love-tricks

Her embrace was an immense press
To print him into her bones
His smiles were the garrets of a fairy palace
Where the real world would never come
Her smiles were spider bites
So he would lie still till she felt hungry
His words were occupying armies
Her laughs were an assassin's attempts
His looks were bullets daggers of revenge
His glances were ghosts in the corner with horrible secrets
His whispers were whips and jackboots
Her kisses were lawyers steadily writing
His caresses were the last hooks of a castaway
Her love-tricks were the grinding of locks
And their deep cries crawled over the floors
Like an animal dragging a great trap
His promises were the surgeon's gag
Her promises took the top off his skull
She would get a brooch made of it
His vows pulled out all her sinews
He showed her how to make a love-knot
Her vows put his eyes in formalin
At the back of her secret drawer
Their screams stuck in the wall
Their heads fell apart into sleep like the two halves
Of a lopped melon, but love is hard to stop
In their entwined sleep they exchanged arms and legs
In their dreams their brains took each other hostage
In the morning they wore each other's face
-Ted Hughes "Lovesong"


Oh, to write like this...

happy place

I was told by a friend to start writing happier things. I tend to be more artistically inspired by the darkness, but that is certainly not an accurate representation of my personality. So even though this is mostly uninspired, I am working on implementing discipline into my art, and not just waiting around for inspiration. So here you go... this is my happy place.


This is my sanctuary. Surrounded by the photographs of my smiling family and friends. One hundred books line these shelves, most of the pages I have read. The color palette is reminiscent of the ocean, soft blue and green pastels. The wind drifts lazily through the open window catching the white curtains in its unpredictable wake. They flutter and float in the breeze, the sunlight streaming through them casting a glow on the whole room. Incense burns from the shelf, filling the space with the sweet smoky musk of lavender. Jewelry spills out of the box, and brightly-colored scarves and purses hang from their hooks on the wall. Dallas is curled on his corner of the bed. He stretches lazily in the patch of sun that he claims as his own. The iPod plays Sufjan quietly from the nightstand as I tap out these words. Memories in every corner, and upon a desk of organized clutter. A stack of novels and my bible are piled on the unused side of the bed, forever my nighttime companion. Lying on my stomach sprawled diagonally across my bed, I survey my small world. My safe zone and my haven. My undisturbed sanctuary.

I am queen.

broken

She smashes it. Again and again. Splinters and fragments hurtling through the air like tiny spears, miniature daggers. A warfare of sorts. She strikes again, her fist bloody, the remaining shards streaked in red. The color immortal. The liquid of life. She smashes it until she can no longer see, her face broken into pieces, melting and deformed. Finally a true reflection.

whispers

I tuck you even further away
Like the others deeper past.
Be still, admidst the swirling
Bright lights and smoky clouds.
I saw your face between the shards
Of light and smiles and dance.
Eyes blinked twice, confused and torn
And just like that you were gone
Which best, for hence I sleep tonight
And find my quiet peace again.
I exhale you on these whispering lips
Your name escapes and flees.
Released into the atmosphere
To assemble itself again.
I tuck you even further 'way
Exhale you on my breath.
I wash my hands, both polished clean
Rub my eyes. Your image gone,
I turn my head to someone new
And smile again, no longer you.

fractured star

महात्मा

Seven Social Sins

Politics without Principle.
Wealth Without Work.
Pleasure Without Conscience.
Knowledge without Character.
Commerce without Morality.
Science without Humanity.
Worship without Sacrifice.
-Mahatma Gandhi

Dwell on these. Please, soak them in with me. Consider how they affect our world, our relationships, our government. Love does not equal hand-outs. Faith does not allow for laziness. Grace does not relenquish personal responsibility. We do not own morality, nor is it assumed based on our beliefs. Worship cannot be mere words, action is required. Sometimes we must check ourselves, lest we get wrapped up in false ideals and popular trends.

one night stand

First of all, I readily admit that I don’t know everything about politics. I only wish I was as well-versed and could explain my thoughts with as much eloquent fortitute as my brilliant friends Nathan Alan and Shawn Romano. However, despite my obvious inadequacies I would still like to offer up my opinion on the state of our country, be it ever so humble. Please disagree if you like.

During elections I tend to get very involved, battling out my voting decision as if my very life and soul depended on it. Perhaps it is because I am one of the naïve people who cling to the belief that my vote actually can make a difference. Or perhaps it's just because I love to argue. I spent hours analyzing the pros and cons; weighing each topic based on its relevance and moral importance. I watched every presidential and vice presidential debate. I read articles, I argued with anyone that would listen, I researched, I debated on facebook notes (which got me in trouble). In the end I voted for Bob Barr. No, I don’t consider my vote a cop-out or a waste. I simply could not bring myself to vote for McCain (or the frightening possibility of Palin) and there was something about Barack Obama that I just did not trust, although I couldn't quite put my finger on it. I still can't. So because I generally feel like Republican and Democratic parties are just two versions of the same clumsy government establishment, I decided to use my vote as a meager protest against a faulty bi-partisan system by going Third Party, hoping that others would follow suit. Perhaps future elections will take notice.

I did consider voting for Obama though. Most of my friends did, some whom I respect greatly. I kicked the idea around my head for a couple of weeks, despite a multitude of threats from my father should I choose to vote Democrat. Obama oozes charm and charisma from every pore on his body. His voice is steady and controlled, strong and reassuring. He makes me want to believe his words, to hope for this undefinable 'change.' The eloquence and uplift of his speeches, combined with his personal grace and dignity still gives me goosebumps. I bought into the hype. But my cynical nature kept me from jumping into his camp. He seemed too good to be true; he is only human, but his words conveyed otherwise. I think my cynical side was correct. Thus far his saccharine promises have left me feeling empty and a bit scared. The novelty has worn off and there is so much work to be done. I know that miracles do not happen overnight and Obama has only been in office for two months. But everything that I have seen thus far has left nothing but a sick, hollow feeling in my stomach.

I’m starting to feel like I’ve been taken advantage of. Like President Obama bought us all strong drinks at the bar, whispered sweet nothings into our ear, and finally took the American people back to his place. But now the sun is up, the alcohol has worn off, and I am left only with bitter disillusionment and a hangover.

So Mr. President, you smooth-talked and dazzled the American people into your bed... now what do you plan to do?