this and that

and whatever you're holding in your fist,

i want to see that too.

i'm scared of what you might do to me,

and i think sometimes,

you're afraid of exactly what i might do to you.

it isn't enough that we shake hands,

because the guns and knives

you and i

anticipate

aren't visible at all.

ambush attacks, one might say,

is the only time they appear,

and when they are out,

they hide carefully

and strike quietly,

so that the victim hurts

only after

the crime is done.

they are quick little creatures,

faster than our minds and thoughts,

and tear through hearts and souls

with record-breaking speed

and agility.

the pain,

did you feel it?

did your mind hear

that breaking sound,

and did your heart

try to save itself?

was it too late

when you realized

your fear had viciously

tripped you down?

i don't know how it happened,

i only see that cut

and that bruise,

and i look at your face,

your eyes,

weary,

focused on my scab.

it's okay.

i'll sit with you,

and we'll wait here

until the rain stops,

and the roads are safe again.

in hiding

someone tells me 

another story,

different 

from the one you told. 

people can't decide

what's best for me.

(sometimes,

i wish they could.)

she thinks it's wonderful news,

and she

well, she disagrees.

(sometimes,

i wish i'd listen.)

i don't know you.

i hope you aren't lying.

if you are,

i hope you do it well.

i don't think anyone knows

but you.

and you seem to be hiding

something.

many things?

everything.

i fear

that feeling of perfection.

it's a good way

to gild grotesque pasts,

and uglier presents.

it's been used

to erase warnings of

whatever tragedies may follow.

who can i talk to?

who knows?

who knows

but you?

you,

who won't tell me a thing.

and i am walking

dangerously close,

wandering without a map.

i continue wishing

that this is safe,

that i'm not lost,

that i'm not fooled.

wishing, yes, but

wondering, still,

when would i fall

into the hole

that was made for me?

(why won't you

talk to me?)

ouch

always a bit scared,

of things gone wrong,

of goodness spent,

or maybe

it's because everything

disappears when i say,

stay, stay,

i don't want to be here

by myself...

i like the rain,

sometimes i wish

it could keep pouring down,

so no one would go outside,

and i would feel safe

and warm and dry,

inside, settled in my spot

with a blanket,

with music playing,

or with friends talking,

with people walking by

while the water's running

down the windowpanes.

if i feel lonely,

i'd go out and feel

what it's like to be soaked,

and i'd realize that the way

my neck and shoulders shiver

is a sign of my inside

trying to escape,

to float away,

but i tell it, no, no,

you have to stay, stay,

i can't be here alone,

not on a starless rainy night.

and i wait,

for the time when 

it all rushes to my head,

as i hang upside down 

from my bed,

my hair touching the floor,

and i close my eyes

wondering what would happen

if things got erased then and there.

no happy memories to recall,

no sadness to frown upon,

wouldn't that be wonderful?

i burned my hand yesterday,

and remembered why i stayed away

from the kitchen for so long.

i ran my hand under cold water,

but it wasn't icy enough.

i still felt it drilling,

the burn was digging 

from inside my finger,

trying to find a way out.

i shook my hand vigorously,

cursed thrice and wanted 

to flick the pain away.

then my computer died,

and i couldn't even make

the music stay with me

for a little while longer,

and you went too

when the screen darkened.

summer

break.

100 days.

i think of

plays

in central park,

think of

some days

in may

and dark chocolate bars.

we are far too far.

nonexistent promises.

words said in jest.

sleepy but sleepless,

afternoons and nights.

smiles, always yours.

two words, three words,

i needn't say more.

implied, i whispered.

see what you want to,

hear what you want to.

i do.

wishes, always mine.

again

i saw you holding hands

high above your head

with her behind.

like a pair of lovers,

i thought,

you seemed like

a cute couple,

matching in every way

we never did.

again,

i thought,

so soon?

three days,

not even,

i'd barely caught

my breath.

had i fallen,

again,

so soon?

had i broken,

again,

so quickly?

did i take you

to replace the void,

only to have you

punch a larger one

in the same place?

all that i'd saved

and put away

to collect dust forever

as i'd planned

you took down and out.

fine.

what's the point

of keeping

things i'll never use?

i just wish

that you didn't

treat it like 

the garbage

it was.

woody allen said

"To love is to suffer. To avoid suffering one must not love. But then one suffers from not loving. Therefore to love is to suffer, not to love is to suffer. To suffer is to suffer. To be happy is to love. To be happy then is to suffer. But suffering makes one unhappy. Therefore, to be unhappy one must love, or love to suffer, or suffer from too much happiness. I hope you're getting this down." 

I do.

No one 

breaks my heart.

My heart 

is mine

to break.

And I do.

paintings.

my father once told me,

i think we did one thing wrong.

i think, if every time we gave you something,

we should have told you

that it is only being loaned to you.

if you know that it didn't belong to you,

you wouldn't mind if we took it away.

dad was right,

of course.

if i never had anything called mine,

it wouldn't have been a thing

for it to disappear.

i wouldn't have cried,

because i'd expect it to go

any time, any time.

paint me a picture,

don't dedicate it to me.

whisper in my ear,

about her and her love.

write me a song,

let me hear it twice.

deja vu,

i'll call it all a dream.

carefully disappear,

i'll pretend i don't know

what emptiness is.

the landing.

i sit,

and you sit too.

he sits.

she sits.

and he sits too.

downstairs,

someone turns on the t.v.

and i stop and listen.

i think it's sports.

people upstairs walk down

the steps,

they're looking at me,

i know

and at you,

at him and her and him,

and the books we have.

i drink some water,

and look at your hand,

listening to the piano music

coming from down the hall...

then i remember

i have work to do.

something new, something old

something

or someone that is you.

i need a boy,

not a man,

because boys can't hurt

quite as much,

forgetting easily

so that only goodness

remains.

forgiving boys

is as natural as

melting snow,

since i know

snow only lasts

for as long as winter stays.

someone old,

someone new,

this winter

i need you.

exit.

i'll say hi

just because you did,

because i can't be

that bitch that everyone hates.

because they like you,

and i no longer do.

i wish you could shut up now,

you have nothing new to offer,

and i don't know why 

you're still hanging on.

my views won't change,

they're so plain and base

that i am bored by my own mind.

close your mouth,

what do you expect?

that i should still serve you

my heart on a plate?

no, diminished darling,

my lies i reserve for you,

to boost your ego.

i hope it explodes.

happily tired,

i am fully capable now

of detesting you.