Water

 

Purple leaf threads

All over my body

Come water me

 

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Day #1

Hi God,

I am sick of the hide and seek. You come, we fall into a deep explosion. I dance in my sleep and wake up like a child, smiling in deep bubbles of joy.

And then you leave.

Did we break up or are you still coming home to sweep me off of my feet?

Chasing heaven

When you are leaving your reality behind to chase the land of your dreams.

Fear

Perhaps, the land of your dreams is the land of your diseases

Fear

Perhaps, there is nothing in the dreams.

Boredom

Perhaps, I was tired of the American cuisine.

Uncertainty

Lost friendships, lost space

But above all, silence

Space and time.

New relationships, new people , a new home

Who am I ? A Balloon

I am a balloon.

There was a time when she was small and tiny. Her fingers were absent and then she had fingers and then she had nails and then she grew long red nails.

She thought she was her body. Limited, scared, dead, nervous, threatened. Then one day, as she was reading Gurdjieff and Plato and Marx and Gita, he arrived. He moved her in circles and circles, her bones started singing. He pushed her, kicked her and kissed her, taking her to places she didn’t know. He entered her and she grew like a balloon, a balloon on hydrogen gas. She was taller than herself, than the room, than the dorm, than the sky, oh wait, there was no boundary.

She flew off into the sky, she flew

A loud silence

I can hear the mystic river flowing and the toilet flushing,birds giggling, coffee typing, faster and slower and faster and faster and behind it all a silence. Warm eternal silence. The same silence a ten year old heard on her first night away in a dark boarding school.

I see me running, and worrying and  speeding and writing, faster, speeding the clock, confusing the clock, cheating the circles, my bones chipping and behind it all I am still, like a rock, watching it all, laughing it off.

I write my silence. Do you hear it?

An open letter to God

Dear God,

Last night I stared at the mirror across me. A stranger with strange dark eyes looked back at me. I had never seen her before.  The dark midnight, the lullaby of insects and the weird  stranger in the mirror…who am I?

Who am I?

At sixteen I wanted to be a dancer. When I was seventeen I wanted to be a psychiatrist. Tonight I know not what I seek, there is nowhere to be, nothing to do. I might as well not be here.

Why the fuck have you dropped me in this world where I cannot relate with anyone. Everyone talks shit. Oh, the weather. Did you see what she wore? Lol  I can’t!  Either take me out of here or tell me why I am here.

You know that every night I sleep I hope to dream of you. Why don’t you ever show up? Perhaps you show up in my life as the energy I get when I do the whirling dance, the peace I engrave when I read a philosophy book and you are trying to connect to me through life. Perhaps.

Perhaps, I am writing a letter to someone who does not exist.