Fact: My sister is a wonderful human being.
After hearing about the tragedies happening around us, she decides to make paper stars. Lots and lots of stars.
She asks for empty bottles from the neighbours and her friends. She fills the bottles with these stars, folding away all her problems into glass bottles and jars of all shapes and sizes. After she fills the bottles and jars she hands them to her friends and family.
She gives one to me.
The paper stars in a rainbow pattern, they seem so full of wonder. Even if they are nothing more than paper encased in glass.
I take the glass jar and place it on the top shelf of my school locker. Reminding me that I can keep a piece of home and happiness close to me.
But it didn't last.
After I made some mistakes I didn't feel as though I wanted any happiness near me. I wanted to take every bit of hope and hide it away.
I took the jar of paper stars out of my locker 2 days ago.
Holding it close to my chest as I walked down the halls of my school.
My head hanging.
Eyes glued to the floor.
Walking away from everything.
But still sort of hopeful...
Wishing for a bit more optimism.
A shining star.
origami boy, with your folded sides and creased edges.
with the tips of your fingers, and the pads of your thumbs —
you made caricatures and imitations of life.
from swans, to flowers, to butterflies —
every day you folded papers, until your hands went numb.
one day, you were out of paper
and all i could offer you was my heart
you took it, and folded, and folded, and folded.
a plane, it became, a plane to be held by the dusty old clouds.
a plane to reach places you've only ever heard stories about.
a plane you made out of my heart.
i've always loved every piece of art —
that you have made, except for that one little plane
for it distorted my heart into corners,
and took you away from me.
now, i could only wish that the cuts my little paper heart will give you would hurt as much as missing you.
Creases and folds
Rich lustrous strokes
Bold soft voices spoke
Touch like a ring of gold
In sheets we make things
Crumpled and messy
Like a raging tsunami
A delight in all human beings
Slapping and slammings
A rhythm worth hearing
The pounding and bounding
Sweet pleasurable pain it brings
Beyond what a body could
Handle and take it would
For it is what we wanted
Like a forbidden affair sorted
The melodious chorus
Of wails and moans
The harmonious beating
With stick and stones
Like origami birds
We bend and break
To cure our heart aches
For we are like paper burned
Ashes we become so far
Fragmented in the wind we are
For we never ever will be
As happy as anyone thought it to be
For like origami birds we are
Folded and bent to hold so far
Manipulated by love and hate
Blinded by our own cruel mistakes
We will tear and break
Like every paper bearing weight
Flying into the winds of fate
And burning into the pits of heart break.
With every crease
And every fold
I breathe a silent wish
They slip with every pinch
Fill my ears
My mind almost in a trance
The clock ticks 2
But I go on
The window's blackness at a distance
Smooth the paper
Pinch the edges
Imbue in them a fervent plea
I really hope
I really desire
For these stars to carry their spell
Out into the galaxy
Little winged one of murky wings
do flutter in origami folds. To glide
in endless times engulf that needing
of seeing where in twilight all is a
shadow and all is seen within the night.
Quiver unseen but felt unto the breeze,
a shudder unfolds on their shadow in
ease, you taste upon droplets of fear.
Little origami wings do grace into
the flightless moments their but unseen.
Your shadow convulses in its presence,
Knowing subconsciously what it needs.
But you are but connected separates that
Could not be further apart. Like a puddle
swimming, nearly drowning in your depth.
It unfolds into form, for unseen like an
extension not noticed by self, a shadow
not as should seen. tiredness as into shadows
Of lost moments its delves ever deep. unravelling
it seeds into the darkness a continuation breaths
It departs for a shadow replenishes and its parts
Now origami folds in need of shadow will dance
upon every motion to unfold and feed, the cycle
is ever in motion, for twilight is its birth and life
its nourished in obscurity forever to feed.
I’m always falling
and I often end up drained.
I wish instead of tumbling that
I could fly on my paper cranes.
On my paper cranes
I’d fly over cardstock trees,
to land inside an origami garden
and sit on folded peonies.
I’d go on a newspaper sailboat
and float over the tissue sea
to visit cardboard whales
and foam board manatees
I wish that all my troubles,
were made of paper too,
and that I could solve them
by folding a world for you.
Small and observant,
this girl child already loves her solitude.
Dark eyes taking in everything for much later,
long hair a little mussed-up, tumbling over feet pyjamas,
she stands quietly in the doorway of her little bedroom.
Across old parquet floors, into spare white rooms
she gazes at the grown-ups in their party clothes,
secretly planning that someday she will be one of them.
Plain white origami birds, suspended from the high
vintage ceilings, hand-made from her poet-mother's
typing paper, are the only decorations.
The soft, indirect lighting, all invented by her father
out of simple things, creates a perfect visual tone.
This quiet inventor has also chosen jazz he loves
to animate the evening for his friends.
These grown-ups in their party clothes,
yellows, greens and reds, puffy skirts, stiletto heels,
men in simple suits, white shirts, thin black ties,
talented painters, holocaust survivors, intellectuals,
talking, laughing, smoking too much, martini glasses in hand.
What stayed with her most was the music, and the way
it brought the whole world right to her.
Jazz from here in her native city,
Soft, sultry Bossa Nova that her soul knew even better.
Only some of what she saw that night became the life she chose.
The intimacy of observing, of silently forming words around
what she saw, talking and laughing with friends,
loving passionately, getting scorched to the bone,
and the music, the music....
The music would always stay with her, leading her across
wide expanses of this beautiful old world
to the parts of it that she would someday taste, and see.
Her life would become the stretching wide open of her heart.
To love it all, to write about it all.
to give this back, someday,
to the music, and to this big, beautiful old world.