
I don’t want a man that lives halfway across the world or a man next-door that lives in his head 24/7
I don’t want a man that punches his pain through walls
Or mirrors
Or ******* or dickwads or ******* faces

You know,
never ever never ever never ever ever ever
let your pride win
and we can set to sea in a canoe until you can let me in
if you let me in
and I can let you in

I don’t want a man that won’t let me in
I don’t want a man that won’t let love in.
May 2014 · 648
how to stop struggling
samasati May 2014
go ahead
and worship yourself once in awhile
let the breeze come and, once in awhile,
remember how to stand -
check your posture, shoulders back, feet apart
and if all you see is cobblestone or pavement or dying brown grass,
look up
remember how to be valiant
check your heart rate
feel your fingertips
loosen the knots in your eyebrows
open your throat
remember the way sunsets look and that puppies and butterflies and popcorn exist

go ahead
and buy yourself flowers
once in awhile
buy a bouquet or seven
fill up a vase with water and let them drink love
place them on your windowsill or
coffee table
or bedside table
but remember to smell them every time you walk by
and once in awhile
buy someone else flowers
or chocolate or honey or a brand new notebook or coffee
make them feel special and important
remind them that tenderness is the root of peace
and you'll remember that tenderness is the root of peace

go ahead
and head outside
if it's raining, get wet, if it's chilly, greet each goosebump with a deep breath
and remember, once in awhile,
your eyes rain and your heart floods and they wash away whatever hurt comes
you are a rocket, baby, you are a fresh hardcover book sitting on a cafe table ready to be read, you are a tree trunk so wide, people must gather around you and hold hands to hug your circumference,
you are bright yellow rain boots, love, you are red pink white roses and lilacs and lavender and the entire flower bed,
you are the sunset, sweetie, the puppies and the butterflies and the popcorn and the peace
so, once in awhile, baby, worship yourself
go ahead
and worship yourself
Apr 2014 · 714
the scream
samasati Apr 2014
leave me stranded in the bathtub
with soap sting eyes and without a cold wet washcloth to rub on them,
do not comfort me but twist rope burns in my lungs
and ten cactuses in my tummy
and pins and needles in my lips, falter my grin and I’ll still try
to grin for you.
I never thought I’d feel you gone
like evaporated waterfalls and great lakes gone green
are you the one that I love or just another
tiptoe on the edge of a cliff just to feel
rather tingled with jolly breezes and tempestuous dramas,
to feel
useful,
to
scream.
mutual breakups still hurt
samasati Apr 2014
I get cold when you stop looking at me
plant roses in my crotch
I sleep in a bed of wilting petals because I can never remember
to water them
or love them
or to buy stamps at the post office
or to get a week’s supply of groceries
or to love anyone.
I got warm when you hugged me for that
one
full
minute
one full minute makes me feel like I'm a little
less pathetic.
teach me how to eat more than apples for dinner
tell me how great my music is
and my smile
and my easy-to-get-lost-in eyes
one more time,
maybe three more times?
kiss me
don't kiss me
oh, kiss me
oh, don’t kiss me, just lean in as if you’re going to so I can ask you
why do you keep looking at me like you’re going to kiss me?
don’t let me touch you unless you want unspoken confusion
as much as I do
talk to me every day and sit on the edge of my bed
sprinkle petals of calendulas on my *******,
plant lilacs in my ears
tulips above my chin
orchids in my eyes
and daffodils in my head
Mar 2014 · 2.5k
werewolf
samasati Mar 2014
a helicopter flies above my neighbourhood at 7 in the morning
I'm awake
whether it is because the sound slapped my snooze
or because I hadn't yet fallen asleep
my autopilot doesn't choose to be annoyed
I let apathy trickle down my throat and settle in my gut, it freezes
chill to my forehead
and my heart stops being so soft
perhaps
I forgot
birds eat worms and I am a good liar
I take naps while my roommates eat their dinner
and that pulling my curtains shut to neglect the sun
is not the same thing as Schrodinger's Cat
- I think I'd like to be a werewolf
so the full moon could strip my hesitancies and my horrors
letting out a shrill holler, on all fours, barefoot in the soil
I'd just like to let go
just
let it all
go
to be forced instead of contemplation
to be loose instead of stagnation
it is kind of like when your whole heart begs to be seen
but is paralyzed by limelight
I want letting go to be easy
I don't want to work this hard for it.
Mar 2014 · 460
I can't promise
samasati Mar 2014
to make you feel stronger
lighter
breezier
easier
secure
to hold you when I need to be held too
to laugh at every punchline
to stop crying when I tell you I’m crying and you say oh no that’s not good
I can’t promise
I won’t let the lions and tigers and bears rip out a few pieces of my heart
that I won’t rip out a few pieces of yours
that I will care
that planes and trains and buses and boats won’t tempt me
& I can’t promise
I’ll ever learn to sleep properly
for longer than a week
that I won’t light myself on fire with curiosity
that I can always be pretty
thin
magnetic
inspiring
that I know how to take care of myself all of the time
that I will stay
that’s the big one
that I will stay
I can’t promise
that I won’t leave you
Mar 2014 · 693
one day #2
samasati Mar 2014
my heart still has you in it
or
my heart still wants you in it
out of the blue, I’ll begin to feel blue
I used to be something like a maggot
or a reckless parrot
on repetition
I loved you like learning about the universe
atmosphere, planets, gravity, heartache
and I said
one day
I’ll be something like a lagoon
or a stunning full moon
and I said one day
and I said
one day
Mar 2014 · 335
quiet time
samasati Mar 2014
lips get glued together at night
after midnight
maybe you’ll yawn
but top and bottom will glue back
like you’ve got nothing to say.
my lips feel thin
but full when pressed against a certain boy’s;
he’s far from me
and I can’t help but feel far from myself
sometimes
at night
after midnight
when it’s quiet time
and I’ve got nothing to say
Feb 2014 · 368
over it
samasati Feb 2014
my ribcage doesn’t need to say hello
every time I take off my shirt
& my thighs remind me
I Am A Woman
******;
I am
free
Feb 2014 · 2.5k
pocahontas & mulan
samasati Feb 2014
Grandmother Willow said
listen to your heart, you will understand
but when it pounds all I want to do is run

my heart says so many things
one minute it's telling me to climb a tree as high as the branches let me
the next it says hook line and sinker
and when I'm with someone beautiful, it says
nothing, it just
flutters and pitter patters

Mulan was always my favourite because
she had her heart broken and still
She Saved China
all on her own

my heart breaks like twigs and crumbles like dry
stiff leaves
in Autumn
and my heart is also a rubber ball that bounces from
one place to the next
too rapidly,
I forget where I am
and where I just was a moment before I ended up
wherever I ended up

my heart is like ice and sometimes if you are the right temperature,
it will melt for you
my heart is aware of fallacy and sometimes if you try to coax it,
everything I ever felt for you
won't exist anymore

a few months ago I was sitting at the back of
a midnight bus
in my hometown,
with a hippie headband on, accompanied with braids,
a long dress and moccasins of black suede
when a drunk teenager pointed and hollered directly at my face,
"you look like Pocahontas, how many John Smiths love you?"

I don't get angry anymore
I just get tired
my heart goes to sleep for days and wakes up at
the sudden gong of recognition
in eye contact
that lasts longer than just a few seconds;
my heart awakens at sunsets,
when I am sitting in a tree alone
and it awakens each time I successfully skip a stone

I've always thought highly of the two
disney cartoons
and it's not just because they can fire a harpoon
it's something like embodying the female
self-assurance,
strength of the soul,
embracing solitude like wind on a stroll
heart strong from a softening,
heart loved from singing just for singing
heart open like eye contact
that lasts longer than
just a few seconds
Feb 2014 · 1.1k
boomerang
samasati Feb 2014
something unexpected yet so ordinary happened
last night
it made me wonder how exactly and
why exactly
the ordinary parts of my life are often so
extraordinary
that extraordinary, to me, has to be more than
exceptionally marvellous and nowhere near far from
outstandingly incredible
some people call it high standards,
like the top step of the ladder

I thought
last night was incredible
because you kiss exactly like how I kiss and the shock fluttered
like bits of confetti and glitter on my tongue and lips and
all over my goosebumpy skin
the cadency of my heart was somehow simultaneously
rampant and rested
my body fully invested
in yours
my body completely suggesting
it’s yours
to touch, to make feel good, to adore
the divine woman, curved and open
eyes and skin glowing
arousal growing
bodies non-existent, spirit flowing

exceptionally marvellous
I jitter in silence, knowing myself
and patterns alike
I try to throw away this burdening muddy stick of
I-always-end-up-getting-sick
of things eventually
but obviously
it’s easier to neglect the fact
that this stick is a boomerang
and it always comes right back
Jan 2014 · 1.3k
third date
samasati Jan 2014
we have the same freckle on the same palm
right hand, below the thumb

you’ve got a fake parrot in your bathroom
and I grew up with one in mine, a jungle bathroom my mother painted

if you owned measuring cups, the cookies would have tasted
more like sugar and less like soap

we watched 68% of Hercules and 90% of Pocahontas
then it was suddenly 5AM and I made you stay awake with me

kisses were soft
I taught you how to make someone feel good by grazing your fingertips
up and down their arm, wrist to the shoulder
you shivered and your eyes glazed over

the affection gave me goosebumps
the guitar gave me nostalgia

you said you’re moving to london soon
I said I was so excited for you
you said you needed to get your life in order instead of swoon over some girl
I hate and I love always being that girl

you own a lady bed with rhinestones on it
you said they messed up the order but you kept it anyway
I giggled
we cuddled
you fell asleep
I listened to you snore
I left to go to work
I think you're sweet
and I’m sorry that I don’t care if I never see you again
Jan 2014 · 1.3k
sunday blues
samasati Jan 2014
today I didn't do anything but I cried
so perhaps I did more
than the average person did
I watched too many movies
but if I told you the number I might get embarrassed
and I cried when Robert De Niro cried
he reminds me a lot of my dad
especially in the movie I watched with his four kids that move away from home
and constantly lie to him about their lives
oh that's a lot like what my brothers and I do
we just don't wanna worry him, y'know

I spent most of my day in bed
let's say 75%
I went outside
but that was only to buy groceries
with the money I don't technically have

my mother wanted to call
but I didn't respond
somedays you just don't feel like talking and pretending
everything is alright
sometimes you need a day where everything's not alright so that you can figure out that everything indeed is alright
and if you're wondering, I've come around to the brighter side, despite
the ****** weather and my lazy body

my body might not forgive me yet
for all the **** I've put it through
it's mostly to do with secrets and regrets
there are some things I'll easily forget until my body gets sick
and it always gets sick

and I still haven't quite gotten the hang of
sleep
and what it really means
I'll get too little and drink too much coffee
or I'll get too much and eat too much

I have a friend visiting from another city this week
he reminds me what clarity means
and what resilience means
and what inner beauty means
and I think I'd like to have a picnic in the park with him
maybe lay in the breeze and soak up the sun
he's sixty but he looks forty and numbers don't mean a thing
which is why I've decided to admit
that I watched 8 movies today
maybe it's not really a poem
Jan 2014 · 8.2k
cactus
samasati Jan 2014
my lips purse to meet you
you are like champagne
unopened
are you sweet or are you bitter
are you spoiled
are you a winner

take a beat from my heart,
it accelerates and strengthens
if you pluck an eyelash from me
I’ll remember how to cry again
— and just in case you’re wondering,
I’m still inclined to hold my own hand

guess what
I bought this cactus
‘cos I don’t have to care much for it
we both know
I can’t admit I can’t commit
to letting something bloom
but I’m hoping you won’t notice
see my green thumb,
I am caring!
but see the cactus…
I am lying…
samasati Jan 2014
pick and choose, they say,
just because you didn't catch the bouquet
doesn't mean it's okay to reel in a bucket of that many fishies
and not set even one free
you don't need that many fishies, they say
but I insist on upgrading my aquarium each and every day
I swear there aren't two of the same
and so what if I'm a collector
so what if I like the way it feels
so what if boredom stabs and I need a refreshment
so what if I don't understand commitment
because they have feelings, they say,
so it doesn't make it okay!
Dec 2013 · 1.2k
you call me an enigma
samasati Dec 2013
difficult* is sleeping with you

effortless is making love

shy is the moment after realizing I’m being too quiet in clarity
for you to feel comfortable

clarity is when I tell you the late evening sun lowers its golden tint
on everything and makes the leaves look vibrant green
and if it were to be one of those funny named colours in a paint swatch, it’d be
"I’m Alive! Green"

frustrated is when I see two pillowcases of identical fabric,
one more faded than the other,
and fail to explain why I’m not sure if the metaphor is sad or not

intricate is the way my mind is built

fragile is the way my heart is

heavy is when I talk about how rarely I cry

phoney is when I laugh about crying at a season finale to cover it up

beautiful is what you remind me I am

insecure is when I talk too much

comfort is eating lots of food

comfort is not eating food

disappointment is when I change my mind about your company

horror is asking you to leave

anxious is the way I feel when you are asleep beside me

frivolous is the pillow talk

juvenile is my babbling

fast is my heartbeat

enigma is what you keep calling me
Dec 2013 · 688
losing
samasati Dec 2013
people say they lose people
& things
& that they also lose themselves
and other people say there is nothing to lose
because there was nothing to have
in the first place

some people say their new job
is making them lose
their soul
some people lose their keys
in-between couch cushions

but I think the hurt lays
between
the forgetting
and the remembering

forgetting how to feel the way you felt
once
upon
a
time

& then remembering
parts;
bits and pieces of moments
unable to stitch it back up
in its most authentic form

loss
is just the realization
of change
with fear inside of it

but then again,
some people really do lose their keys
in-between couch cushions.
Dec 2013 · 817
don't look back
samasati Dec 2013
I look behind me
& you vanished all too soon,
leaving me to find the proper branch
to spin up a cocoon
& wait
for something
magnificent
to happen
I think you are magnificent
but I know I shouldn’t so I’d better not
& I’m sorry the sun burns your skin
but your hands burn mine
& every time I look behind me
you’re always gone
& if I look beside me
you’re holding someone’s hand
but it’s never mine
& though I understand love dies
sometimes it goes on, hopelessly inside
someone like me
broken and battered and sanguine still
someone who anticipates her empty heart
to be filled
& I keep looking behind me
as if you’ve just slowed down to tie your shoe
but I never pay attention to what’s coming ahead
& crash into cars and walls instead
Dec 2013 · 601
it's okay to stay
samasati Dec 2013
there is always the luxurious option
of
picking something up
and putting it down for awhile
and then picking it up again later,
if you want to,
like emotions and lovers and friends and jobs
and personalities

it’s a commitment to not committing; to running away;
to the shift of moments

but I think there is just something
so special
about staying
and saying:
hey I’m gonna try really hard not to run away this time
because running away doesn’t cure anything, it just builds endurance
and sometimes that kind of endurance
just
isn’t
as
important
as stopping still in front of the mirror
and really looking at yourself,
in the eye,
not only knowing you’re worth so much love, but also
actually
feeling it.
Dec 2013 · 618
sleeping with someone
samasati Dec 2013
I’ve got to sleep on the outside of the bed
closest to the window
closest to the door
it’s crossed my mind
more than once
more than a few times
more than enough times
that it must be because I like to run away
and an easy exit
is a relief

I’ve always liked to run away
I’ve always liked too much space

I’m claustrophobic
by the wall
my heart pounds
like I’m trapped
in
and there’s something so stupid
about how
if I need to get up to *** or get a glass of water,
or stand underneath the moonlight,
barefoot,
I’ll wake him up
and the intimacy of sharing an
"I can’t sleep" moment
scares the **** out of me
because the question "why?" always follows
and I’m not ready to answer that question
just yet -
even though we’ve had ***,
I’m not ready to be that intimate

and
I can’t stand a man
that snores
though it seems like most of them do
and all I can do
is make do
and just lay there, until suddenly,
I’m asleep
but then he’ll move and I’m awake again,
until suddenly I’m not
and then it’s morning
and our breath smells
and it’s embarrassing to kiss
until it’s not anymore
and then I’ll want him to leave
but it’s rude to ask someone to leave
even though everyone has the right to
want to be
alone —

I think

I’m beginning to run away
again.
Dec 2013 · 1.7k
before me
samasati Dec 2013
I can tell you’ve never been touched
like a hurricane doesn’t matter
like 40 below or a deep papercut between your
thumb and your index
couldn’t do any more harm
than a teddybear or marigold —
but that was
before me

before me,
you’ve never been touched
and you’ve never touched
quite like
dissolving  
into the fresh dew on dawn’s grass
and you’ve never stopped
to feel your ****** like stopping to
smell the roses on a worthwhile jaunt
or the daffodils
or the lilac trees, purple and white
or to smile at a happy sunflower
like all of your little hesitancies and horrors
are of little to no caliber

before me,
you’d never go a night without at least a sip of something,
you’d never give yourself
a chance
to be yourself
in the sober light of love

you’re shy and you avoid it
but if you counted the number of empty wine & beer bottles
on your balcony,
you’d finally know
you ought to stop pouring at night
and figure out how to explore at night;
dip your fingers in gooey paint and smear every colour
on the pavement
for hours and hours
until the sun awakes
like you have the power to love

even if

it aches

and at first, it will, like frostbite,
like papercuts all over your palms,
like cartoon cliff jumps that can never **** you,
like getting fired or evicted or rejected
because remembering something
as fierce and as merciless
as love
is heartbreakingly overwhelming
for the fact that

you had

forgotten

and forgetting does not make you strong or shrewd
it’ll only ***** you over
and give you a blubbery beer belly and empty bottled balcony
and before me,
I’m pretty sure you thought your life was a tragedy
because drinking feels nice and *** releases hurt
but I’m just not interested in being with an alcoholic,
so it’s best we stop taking off our shirts.
Dec 2013 · 427
time walks
samasati Dec 2013
if you don’t remember me in ten years time,
I really don’t mind
because time walks
and gets to look at street signs and forests and waterfronts
and deserts and mountains and all of the little messages in books
that can’t help but change your outlook
and the beds of new lovers
and the eyes of new lovers
and that new lover’s wetted skin in the shower.

there was a day when I was trying to remember
all the names of all the boys I have ever kissed
and I couldn’t
because time walks
away
and is bound to forget
a few magical moments.
samasati Dec 2013
hold me in your heart
and if you can’t do that,
hold me in your arms
and if you can’t do that,
hold me in your eyes
and if you can’t do that,
please never ever ever contact me
ever again,
as I feel quite fragile
and I can’t even say why
perhaps
my lifestyle can be too vulnerable.
Nov 2013 · 1.0k
clouds
samasati Nov 2013
your hands are just clouds
shaped like hands
and I'm lying in the field, letting my imagination run wild,
too wild,
to understand
that you can't actually hold me
and that even if you could,
you can't actually love me,
and that even if you could,
you wouldn't.
Nov 2013 · 2.1k
my bedroom
samasati Nov 2013
at the desk, applying for jobs
there is coffee in my cup
and paint in the creases of my fingernails,
on the wall, a whiteboard with new song lyrics
and a list
of things I need to buy,
of course, once I have the money to buy them,
which brings me back to the desk
which an empty bottle of Cabernet Merlot
sits with an empty glass
and notebooks and a mason jar
with cloudy brown-red water
from the bristles of my paintbrushes
my coffee is cold
the french press is in the kitchen
but my flatmate is filming in there
so I’m stuck at my desk
with two sips of cold coffee left,
applying for jobs.
I feel very fragile
right now,
partly because I didn’t go to a job interview
today,
partly because I didn’t go to a job trial,
on friday
though I don’t want to be a waitress
and **** modelling for art classes scares me.
there’s a plant on my windowsill
named Lucy
and she doesn’t have to do anything
and there are two vanilla candles and an incense holder
with lavender incense burning
but **** all the things that
"bring peace"
like small plants, candles, incense, crystals and photographs;
I want a healthy and clean life,
so I have these things
part as a protection
from my own mind
but to be perfectly honest,
I’m at the desk, browsing jobs online,
saving them for later into a bookmark folder entitled
"Wellington Jobs"
instead of actually applying.
Nov 2013 · 1.3k
i could die
samasati Nov 2013
you’re like an echo,
a pattern on a rug,
a wild rainstorm without the flood


I drew an X and O on a piece of bark 

with my red lipstick but I didn’t have the guts

to put it in your mailbox



that’s a true story

you met a *****

golden smile and legs

when we last spoke, I told you life was absolutely great

dishonesty gets the best of me
when really I’m alone here

trying to scrimp and save

every moment you and I have made

and I could die

that’s a sad story
and a true story

patterns
echoes
come back to me like a boomerang

I haven’t seen you in clarity
in a very long time

you’re like a horse race track
and I am galloping, number 9

running for dear life,
with blinders on the sides of my eyes


running to run, not
running to win, just
running for running
away

I never found it easy to stay
in one place
in my head, even in my heart
they’re fickle body parts

it’s easy to take one step too far away
it’s not easy to stay
it’s easy to regret anything
and I do all of these things over and over again

I’ll probably always thirst for distance
but if you need to,
you can find me in my garden, where I plant
a lot of thought
I’ll always hope that someday,
you’ll recognize your loss and look me in the eyes again

I’m like a hayseed
having a hard time surrendering to the wind
and I could die

still, maybe I am barefoot at your door
while the neighbourhood is asleep
drawing X’s and O’s on tree bark or two stick figures kissing
with sidewalk chalk

I dreamt you were with someone else
you drank lemonade and held hands,
a perfect summer romance

it made me want to die
it made me want to write you a letter and then burn it
but I decided to repress it all instead

I’m sorry for leaving
and then coming back
and then leaving again

and though I only saw you last week,
I haven’t seen you in clarity in a long time

it makes me lonely and when I feel lonely,
I speak to the sky
whispering secrets, you see,
it’s the only thing I can always speak to without lying

the truth is a fierce thing,
like wind can be,
it can be merciless
and I am just a hayseed
having a hard time surrendering to the wind

oh, the truth
it echoes, even in a field

or perhaps
just in my head

you can’t run away from the truth after you tell it to the sky
because the sky is everywhere,
always watching

always listening

always there

and that kind of makes me want to die
Nov 2013 · 1.2k
true heart
samasati Nov 2013
if I inch a little closer, it will give me
warmth

I have felt like a million pieces of a human scattered about
in several fields and bushes
like ash floating in the sky
and seashells washed up on the shore

but with warmth,
realness and a true heart is remembered
and the abundance of smeared portraits of 

that sad girl
or that stupid girl
or that crazy girl
or any identity
is nothing more than a pen's strikeout on
a word
that just doesn't belong in
a perfect sentence
Nov 2013 · 1.0k
what plants need
samasati Nov 2013
please
be tender with me
but don’t let me use you
that’s something I’ve gotten the hang of and readily available people
sometimes shouldn’t always be so
readily available ~
I know this because I’ve often been too readily available
and walked all over,
I think I still have the footprints on my little arrhythmic heart
to prove it —

oh
I’m pretty sure though,
you know,
that we all know what it’s like
to be the plant uprooted from the soil
for the selfish purposes of indoor decor:
it needs
and needs and needs
because self-sufficient roots were cut
and it pleads
and pleads and pleads
*please
be tender with me,
for I don’t know what I am doing here
let alone how to live here in this dark
****** pit you call a home — *

I’ve made a new home for myself
every day
because every day, I am not the same
it’s a constant struggle of
head vs. heart
and
holding back vs. art; &
if I’m going to be honest about one thing
it’s that
I’m completely alright … it’s just,
admitting that means
I’ve got to step into the light
and I’m just so attached to this little plant inside of me
that has been uprooted and abused,
I’m dwelling on mistakes and madness and using
a thousand nouns to fill me whole,
I completely forget that playing the victim makes me sick
and to grow,
all I need is water, love and sun for my soul.
samasati Nov 2013
start a poem;
with what?
I choose a word and think: I always start poems
just like that;
I want to be more abstract
and tralala pulchritudinous --
there's a word for you; I used a thesaurus,
how phoney
how transposed and disconnected from my heart
I write

and I know I can do better than that
than this
yeah, I know that
and I'm a strong believer of
art
creating itself
when it's meant to be created
and that sometimes it's just not meant to be
but when there is so much
filling the heart with wistful agony
and agonizing wistfulness,
creating something pretty
feels pretty good; and you'd think
there'd ought to be something
to write about
if I can feel this much inside of me
if it's that heavy...
I guess
what I'm really trying to say
is that
I'm afraid.
but that's not good enough, is it?
I want to write wilting lilies and papercuts
and stubbed toes and a bit of rage and longing, but mostly
I want to write the truth
and the truth is
I'm afraid
that I'm not enough;

but I know, I know,
that's not good enough, is it?
Nov 2013 · 1.2k
when the spear comes
samasati Nov 2013
I've been told
not to feel
if I can help it
not to deal
with pressing bothers
but they scrape at me like pernicious elves
with honed candy canes,
made spear-like to stick in my guts
and stay there

I've been told to
watch out!
time creeps up and then you're forty
love dries up and then you're forty
crisises emerge and the spear holds itself sturdy
and all you've known is to go numb;
when the spear comes,
go numb;
babies will **** on their thumbs
and you will go numb

I have a cat now
it came with the house I am renting
it's grey and it stares
into my soul like it knows there's a hole
and doesn't stop staring until I close my bedroom door
but it sits outside on the floor
meowing for more
scratching to be let in, to dig her nails in my skin
and tell me with those cunning eyes
*life's not out to get you
but it doesn't mean you won't hurt inside
it doesn't mean the hole in your soul
will be patched, mended or filled or made whole
anytime soon
and sometimes it's just too hard to get out of bed
before noon
but still, you should try or I'll scratch you, deep in
my nails are like spears and you don't know where else
they have been
I wrote this more as a spoken word; so feel free to read it aloud.
Oct 2013 · 1.1k
when hearts are haunted
samasati Oct 2013
take off your mask
Halloween isn't every day
you're shy
but you're brave;
I'm still trying to figure out
how
to get over you
I'm shy
but I'm brave --
though I suppose that when hearts are haunted
with feeling
unwanted,
you are less than you can be
it makes it so hard to be free
and I suppose that when hearts are haunted
with feeling unwanted,
there is nowhere else to go
besides a labyrinth
down below.
take off your hurt,
it's removable just like a shirt
and hang it to the side;
look in the mirror,
your mother could not have been more clear:
beauty resides --
yes, I suppose that when hearts are haunted
with feeling
unwanted,
you are blackened to the root
going rotten like a fruit;
and I suppose that when hearts are haunted
with feeling
unwanted,
there is nothing but the blues
so there is nothing left to lose.
Oct 2013 · 1.3k
where do babies come from?
samasati Oct 2013
a womb. *****. an egg. curiosity. a man and woman that love each other. a man and woman that don’t know each other. a man and woman that kind of like each other but don’t want anything serious.

stupidity. a ripped ******. a missed birth control pill. bad fortune. good fortune. an in the moment decision. a premeditated decision. ***.

love-making. *******. pulling out. pre-*******.

old flames. new sparks. excitement in the private parts.

addiction. miscommunication. needing something to feel important. to have a purpose.

mothers and fathers. crack addicts and coke heads. teenagers.

impatience. anticipation. guilt for causing blue *****.

****. accidents. mistakes.

true love.
Oct 2013 · 11.0k
thank the universe for:
samasati Oct 2013
big sweaters, ghibli, acrylic paint, cafes, knit blankets and unplanned afternoon naps on the couch, gardens, bananas, vanilla almond milk, soft yarn to crochet into ****** scarves, candles after midnight, the big trees with bulky roots, patio furniture, pianos in random buildings, the internet, manatees, the boundless colours of nail polish, peanut butter & honey, rubber boots, pens that write well, fresh new notebooks, skylights, american netflix, mothers that understand, tête à têtes, one glass of sweet white wine, awkward eye contact that turns into comfortable kissing, airplanes, fresh air, baseball caps, the female collective, the really good dark chocolate, flowers, pumpkin spice lattes and ***** chai lattes, candid laughter, yoga, oceans, high waisted shorts, striped t-shirts, docile cats, playful pups, french presses, integrity, sunscreen, meerkats, penguins, chameleons, autumn leaves, fall fashion, ruby woo mac lipstick, osho, dynamic meditation, compassion, siblings, scrambled eggs, smart phones, garageband, metronomes, hot glue guns, quinoa, ferry boats, soft hands, bicycles, real people, fat snowflakes in ample, graceful *******, backpacks that don't hurt your shoulders, hair conditioner, multi-vitamins, soft sand under bare feet, people that own up to lies, clarity, samsara, satori, samasati, visions, echinacea, lavender oil and frankincense, ambrosia apples and ripe avocados, authenticity, Morgan Freeman's voice, good kissers, *******, iced tea on a hot day, curtains, the smell of beeswax, art galleries, hand massages and foot massages, reiki, plums, mild thunderstorms, soccer *****, good surprises, when birds don't **** on your head.
I wrote this with my momma one fine morning!
there is always so much more to add.
Oct 2013 · 885
dichotomic miss
samasati Oct 2013
there are amoebas in me
half are black
half are white
black knows the difference between right & wrong
white knows the difference between wrong & right
I am a castle
made of sugar cubes
I am Einstein
as a fetus
I am a trampoline without springs
but most of all,
I am a liar and a square shooter
and often
don't know what the difference is
Oct 2013 · 1.0k
full but empty
samasati Oct 2013
I’m full,
there is no room inside of me
every bone has been dipped in a thick coat
of something
sweet or sick
and every crevice has been poured all over,
now bowls of mixed icky stews –
I am full
there is no room for another hand
or fingerprint
or lemon poundcake

I am full, but I feel bare;
and I still don’t want you there

my body is heavy
with gooey webs of ghoul guilt and there is pressure
on my chest to pick myself up,
and get on with it
even as evil weighs me down,
tires me down,
pries me down,
and laughs at me struggling

I feel so full
there is no room to be smiled at
or even looked at;
there is no more room to store your stories
or secrets
or tears
or trust; it’ll all come falling down
like the London bridge
and I’d collapse underneath, into poisonous gasps and groans
of relief
that finally,
I
get
to
die.

I am full but I feel so empty
and I don’t want to die,
but I want to die;
but I mostly don’t want to die;
I just feel so empty
and I don’t want to be around you
because it doesn’t make it any easier
for me
to love me
Sep 2013 · 1.1k
an awful gardener
samasati Sep 2013
there could be a worm in my head
gnawing away,
like mice do through cords, and then one day
you realize
oh! the toaster doesn't work anymore!;
my mercy doesn't work anymore!
and my patience went dry like acrylic paint does
when you brush it on the canvas, and want so badly
to blend it
but it can't blend
because it's dried already, so
you should probably try oil paint or something -
I'm losing my mind
picking all the weeds out,
standing tall with peaceful pride and then realizing,
they were beautiful flowers;
I uprooted them and then chucked them in a naughty pile

I'm awful! loud in my head
stop being awful! I'm hurting people
again
and
again
and
again

find a better gardener, please never
ever
ever
ask me to tend to your soil
or your fruit
or your flowers
or anything that has to do with
nurturing
your growth
or heart health
or emotional stability
- I pull roots
like a robot; I don't even look at what I'm pulling
until after
it's been pulled out.
Sep 2013 · 2.0k
Rules For A Backpacker
samasati Sep 2013
I must be incredibly wary
and alert
and I gotta follow my gut because there’s a reason to why
it aches
or jumps with excitement;
it knows
much more than my head does;
and I must hold myself firmly like a proud statue, but I can’t just stay in one place
I need to tiptoe on a tightrope
I mustn’t fall, but if I do, I mustn’t fuss
just get back up again,
just get on with it

I went to an art gallery this afternoon
and the theme of one small contemporary art room
was,
“just get on with it”,
(I decided that myself anyway);
there was a painting of an airplane, resting on snow,
that one was obvious
I said, “just get on with it, then, fly”
there was a painting of a snowy road,
that one was obvious too
there was a painting of a sad girl
again, obvious
but then there was a painting of a person
with a large smudge of green on his face, he barely had a face
and a large smudge of white on his waist, he barely had a waist;
I concluded,
“sometimes you don’t have a face and you just need to get on with it”
because my mood was easy breezy silly this afternoon;
but now I’m thinking
sometimes you lose your identity
and you just need to get on with it

I can barely take anyone serious when they ask the question,
“who am I?”
the answer is obvious if you allow simplicity into your heart,
“you’re what you are experiencing and feeling and being right now, and it’ll change all the time in every moment”
so,
I feel kind of commiserable
and much of a parody
for sitting in a busy mall foodcourt, with a cup of coffee I didn’t even buy at that foodcourt,
remixing an old song on garageband,
then looking up and realizing I’m surrounded by all of these kiwi strangers
and finally asking the question
“who am I”
oh I’m a lunatic, aren’t I?

I must be open, but not too open
and easy to get along with, but not too easy to get along with
I must catch a wave on the first try,
but if I wipe out, I mustn’t turn red;

I need to watch what I say
before I say it
but also find the courage to speak
when I’m shy
and I must be considerate
but not let people walk all over me

I can’t be a pushover, and I can’t be too much of a leader
because I don’t know what I’m doing
here;
I can love but I shouldn’t fall in love
at least for awhile
because I’m still high from the transition and I’m dubious of how
authentic and sincere
my falling in love
would be

worrying is the most unnecessary thing
money isn’t an issue
(right now)
and loneliness is a blessing
but it’s also a sickness
and I must remind myself that I’m worth not being lonely
and instead being free
and above all,
I am capable of anything I set my mind to,
even if I forget
“who I am”
or “what I wanna be”
above all,
I must always be me.
Sep 2013 · 2.0k
clarity
samasati Sep 2013
you’re free;
you’ll see

maybe all it takes is a seagull
******* on your cap

and you’ll just sit there and laugh -

that’s clarity
Sep 2013 · 2.2k
black magic
samasati Sep 2013
you are like black magic,
a hidden lip underneath a night of grace; underneath the canopy
of old soul trees, stretching out above
to protect hearts from being
hurt;
but you,

you are like black magic
and cheeky lick kisses under ****** blankets.
you were a secret
you were a shame
you were a dose of mortifying pleasure;
a sore amount; a quarter of a cup; a batch of chocolate chip cookies
with just one egg,
splenda, not sugar,
tofu, not meat,
never enough;
but I’m a sucker for vegetarianism and anything
orthorexic – I’ve compared you
to my biggest demon
too often; so I should really know that
you’re toxic –

I dance alone
with my eyes closed
and you’re there; step step, close.
your fingers slide into the gaps between mine
and now we’re interlocking,
like a devil on my back;
I move with you; dancing to your heartbeat
step step step, hold me close
and never let me go
-- oh please let me go
-- oh maybe I should let go.

We’re Getting Older,
the lyrics in the song I am listening to
tell me;
but I feel young under your gaze
a time machine; taking me back to a year ago
in the winter
in the cold
under the open, black sky
because the trees are broken and little in the winter,
leafless,
and don’t have enough life in them
to protect my heart
from being hurt
(by you).
oh you,

you are like black magic,
and I am like a baby lioness,
proud and easily tamed.
Sep 2013 · 755
time 2 grow
samasati Sep 2013
time 2 pack
time 2 downsize
time 2 feel your heartbeat
time 2 lick the chocolate frosting off the plate;
indulge,
enjoy;
and always always always appreciate

time 2 give hugs
time 2 dance
time 2 nurse a hangover
time 2 pick apples off the tree in the backyard
while you still can;
time 2 breathe, don't forget to breathe
always make time
to breathe

time to go
time to grow
I'm moving to New Zealand tomorrow. What even is life.
samasati Sep 2013
what am I supposed to do?
I’m high on ativan
but that’s a secret
and it’s not the kind of person
I am anyway;
I promise, sometimes in life, there are acceptable exceptions --
a big fat scary monster has swallowed me up
whole
and I feel like Pinocchio
in the musky dark,
in the stomach of terror;

did you know
I bought 3 books today,
they’re classics
and were on sale,
"how perfect," I thought, "something to read on the plane; something to read over and over again for a whole year abroad."
but my suitcase is empty
apart from the three paperbacks,
intimidating me
and I’d honestly rather die and never hear anyone talk ever again than pack for a whole year

this is a poem of fear
but that’s a secret, though I’m sure
the consumed ativan
clearly gave that away;
— I’m moving
to the complete opposite end of
the world —
Sep 2013 · 1.0k
cold sweat anxiety
samasati Sep 2013
i am incredibly foolish & repetitive
foolishly repetitive
repetitively foolish;
there is a pebble in my heart,
small but firm,
impenetrably set still,
demanding to be felt
coercing the blood supply to soak it all up
as if blood can seep through
a pebble
it cannot; but it won’t stop
demanding attention
it is smothering
and relentless;
i have shortness of breath
and my heart pounds
like a door slammed shut
and then opened
and then slammed shut
it’s almost as if i can feel the pebble
rattle within the walls
with
each
pound,
welting the vulnerable tissue;
open,
slammed shut,
open,
slammed shut;
we all forget how to cry
when we most need to
Sep 2013 · 1.4k
I am curious
samasati Sep 2013
about so much!
like, do you like lemonade more than hot tea and like so many
other people,
are you self conscious about your feet,
and are you still in love with that girl who
broke
your sad heart?

I am curious,
are we still friends,
will we ever be lovers again,
do you still roll joints as often as I brew coffee,
how often do you make love, and what was the
best time;
was it with her, or with me?

I am curious,
what are you gonna name your baby,
is it a boy or a girl,
are you even ready,
do you ever worry about having no money?

have you ever gotten into a car crash, and did it
completely change your life
and do you always drive the speed limit now?
how often do you watch ****, and do you feel *****
afterward?

are you a momma's boy,
were you bullied as a kid, were you the bully,
were you abandoned?

I am curious,
how'd you learn to lie so well, and how'd you learn
to write so well, and are you
fully aware
of the magic you possess, or are you
sincerely
always
not believing in yourself?

have you ever gotten into a fight, did you
throw the first punch,
or did you take it
like a man?

is your devil chocolate or bread and what
halloween candy
did you trade for the candy you liked,
and if I bought you a Reese's buttercup
would you kiss me tonight?

I am so curious,
do I talk too much, ask too many questions,
get under your skin,
make you want to rip your eyes out
or do you love me and just have
nothing to say
because I'm moving away?
a poem for 4 old lovers
Sep 2013 · 2.0k
namaste dear
samasati Sep 2013
it is so easy to love you



*and incredibly hard to miss you.
Sep 2013 · 1.5k
pipe dream
samasati Sep 2013
we used to play
you used to call
and now we email
back & forth
once in awhile ~
I sign my new name:
love you, Samasati
but I feel the same,
clinging to a pipe dream;
however, aware of the glum analogy that:
other hearts are to me as my heart is to you
and still forgiveness is
an issue.
hypocritical overly heartswelled idiot;
blockhead, nitwit;
I am.
but when you told me
you miss me,
you miss my ******,
you miss my intensity,
all I could muster up was
a hardy laugh.
Sep 2013 · 1.3k
"you got a ouchie"
samasati Sep 2013
my little cousin is almost 3
and she is just like me
- or just like I was
when I was 3.
she’s stubborn
and she growls.
I used to growl,
apparently.
she’s a climber, a growler
and an observer
with messy messy curly hair;
it is such a nest, I recalled
the years my mother would
yank
a brush through my ringlets
and I would cry.
my little cousin
knows what she wants,
obviously,
she’s 3.
I was sitting on a bench, listening to
my family
talk about old stories
with my aunt that is now
dying.
she stood in front of me, my little cousin,
staring
quite blankly, like she didn’t need anything.
I looked in her eyes, she looked
in mine.
"you got a ouchie"
she told me.
"yeah? where?" I asked her.
"there," she touched just below
my knee
with her index finger.
indeed, there was a fresh
scar.
and immediately I was buried
in a memory
of how I got that scar.
it was just over two weeks ago,
actually;
and I hadn’t felt the skin rip
until the accident was over.
or I could call it an affair,
or a pit of passion, or I could even
call it a mistake.
"how did you get an ouchie?"
my other cousin asked me;
she’s almost 7.
I was devastated.
I wanted to be upright,
be honest, in a
calm kind of way;
but you can’t do that with children
like this.
I wanted to say,
"a boy gave this to me."
but instead I said,
"oh, I fell a couple weeks ago."
"on the sidewalk?" asked the almost 7 year old.
"something like that," I told her.
"you fall hard and got ouchie!" squealed the almost 3 year old.
she’s too smart, for her age
how did she know
that’s exactly
what happened
Aug 2013 · 777
I think you could be great
samasati Aug 2013
I think
you could be great
with cinnamon and sparkles in your heart
I’ve always thought that
of you
like I’ve always thought
dresses are comfier than jeans
and the moon watches me
when I can’t sleep.
I think you could be great;
you’ve already got
the big heart
and the “I fall hard” innocence
and passion sits well like a cushion
in every corner and chasm
and artery and vein;
it’s just your head and your hands
that are too busy and afraid
to sit still.
Your hands are hectic; fussy
and your head is too unavailable,
occupied with thoughts of
loneliness underneath starlight
and bitterness and romance,
or who you should love and how much you love
and do you really love yourself
or are you just so used to lying, you’ve forgotten
how to
truly
find comfort in being alone.
I think
you could be great
but you want too much
and don’t give yourself enough and you think
you’ll lose yourself
in love
because you’ve only seen yourself real
in someone else
and that’s always a constant whiplash
between being a great idea
and being a haunting one;
if they leave, it feels like part of your identity is gone
and we can’t have that now, can we.
I think you could be
so great
but you love outwardly before you love inwardly
almost always;
and though you’ve held damp soil
in your palms
your hands, crafty and clever as they are,
are too empty and broken
to know how to nurture a seed.
I think you could be great
I think you could be
so so
great
but your art’s not real
because you won’t allow your heart to feel.
Aug 2013 · 809
bête noire
samasati Aug 2013
there is cotton in my mouth.
my fingers become tweezers, plucking, yanking, culling;
but there is still cotton in my mouth.

it reminds me of the time the spooky man from the shadows called me sugar
and then called me over like I was a cheap doxy.
avoiding him was obvious, but then dodging him became obvious and
the moment I felt ***** hands brush my left hip,
I knew I wasn’t safe anymore.

there was cotton in my mouth.
fragile like a pretty doe with a wounded hind leg,
I could not scream or attack; for there was jelly in my bones too.

but tonight, there is cotton in my mouth, again,
for different reasons; though, the same.
fear.
and while there is no bête noire with a knife
clutching onto my left hip, calling me sugar;
there is this certain bête noire I had neglected,
to discover radiant lights dancing above
and rich, resplendent tickles and tingles coming through my heartbeats.

I found a black spot; a hole or tear; rip in the curtain; stain on the carpet.
a darkness, a moon gone missing; a reversion to autopilot; comatose, asleep.

there is cotton in my mouth and my fingers still
cull the plush barrier; but it grows like a monster
and I have nothing more to say anyway.
Aug 2013 · 1.3k
how to be free
samasati Aug 2013
:)
1. tell all of your problems to a tree; it’s not going to answer back but it will love you

2. stuff your face in a pile of snow

3. get up and dance when there is no music playing

4. stand infront of the mirror with one hand cooly resting on your hip and the other hand pointing at yourself, and then wink at yourself like you’re the most attractive babe out there

5. stop everything you’re doing and speak in gibberish until you laugh

6. paint with your toes to Beethoven

7. roll around on the floor for a few minutes; move furniture around so that you have plenty of space to do so

8. bake someone you are fond of cupcakes and surprise them out of the blue

9. pick a ton of wonderful flowers and hand them out to strangers that pass by

10. when you’re stubborn, stuck, in pride, in pain, in mind, tell whoever your head thinks it concerns these 4 lines in a row and nothing else;
"I love you
I’m sorry
Please forgive me
Thank you”
(Hoʻoponopono)

11. buy yourself a yummy ice cream cone

12. go swimming alone and let your body flow and be one with the water

13. write a real old fashioned letter to your mother or father telling them about yourself and that you love them

14. stand outside in the pouring rain until your clothes soak; and make sure you’re barefoot so that gushy mud can get between your toes

15. go to a park with a swing-set and just swing by yourself

16. make yourself a big beautiful breakfast in the morning

17. give your friends meaningful hugs that last a very long time

18. read a passage or two in The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran

19. shut off your Netflix and go on a bike ride in the middle of the night

20. hug yourself and kiss your hands and your arms and stroke your hair and tell yourself aloud “I love you; I love me” over and over again

21. breathe deep into your belly like a Buddha instead of shallow into your chest

22. go to another city/province/country/continent on your own for at least a week

23. don’t shy away from holding someone’s hand or kissing them if you think it feels right

24. hold a baby in your arms

25. drink a glass of water
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