Mama's big rainbow

umbrella keeps me nice and --


dry in the shower.

Half of me
has given up
and the other half
hasn’t even started yet
it’s always been like this
myself vs. myself

the battle of two stubborn selves

they take turn
in winning fights
I’m so confused and tired
to root for both
each time

It’s a twisted game.

I play myself.

Demonstration and

imitation, play and learn --


to play together.

Should I call myself a traitor
For not honoring my needs
When I fall for you again
When I'm struggling to breathe

In the pool of old regrets
I'm still asking what it means
As I'm sinking to the floor
As I'm drowning to be free

I lament my current ignorance
For forgetting certain things
Like when I lay down in the dirt
From admitting our defeat

There's no basis for return
If you're always in my dreams
I had finally let you go
Until I ruined everything

I shouldn't play with fire
When my heart is made of weeds
But I was so desperate for attention
And the comfort it can bring

So I'll call myself a traitor
Cause I'm only hurting me
When I'm crawling back to you
And am on my hands and knees

I flounder, hanging

over grandpa's leg, hello --


super shiny shoes!

Splashing, destroying

the puddle by stamping, and --


again, and again.

We wear white plastic

slats as a stole, we're playing --


a Roman drama.

If only the little animal could
understand everything
no questions unanswered
when it dies

It does not live long enough
and flying is the time
of hundred wonderful times
of playing to die, the time

of asking again and again why
thus, this or that, and how
curiously cutting and pasting
knowledge, screaming

and throwing away angrily
lying down exhausted
and cry, but still
starting over once more

rearrange or discard
the half answers
and go looking
for new data

always ask another question
principally blind
full of confidence
that there will be an answer

As a child I crawled invisibly
away in the lower house
under the veranda
to see the rats
potter among woodlice

I felt big and strong
I pressed my lips together
against the little weak creepy cushions
and let their hard tails
whip my Gulliver body

I liked being their Atlas
under the adult world
upon my shoulders
which I separated from the earth
to keep it as it is

The music can't go

bad, so everyone enjoys --


beating his heart out.