0

Beast

Beast 2

Oh dear
Can you come closer?
Oh dear
I don’t bite.
Oh fear
I don’t know how to react to this mental exposure
And my heart’s putting up a fight.

My gut is hanging out;
I have no exoskeleton
To cover my wounds, cover my scars
And the ticking of empty hours.
Your gaze can destroy
So take a look.

Tell me you see a different girl –
A creature of the night.
Tell me her blood is dark as wine –
Something you drink in the light.
You see the whites of her eyes
A color too bright:
A beast that will fill you with fright.

Oh dear
Are you looking for something
To hold onto
Something like a sharp knife?

You are the animal;
I am the beast you made of me.
Without your love
I couldn’t fall to my knees
And rest on your bed
Without the voices in my head.

Tell me you see a different girl –
A creature of the night.
Tell me her blood is dark as wine –
Something you drink in the twilight.
You see the whites of her eyes
A color too bright:
A beast that will fill you with fright.


 

Another song I wrote about a month back. I’ve been writing a lot of songs lately so I thought I would at least share some lyrics.

It’s quite rough but if you would like to actually hear this, you can!

Thank you and have a wonderful day/night.

4

And she bled for the stars

And she bled for the stars

 

The cost was hefty,
The price was steep;
“Bleed and you will
Achieve greatness.”


And she bled for the stars.


She could make
All of them dance,
Like puppets of the night
Their colors oozing.


So she made the stars bleed.


A woman scorned
Weaving galaxies
Draining light
Sewing on her face.


So the stars would bleed for her.


But her mask
Fall off
Boom crash lightning
Speak!


She bled.

2

Can you hear me?

As she stood there repeating herself, she wondered if she should have spoken louder.

She was fresh out of college when it started. She didn’t think much of it at the time because it happened too frequently to be noticed. Whenever she heard the inevitable What? she would clear her throat and repeat louder, never blinking twice. She was an only child, a shining emblem to carry her bloodline forward. She had to be heard. So she scoured the internet for free voice lessons because singers are always heard.

Somewhere around high school, she gained the confidence to say what she had to say. The repetitions became less frequent but were still unavoidably there. It was like a giant bug on her back; she couldn’t see it herself but she knew it was there and that others could see it. She sang in a few talent shows and brought her guitar and sang alone or with a couple of friends during study hall. Although she knew she wasn’t the best singer, couldn’t even reach those high notes without her voice cracking, in those moments she was happiest.

Then she took a year off after high school to pursue her interests. Her voice boomed louder than it ever had. Colors and ideas and inspiration came oozing out of her eyes, ears and mouth, she almost drowned in herself. She got so lost in the noise that she forgot about the future until it came and there was radio silence.

She found she could barely speak in college. She had to repeat herself more than twenty times a day. She knew this because she kept score of every single defect in her speech in the hope that she could concoct a cure somehow. Then she turned to writing; surely her words would leave an impression on people’s minds. And it made a difference, but only a slight one.

When she fell in love for the first time, she felt a sharp pain in her chest and her voice was too loud and out of control. She broke it off because it was too much to handle.

On the day that she graduated, she hugged her parents when she received her degree. They congratulated her heartily and she said thank you. She went about socializing with her fellow graduates and she knew now, that maybe it was the atmosphere of euphoria that intoxicated their senses. They drove home after lunch and the first thing she did was turn on her laptop to a headhunting website.

“I’m sending out a bunch of resumés,” she said, completely pleased with herself.

“What?” her father asked.

“I said I’m sending out resumés,” she cut her sentence short hoping he would piece the words together easily. He gave a warm smile, gave her a pat on the back and went back to reading his newspaper. She shrugged it off but when she received a job offer the next week, her parents were taken aback. To every explanation she gave, she received an even bolder What?

The job she accepted was a writing post in a local magazine. Her boss told her that she wrote exceptionally well but he asked, “Why don’t you ever speak up?” Then he turned around and left, her lip quivering in silence. So she became that one employee who never spoke, never said hello or goodbye or thank you or sorry, that one employee who had no manners.

She moved out of her parents’ house and rented a small but quaint apartment that was closer to work. She would visit them every month and every month, she would catch her mother unabashedly changing her clothes, adding a little too much rum in her Rum ’n Coke, or her father scratching an itch underneath his belt buckle, taking out an inexplicably large wad of cash from a safe box, looking at pictures of pretty girls on the internet. On Christmas Eve, she went over to their place, her old home, and rang the doorbell almost 21 times before she gave up. Her mother called the next day asking why she wasn’t there for the dinner party.

“But I was,” she said. “I rang the doorbell so many times and left because I thought you went out.”

“Hello? Sweetheart, is something wrong? Why won’t you answer me?”

The phone dropped from her face. Life was at a standstill and suddenly she was struck by lightning. It occurred to her that she was disappearing, turning into a simmering heap of ashes. She stepped outside of the apartment building and waited for a wind to pick her up and carry her away. She thought, no one will ever know.

And life went on without her.

And as for me, I didn’t know her, didn’t even know her first name. Yet, as my fingers urgently race across the keys, she comes back in flashes of memories. I hear her voice, I think that’s her voice, when they say What?


I’ve been repeating myself a lot lately. Could be I’m not loud enough, could be everyone else is deaf.

And then I thought, what if this wasn’t just about my voice? What would happen if you slowly disappeared out of other people’s senses? What if it was more than voice but actually you that disappears?

2

Ode to College

In the first year
I learned names
Of people, places and things;
Of the functionality of fancy words.

In the second year
I learned
The fatuity of that ‘F’ word;
That friends come and leave your soul darker;
That family is thinner than blood;
That the firsts will finish and be forgotten.

In the third year
I learned
The sincerity of that ‘F’ word;
That friend is all you need;
That family of thickest blood
Will revitalize the things you’ve lost;
That forgiveness is a favor for those you’ve forgotten.

 


 

A summary in verse form of my three years in college as a young woman, a daughter/sister/cousin/niece, an English major and a bit of a sociopath.

0

It Rains Everyday

It rains everyday. So much so that I can’t see, like I’m submerged underwater only that no matter how much I open my eyes everything is blurry.

In the kitchen it rains. When I put coffee in the milk and stir the sugar in, I can’t remember how many times I’ve stirred my drink. I burn my hands accidentally when I turn the gas on. So many times but I still call it accidental. I hold my hands close to my body where the rainwater can soothe them and they’re almost as good as new.

In the bathroom it rains. Even when I turn the shower on, twist the knobs so that they’re not too cold that I shiver or too hot that I burn myself twice a day. It rains when I pour water on my head in this blessed communion of hygiene. It rains when I shave my legs until they glisten under the light, pink and red.

In the bedroom it rains. When I watch a movie, it blocks my breathing, turns it labored and sporadic, like I’m gasping for air drowning under water. When I read a book and the lovers are reunited it particularly pelts heaps of water into my eyes, it even stings a little. Before I close my eyes to sleep and I think about my day: off to school barely looking at the other girls, had lunch with someone or the other, sat on the lawns with my book and my ears plugged in, music at its loudest, one-word answers, walking back because it’s the only time I get to be alone, covering myself in my blanket watching a TV show, living in another dimension, and staring at the ceiling with the lights off.

It rains the hardest when I’m with you and I smile and nod and encourage you to speak because I have nothing to say. So I listen because I’m good at it. What’s the use of seeing when you’re that good of a listener? To hell with sight! I can’t see in the rain anyway.

I’ve noticed it pours when I turn on the music. I enjoy it. Like I said, I’m a good listener. And all these tunes and melodies and riffs enter my mind and I write down the words and for a second, it only drizzles and I can see what I’ve written. What’s the use of writing if you can’t see what you’ve written? And then I hear my mother call and it rains.

I wonder if it will ever stop raining.

It’s ten years later and it rains. Dream job. Dream partner. Dream car. Dream house. Dream life. How did you do it? they ask. Well, truth is, I don’t know. Come on, don’t be so modest. No really, I don’t know. It rains all the damn time I can’t see shit.

I pee on a stick, go to the doctor, I look down, hand at my stomach, I look up, everyone’s suddenly appeared, faces I haven’t seen in years, I look down, it’s huge and it throbs and stretches and stretches until it stops raining. I push and a patch of luminous light expels from my groins. All I see is beauty and euphoria. I shiver.

It rains once more. We barely talk, he and I. I touch his face at night and he says look at me. Is it coincidence that it rains when he asks?

I stay home because the rain was destroying my work, the papers on which I wrote my dreams shredded and disintegrated in my hands. My hands grew hard and rough.

My luminous sunshine is still there but it moves further and further into the distance. Then one day it comes back multiplied and glorious day allows me to witness the seeds that I have sown. So I let it drizzle and rain so that they may grow taller and stronger.

It rains still. What did you say? Could you repeat that? What? I thought I was a good listener. Turns out I’m not anymore. I’m always tired, so tired it’s an effort to effortlessly listen.

One morning, I’ll lie still and the water will wash me away. No longer will it pour. I will see at last. I will be submerged in the ocean. I hear it tastes salty.