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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?
samasati Aug 2012
sail boats
and oceans

and really anything that floats and carries a person

far away
in a big body of water

I don’t think I have to say why

it’s obvious

I’m sure everyone has a thing for sail boats
and oceans

I like busses too
I seem to get really impatient on them, and I like that a lot
because I know I can’t do anything about it

it’s a game of
Will I Go Crazy Or Will I Have A Snooze?

I like being stuck between being stuck and being unstuck

one day I want to sit on a bus for 24 hours and see what happens
(I will be doing a lot of that in the month of October)

I’ll bring books, my iPod and movies to watch on my laptop
but I’ll probably just stare out the window hours on end
tall buildings will turn into blurry trees and blurry trees
will turn into pixilated neon canola crops
and there’ll be cows and ponies and one long road

to Montreal
then Toronto

then who the **** knows where because I am already dreading
going home after the trip
even though I haven’t left for the trip yet

it’s months to come

I have a thing for finding a new home
everywhere I go

but I never find one

I like the process of looking for a really long time
then giving up from discouragement and sad feelings of
abandonment stemmed from my childhood daddy issues

I’m pretty sure everyone has daddy-abandonment issues

I have a thing for assuming every one has the same problems
that I do

but it turns out that there are loads of girls that like to eat
lots
and don’t feel ashamed of the extra scoop of
double fudge ice cream

and there are teenagers that get along with their fathers
and look up to them
they go out for lunches and joke about dates and fix cars
and tell their little girls they’ll always be their little girls
and go on awkward shopping sprees and barbecue

but everyone has a thing for sail boats and water
we all want to escape

our eating disorder and drinking problem
a skinny body or a bulky body
bad grades and perfectionism
the people pleasing pushovers
fathers and mothers and old european traditions
family dinners that go perfectly and are so boring because of it

the fragility of feeling unique
the arrogance of feeling unique
the lack of faith in ourselves

being alone
samasati May 2013
I lit a candle in an empty concrete room

the floor is concrete
the walls are concrete
the ceiling is concrete

the candle is wax and wick
and I am skin and blood and cartilage and bone and hair and nail and water and guts and sad

I lit a candle in an empty concrete room
the yellow light of the fire makes things look tenebrous and cryptic
there are tiny cracks in the skin on my hand like a million piece puzzle of the ocean
tiny cracks between tiny triangles and diamonds
they make my hand
my hand holds a match
the match lights a candle
the candle burns
in an empty concrete room

concrete reminds me of falling off my bicycle and scraping my knees
and dungeons
and the weeds that grow in the cracks of every sidewalk

candles remind me of Christmas
and yoga in the dark
and my step-mother hoping her house smells like home
and calming down

I lit a candle in an empty concrete room,
crying bitterly at seclusion
my heart pounded to the flame’s flicker and a heavy thought tumbled into mud,
thickening it
it dried and I couldn’t cry

I don’t mean anything to this candle or this concrete
but there is something about a fire in a room built so rough and quiet
that makes me feel like
my voice is heard
samasati Sep 2012
I love you* isn’t

A fleeting memory of a camping trip.
It isn’t a strings attached contract that is signed out of intimidation or guilt.

It doesn’t last ‘until…’
You disappoint me. You abandon me. I find something better.

nor does it lay within the depths of ‘only ifs’ :
{only if you love me - only if you see me for who I am - only if you bake me an apple pie}


I love you is
Being able to love myself and vulnerably feel safe with who I am- in your  eyes

It means you are free to be you, to choose freely for yourself and bring forth any awakening, lesson or consequence with no judgment or close-minded examination.

It shakes loose of any stern expectation or obligation made for you because there is no need for you to size up to any other standard that isn’t You.
I love you means you are and always are enough.

It defines no separation between us; yet at the same time – I can celebrate my love for you without the presence of your face, voice or perfumed scent – you are always with me.

I love you is
My full acceptance for the beautiful, strong & powerful Being that you are –
In each bold and thick fiber.
It is the act of fulfilling my inner-self with such gratification and wholeness
Because it feels so utterly good to love you.
samasati Jun 2013
a lot of people I know
are never really happy
even when they’re happy, they’re really just sad

a lot of people I know
settle for just about anything
they’ll settle for emotional abuse and then settle for a deep addiction to feel better about the emotional abuse they’re letting themselves prostrate to
as long as it can still make “living” seem feasible,
they’ll settle
because nobody taught them how to ask for what they want,
so all this time they never ******* knew they were granted permission to feel worthy of getting what they want
because this world likes to think that nobody is entitled to feel worthy or to give into clarity

a lot of people I know
get off on damaging themselves
because blood and burns and bones and ***** and *** and pills and puke
are such disgusting in-your-face secrets
and this world knows it’s not acceptable to just blatantly write
“I hate myself” on your forehead with permanent marker for everyone else to see
yes, this stupid, guileful world we live in decided to trick everyone into believing that secrecy and suppression are what make a person
interesting and loveable

a lot of people I know
have this wicked demon inside of them
and they like to imagine it looks like a fiery nightmare,
red like terror
with a devilish face; poisonous eyes and a heartless grin;
a face that says “I own you”
just so that they can reinforce their ideas of worthlessness
and the self-pity of not having true control over themselves
when really, they can always have true control whenever they want

what *a lot of people I know
don’t know is that
that wicked demon thing inside of them
is really just a flower wilting, starving, dying,
waiting, hoping, longing to be watered
and wondering what the **** they did
to be tortured like this
samasati Sep 2012
I think people often forget
the big picture and think that everything is coming
to an end
or that they’ve ruined so much in their lives already.
Something really overwhelming happens to them for a few months
and they think all hope and possible
healing is lost.
All they want to do is wallow and wish it were all
different, never accepting
what’s really going on.
It’s that kind of self-absorption that stunts
the quality time in life.
It’s an obsession that stunts our means
of enjoyment.
samasati Apr 2013
there are vanilla scented candles
and plaid scarves,
acrylic paints of every ******* colour
and wool socks,
a closet full of pretty dresses
and a bookshelf full of good reads
but I’m not happy

there is laughing
there is smiling
there is feeling good
sometimes
but I’m so unsatisfied
with what I’ve got
though I seem to have just about
everything

I have a good mother
I have friends that care
I have blankets
I have good teeth
I have rubber boots
some people say I have nice legs
I have compassion
I have the drive to create
I have trees
I have long hair
some people say I have kindness
I have a bus pass
I have a new job
I have flexibility
I have enough money
some people say I have talent
but I’m unappreciative
and ******* myself  
still

there are booked gigs
and improv shows,
interesting conversations
and instruments,
trees and leaves and twigs
and pinecones,
the sky,
the zoo,
the cafes
but I get insecure most of the time

there are long hot baths
and biting nails,
then painting nails,
then repainting nails
and biding time,
then hating time,
then being okay with time,
there are long stares in the mirror
sometimes glares
sometimes there are puffy eyes
there is frustration
in my fingers
in my head
in my voice
at the piano
on stage
being vulnerable in a crowd of cool actors and musicians
fear of being seen
fear of being unseen
fear of doing it WRONG
fear of looking stupid
looking ugly
looking pathetic
sounding stupid
sounding ugly
sounding pathetic

there are dreams of leaving
this city
this head
these people I have known
for what seems like forever
there are dreams of healing
and loving my skin
and the natural amount of fat
that is underneath it
there are dreams out there
there are so many of them
that I’m afraid to wish
that I’m afraid to think of
from caution of them not happening
from caution of disappointment
and loneliness
and neediness,
then purposelessness

there is wanting
and wanting
and wanting
something better
I don’t know what
just something better
but waiting
and waiting
and waiting
for it to come to me
instead of
trying
and going
and getting
it myself
samasati Oct 2012
the last time i kissed you,
you didn’t want to kiss me
but did anyway
i know what that’s like
it’s hard to say no
i’ve done that before
on many occasions
you were surprised
or muddled
but you did anyway
for longer than expected
and when i asked you for a hug
because i hadn’t had a hug
in weeks,
you pulled away before i was ready
to let go
and then felt bad and embraced me
again
it’s those things
i am terrified to admit to myself
they happened
in front of my face
but i deflected it
with manipulation
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.
samasati Dec 2012
I’m telling you, it’s not about the inability to smile
or the bad posture
it’s not about the lack of appetite or the dark circles under your eyes
you’ll get to sleep soon
a good, deep, fresh sleep that’ll nurture you back to sanity
or at least gaiety  
it’s just today,
I swear you’re still beautiful and blessed
the mirror might be making a cruel joke on you
but that’s just today
you’re no rat, okay?
(hell, even rats can be beautiful, but I still do think you are much more heavenly and beautiful than a rat)
maybe someone or something gritty poked a pin in and it’s
draining you all out
energy all out
shine all out
sense all out
but it’s just today and you can get it back tomorrow
or the next day
(though, don’t put it off too long or else you’ll be swimming with the sharks - and I’m not saying you’ll be one of the sharks, more like plankton for a feast)
you’ll get it back
you will
and it’s not about failing to get somewhere or getting somewhere to fail all over again,
it isn’t about failure
it isn’t about success either
it’s just about breathing because sometimes that’s all you can do
until maybe you get that good sleep and can grin again
like you used to
samasati Apr 2013
have you heard the wind stirring like a whisk in a bowl of raw egg
there isn’t one chief direction it blows
it’s everywhere
over roof tops, through each blade of grass, leaves, your hair, your skirt, your skin hurts
cold
blush bitten
soft to scraped
there is this murmuring noise that is too difficult to block out
because it stops - all of a sudden
then begins again
with no real rhythm
like a pulsating addiction
trying to get your attention
it’s me
it’s me
it’s me!
why aren’t you listening?
why won’t you look at me?
hello?
I’m still here
I’m still here
I’m still here!
why are you leaving?
where are you going?
hello?
it’s me
why are you ignoring me?
I’ll snap this tree and shatter your window
I’ll cut the telephone pole wires
I’ll crack cement deep enough for you to trip in
what do I have to do for you to notice me?
hello!
it’s me
it’s me
it’s me!
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.
samasati Sep 2012
there is a difference between honesty and candour.

there is a difference between pleasure and joy.

a difference between relief and relaxation.

a difference between sufficient and fit.

between comfy and cozy.

between placidity and tranquility.

between restraint and stillness.

between care and cherish.

light and shine.

love and in love.

easy and natural.

real and true.
samasati Sep 2012
not your body
not your skin
not the tips of your peachy fingers
not your passionate kiss
not your heart beat
not your breath hovering over my neck,
sending goosebumps and shivers down my spine
not your eyes sighting upon my beauty
or my loveliness or my seduction or my carefreeness
I want to feel you
move
inside
not inside of me
(though, that could be nice too)
inside of you
your own heart
your own echoing cage of ribs
that lock up even scarier skeletons
than the skeleton holding it all together
I want to feel you
without being with you
without holding you
without seeing you
without constantly thinking of you
without wanting you
I want to feel you
when I am miles away,
reading a book with a cup of tea in pyjamas
when you are in class and hear something brilliant
someone just said,
something that makes you stop and think of me
without resentment
without longing
without need
without hiding
something so simple, so clear and so pertinent
something that moves and removes the clutter
in you
I want to feel you love
yourself,
the world,
the trees, the scrapes on your heart’s knees
and me
with no want and no need
jh
samasati Sep 2012
jh
it’s your birthday
but you’re still dead

your brother must miss you
especially today
you’ve shared every birthday
every single one
but you’re not alive anymore

sometimes when I am playing the piano,
I look up to the left and notice your
funeral picture
you’ve got a killer smile
it’s one of the best I’ve seen
anyway,
I look up and see you smiling
and I suddenly have all of this passion
in my voice and fingertips

happy birthday
samasati Sep 2012
just because I’m being cute doesn’t mean
you’ll forgive me.

just because I want to talk about what happened doesn’t mean
you want to share your feelings

just because I’m listening to Pachelbel doesn’t mean
I’ll get out of bed.

just because I’m staring at my ukulele doesn’t mean
I’ll write a song.

just because I tell everyone else not to fret the small stuff doesn’t mean
that I won’t.

just because you call me doesn’t mean
I’ll answer.

just because I’m with my friends doesn’t mean
I’m not lonely.

just because I said I ate today doesn’t mean
I actually did.

just because I want to see you now doesn’t mean
I’ll want to see you tomorrow.

just because I’m really honest doesn’t mean
I’m not a good liar.

just because I’m smiling doesn’t mean
I’m not crying on the inside.
samasati May 2013
I wish there was a better way to say I just cut myself again
a tidier way,
something that makes it sound less morbid and a bit more romantic
like barbados
like *** on the beach
for the irony of sabotaging a fling of intimacy for myself
sabotaging swimsuit and short-shorts season
I don’t want anyone to touch me
or even look at me
anyway
so it’s all in my favour
with
nails that are painted colourful like clowns
and there’s a red and white polkadot bow in my hair
personally, I think it’s kind of funny
that when people look through a kaleidoscope, all they see is
pretty colours instead of shards of broken glass
samasati Apr 2013
there are loose leaves
at the bottom of my teacup
I rarely finish drinking the thing
- instead I stare through the dark transparent liquid
at barely-floating twiggy tea leaves that
escaped from the bag
I am forgetful
and unforgiving of myself
I am too easily entranced by
lights and thin branches that dance above muddy grass
my eyes see things breathe
like marbled floors and brick buildings
I am so enraptured by rabbit fur
and tree bark
rabbits prance along the neighbourhoods
and I love the game of seeing how close I can get to them
before they leap away

when I think of bliss,
I think of not knowing what is coming next
more even, not caring

when I think of bliss,
I think of running after rabbits
or petting a tree
I do these things when no one’s looking
so no one catches the crazy in me

there are loose coffee grounds
at the bottom of my mug
caffeine kills me
and I love the taste
of the cruelty
but my body is hurting
again
like last year
where fainting and falling and confusing my words in conversation
arose every time I felt an anxious feeling
nudge its way in deeper
maybe it’s just way of giving up
my body surrendering in complete so that I feel full effect
of how badly I’ve treated it
it’s hurting again
so much that sometimes I can barely get out of bed
or get off the bus
and walk the trek home in the nippy night

I see rabbits prance along the neighbourhoods
and oh look, I am repeating myself
again
I hardly notice because my head is hurting
like there are a million and one hurricanes
inside of it
less of a crash and more like a rush
there is a difference between headaches
and light headedness
both hurt though
still I’m ashamed I’m lightheaded all the time
there is a weakness in it
that only frail people can relate to,
the scatterbrains, the unconcentrated, the anorexics, the cancer patients
the sick-of-some-sort
what am I?
samasati Sep 2012
cleanse my head
cleanse my core
there's nothing I'd love more
than to wash up on your shore

clean my thoughts
clean my mouth
I don't exactly know how
but there's no reason to doubt


clear my eyes
clear my heart
even though we are apart
we will always have our art
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.
samasati Sep 2012
there’s a moth crawling up my kitchen wall

I had the sudden urge to **** it

smother it with a kleenex

swat it with a rolled up magazine

it keeps crawling up

losing its steadiness, almost falling

then regaining its steadiness again

moths freak me out

they look creepy

they look fragile

they look contaminated

perhaps they are contaminated with curiosity

so am I

their flickering flame is my flickering self-sabotage

I had an urge

I wanted to **** it

I’m just like this curious creature

just as fragile

just as contaminated

I might as well be looking in a mirror

and I had the urge to **** it
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.
samasati Sep 2013
it is so easy to love you



*and incredibly hard to miss you.
samasati Aug 2013
I cannot find sleep
I’m a sucker for closure
why didn’t you come?
samasati Jul 2013
I find it funny that the first time we ever kissed,
your lips only barely brushed mine
like light wind upon sand,
moving my heart just a little bit, but not quite enough for me to kiss you back,

it was an agonizing craving 

because wanting to mimic your lips
with mine as badly as I did
had been quietly, yet evidently
suppressed with my palm
pressed up against your chest 

to push you away

maybe it’s not funny after all

but at the time, I wasn’t aware of what it would feel like 

to lose you

when your arms were gently wrapped around me under white fluffy blankets

and your whisper
sent me into
a lullaby of tranquility  
I was safe there, a lucky penny
put inside your pocket

I didn’t know, one day, I would let my head go

and kiss you back
until there were no more clothes or distractions,

the piercing judgments cloaked underneath our timeless innocence 
 


I didn’t know, one day, I’d be as loved as a flower is loved by the sun
and soil
and that my heart would make itself entirely available to be nurtured



I still find it funny the night we held hands 

all the way to the bus stop 

and skipped a little like children on their way to school in the summertime

when the bus pulled up, you kissed me but I didn’t place a palm
to push you away

this time,
regardless of how many passengers
would see us

underneath the moonlight 

it just felt right



and I find it really beautiful 

when you let me cry like a small child that had just lost both of her parents
in a car accident

my snot got all over your t-shirt and all you did was rub my back
and whisper

I love you, sweetie



I didn’t know, one day, when you called
to tell me 

those exact same words,

I would hang up on you

because being that loved would become as
terrifying
as letting go of sickness

I didn’t know, one day, I would welcome you into my heart with
tantric grace,
and another day, attack you with
my own self loathing, 

creating a moat around my trueness so you could never get in again

I think I mostly find our first kiss funny

because I knew you knew
I wanted to kiss you back

the entire time

but waited months instead  

and you were okay with that

I didn’t know, one day, missing you
would make my heart ache
like one million pins were stuck in it

I didn’t know, one day, I’d be as ready
as this
but it’d be too late
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
samasati Oct 2012
there is nothing quite like
the first bite of a carrot
grown in your own backyard
or the second bite…
or the third…
the first bite is the ecstasy one would find
in wholesomeness
a shock, really
of sweet paradise
from winter wind upon your cheeks in solitude
from petting a wild rabbit with its permission
an unusual high
a remarkable instant
the second bite is deeper
it is more familiar and significant
like the hug you’d give your lover at the airport
like baking cookies with your little cousins on Christmas Eve
when your own spirit is crowned
king or queen
but with an equality like the trees in the forest
rather than a superiority like the ***** in the castle
the third, fourth, fifth
(depending on how big your carrot is)
are mere appreciation and wonder  
of life
of your life
cherishing salubrity, company, solace
and it seems when you’re done,
you’re not hungry anymore
and if you are,
all you want is another carrot.
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
samasati Sep 2012
whenever I feel the tremble start to ooze its way
from my compact mind to the tips of my fingers,
I immediately anticipate the fate
that I have always been able to foresee
whenever that familiar first jolt of an anxiety attack sails its way,
like a vessel in a storm
throughout my entire body

heart pounds an intolerable caution
lungs wheeze frigid determination with a rough friction
that lightly scrapes my core with a ticklish flutter
shoulders lift up into a hunch; absolutely automatic
the top tray of teeth lock clenched into the bottom tray’s hold
a fleet of air hisses in and out of two nostrils like a monk’s meditation
capacious eyes flicker from
the lid to the lash to the iris to the pupil to see everything

everyone is staring
everything is too intimidating to look at for longer than two seconds
then, the tunnel
the clearest, acute vision waters into a soft edged frame,
into a pixel mud of a picture, into a black peripheral,
black corners rounding in – a narrow and petty circle
I use it and follow it to wherever my
deepened impulse decides to take me

silently contemplating,
silently speculating,
silently examining
the fears I let my feeble self
get swallowed up in.
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 —
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.
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
samasati Sep 2012
I want to ****** you with my blue eyes
take you in for a little while
then walk away into another room
then come back and take you in a little while longer
until you come over and speak to me
then I want to listen to your every word
nod, smile, laugh, touch your arm
touch your thigh
look into your eyes
telling you
I want to kiss you
secretly in some kind of visual code,
that I want to lick your neck a little bit
and nibble on your ear
make you go crazy
make you tingle and pull away from
feeling too overwhelmed
then coming back to receive more,
and after that happens,
I want to crawl my fingers up your shirt
feel your warm stomach skin
ribs
chest
shoulders
pulling it over your head and throwing it on the floor
caressing your torso
hand prints against your back
pulling you closer toward me
pressing my pelvis up against yours
taking initiative
on my tippytoes
letting you take initiative
bending your back to my height
and it’s all muscle memory from there on;
breaking away from your lips and pressing my own
up against your collar bone
your shoulders
your chest
your treasure trail
your hip bones
undoing your belt
taking quite some time at this task because I find that
every man’s belt is very confusing to undo -
finally, success
pulling it through the belt loops
popping the button out of the hole
unzipping the zipper
clasping onto each side and pulling down
pushing down
they’re around your ankles and you step out
and then you’re in your briefs
just your briefs
all else is skin and devilish looks
then, pushing me onto the bed
on top of me with a ******* pressing up against
the space between my open legs
that wrap around your hips
kissing my neck
biting my neck
licking my neck
my earlobes
my shoulders
my collar bone
tongue swirls around the aroused tips of my chest
arousing me more
wanting me more
wanting you more
then you’ll take off my underwear and I’ll be fully naked
for you
on this bed that I want to ******* on
biting my lip
leaning forward to pull down your briefs
and you are fully naked
for me
you pop out freely
hard
stiff
pink
eager
your ******* linger low and decide I am ready
in goes the stiff  
out goes a moan
out pulls the stiff
in it goes again
I cannot describe what it is like
when you look me in the eyes when we make love
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
raw
samasati Aug 2013
raw
every ounce, raw
legs ******* necks
authentic because this time history
didn’t exist
or the future
just timelessness, innocence and lots of kissing
unexpected like car crashes and so familiar like eggs in the morning
like the feeling of not sleeping in your own bed for a few days and then getting to again
relief, in a way
and sighs
but mostly raw
with passion that draped over us like a canopy of red roses and white silky fabrics
I think that might have been the most connected we’ve ever been
I think that’s because we aren’t attached to each other in any way, anymore
real,
raw,
exactly the same
completely new
everything is all over the place and as condensed as an aerosol can of hairspray
at the same time;
my hair grew
your face thinned
and we are in exactly the same place
samasati Jun 2013
I know what it’s like to be heartbroken too

it feels like a bomb

like the flowers that have been eaten alive by aphids

always sitting with you, uncomfortable,

a notch tighter on your belt loop after a heavy meal

or someone taking an unflattering picture of you and posting it all over the internet

you are ugly to yourself now,
and quiet because of it

I lost my clarity after I ran up the hill and rolled down it, clumsily with joy

it must have fallen out of my pocket or dripped out of my eye sockets
as they teared up from the pollen

I ask myself

what is true?

but it’s harder here, when I can’t be certain if there’s a ghost hanging around in my frontal lobe or if it’s just the pulsating fear of being kicked to the curb

that’s what being heartbroken is like -

always feeling like you’re being kicked to the curb for no good reason

it’s like,
what’s the point of getting up in the morning? I’ll make breakfast and then somebody will hurt me again

the point is
learning how to decipher the difference between apathy and acceptance

you’ll get there

redemption doesn’t count or feel at all rewarding if everything is easy
samasati Oct 2012
do I really care about you?

authentically

no, but I would still kiss away a perpetual need
of some kind of

more
I would kiss away the perpetual need of more of my kisses, even
until they became ripe in your circulation

without your tact

like the first time an apple becomes an apple
without knowing it’s an apple

ripe

raw, sweet

without tact

without my tact
would I really care about you?

I’ve been on the floor bathing in dishrags and dust particles
I feel filthy
troublesome and unwanted

I’ve lost faith in succeeding
all I’ve got is gritty tact, sticking to its guns

do I really care about myself?
no,

but still, I would kiss away someone else’s pain to have a purpose
and I would love them in a moment  

even if I wasn’t loved in return
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.
samasati Aug 2013
is suffering
with boulders on your eyelids;
splinters in your chest
and then finding perfect sight and a calm breath

that is samsara
samasati Apr 2013
I’ll see you when my pockets fill
with money and boredom and love that spills
out, flooding streets,
roads, fields, highways, sky
there’s endless width and length
and space that spreads so far
between two hearts that never blink when
eyes are clear and mouths make smiles
between us,
two hearts that met in perfect age
in date, in term, in season, in phase
I guess,
it’s up to loss,
I guess, it’s up to luck
maybe to the extent of giving up
or, I hope,
to the extent of dedication
not so firm, just light
like effortless rays of delight
and stars and space and the milky way
- it’s honest to say
I want to see you yesterday

I’ll see you if a wish comes true
I’ll make your bed and lay with you
sunsets **** worthlessness in the summertime
and nighttime is my favourite here
the moon and I made friends last year
I’ll introduce you to Her Majesty, I’ll introduce you to
our River Valley
my fingers crave your shoulder blades
the muscles,
warmth,
squishy skin I love to hold
and if you saw the bunnies hop, your mouth would drop,
your eyes would pop

my goodness, I’m losing my sense of strength
I’m so used to telling myself I need the restraint
all the time
my god, all the time
from glory & cheer & bliss
and most of all, waning to kiss and kiss
and kiss you
it hurts to want so much, so bad
it hurts to want what I can’t have

my hopes take a swim like
flags in the wind
there’s not one real thing that tells me
you love me
I say this because I’m not sure if intuition
is real
I think we just like to make things up to feel
wanted or worth it
or divine, even just a little bit
there’s not one real thing that tells me
I love you
but this scope of time and distance
tells me our version of the word
"us"
has no ambit
there is no measure
no limit
and sun is just as great as us,
and we are just as great as air
it’s impossible to express
because what we have is so rare
samasati Apr 2013
I am one of the lucky ones that has a high sensitivity to malignancy
I still wear it myself like a cape in the cold
but I can detect a sick person almost right away
some say that’s not very nice to say
though I’d rather know who’s a waste of my time than find out later when I’ve invested my heart & soul into the person
that’s part of what makes me a sick person,
investing myself too much in other people
and isn’t it funny
how we forget about these people that meant so much to us
once
obsession has its terminus
there are cusps a person trips off of that leave them falling,
spiralling into a new obsession or phase or life
or numbness
that’s why memory is so beautiful
even if it hurts a lot
it reminds us we are never going to be the same as we used to be
there’s something peaceful about that
though the sick find it tormenting
samasati Jun 2013
my heart got sick the day I left

my heart got sick right before the plane took off

lamppost, firefly, sunlight

but I’m shy

I love you but silence is still mine

real life is sad

you lose sometimes

if you ever hear me cry, please don’t make fun

it’s just,

my heart will love you whenever I’m happy

the sun comes up and the sun goes down

but I’m all over the place with smiling and shutting people out

I think

I can miss you and not need you at the same time

but I will never tell you I love you

because silence is still mine
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.
samasati Dec 2012
I sat in a snowbank
because I could
my *** froze, then my thighs, then my toes
the extremities began to hurt on their way to numbness
and I thought,
I could sit here all day even though I’m in such pain
and I thought,
it’s something I do every single day
samasati Apr 2013
the sun oozed under my eyelids until I couldn’t keep them shut any longer

I laid there and heard the silence of my house in the morning

there were birds and they sung songs that made me feel heartsick

I didn’t have a hangover

Sam told me, in the most nonchalant way, that he spoke about me to someone I deeply admire and they like my music

first time I watched Tangled and I wanted to punch the mother in the face but I couldn’t because she is a cartoon

Lyra and I both had tender tummies and painted our nails like a rainbow

baths are beginning to feed into my sick games of numbing myself

blatant malnourishment

brash abandon of my self-worth  

my mind wobbled over to the fact that someone I deeply admire likes my music and that I must be more noticeable than I think I am

maybe that’s not true though

I swear my dog died about ten times today

I am a plant and this couch is my ***

Am I noticeable?

when I eat too much and feel bloated, I just pretend that I’m pregnant and sometimes even talk to my stomach as if there was a fetus inside of it

I don't think many people do those kinds of things when they're alone

a french accent is beginning to fit me better than an english one, like finding an old dress in a closet and surprising yourself in the mirror

I talked to myself all day because - loneliness
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
samasati Nov 2012
completed finished done folded ended
defeated concluded
aborted                                                         ­                     
terminated finalized killed annihilated dispatched
vaporized settled                     destroyed dropped
discontinued stopped broken shut down cut
off                                   ceased over halted frozen
barricaded desistance executed
dissolved                                                 ­ overcome gone
ruined wrecked crushed depleted spoiled
shattered
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.
samasati Mar 2013
coffee drizzles
it’s tasty
& comforting
there’s too much snow
it won’t stop snowing
the window is getting boring
all I can think about
is the muffin I just ate
& what it will be like to be
home again
where all I think about
are the things I’ve just eaten
& sometimes why I haven’t
really left
my hometown yet
& not just for another getaway trip
but for good
I’ve always thought
a grey day
is the perfect metaphor
for how I feel most of the time
but so does everyone else
so I am just like
all of those other boring people
with boring lives
like this window
& the mother with the four
very plain looking kids
three tables down
& the muffins lined up
on the counter top
for boring people like me to buy
as they wait
for a plane to come to
carry them to a whole
new world
where routine doesn’t exist
only margaritas & surf’s up
or else,
to carry them back home
back to reality
back to functioning like
a complete robot
in the safety of
fear
there is a plane waiting to take off
just sitting on the runway
I wonder when it’ll get going
I wonder where everyone inside of it
is going
& where I am going
& what I am doing
here
instead of living
I watch snow fall out of a window
when it could soak me up
& give me a reason to sit
by the fireplace
with blankets, tea & a book
whether I am alone
or with a lover, friend, cat or dog
I can see
how that sounds more boring
than sitting in an airport
eating muffins
but it is exciting
to me
because it is happiness
to me
samasati Sep 2012
lovely, these pages I sew
for sadness I know not to tamper with like a joke -
a sick joke that people find amusing.
I do not find that kind of joke, or you to be amusing.

I clasp my hands tightly together, interlocking knuckles
and sit very still while the company is antsy to inspect
me for any weakness.
(I am always assuming everyone is out to judge me so rashly)
I am straining my back and the very moment I slouch,
I will fall into the pit of self-irritability,
yelling at myself because my bones persist on frangibility.
God! am I ever good enough?!
(I am always judging myself so rashly)

I want to buy myself a cottage near a swamp, hoarding
the repugnant slime near my fireplace cozied up reading a book.
you may trespass; I am willing to share this (hell) with you
if you wish to get so close to me.

I do though, (at my best) suffice
lingering around buying myself something nice (you could put it)
when I'm aggravated, I tend not to listen
not even to my own advice.
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