STARE AT THE SUN

What happens
when you stare
at the sun,

when your
arrogant heart
points too high
and the burn
is not enough
to deter you?

Well I like it hot,
here with my eyeballs
on my sleeve
and a darkness
I mistake
for light.

You with
your song-
filled skin
and my
bed an
empty
measure, I
reach for
you with
quarter note
hands
and singed
eyebrows.

Tell me a story,
let it be about

your shoulders
warm between
my teeth,
let it be about

your matchstick
chin against my
kindled rib cage,
let it build

around a zipper
and let me take
it down, notch
by silver notch.

What happens
when you stare
at the sun,
when you lie

in bed with
it under the
suffocating moon,
when you tell

it secrets,
thrown corner by
corner into
its hungry
mouth?

Will you burst into solar flames?

or will you
simply flicker?

Liner notes to my life

In honour of this seemingly dying blog... and to make up my absence... a thursday poem on monday ^_^


One road met the other, and silently they lie across each other, like two people whose love for each other had soured, refusing to say a word, not even a song...

At crossroads, what better place to write the liner notes to life?

If my life was an album, I wonder, which tracks would it have. What people would feature as artists, and would they be friends of mine? or foes... or perhaps a bit of both.

To run away, and lose the road back; to find a road where none existed before. I find myself in Africa (who the fuck knew), passing everywhere, inbetween, incomplete; yet I am whole within my indecision... A bridge from here to there, from two places somewhere on a map, tattooed on my body.

I've harboured healthy addictions to cupcakes, to kisses, and to unrequited love. I've found my demons, and comforted them, told them they shouldn't be scared to lose me, as I moved along in life. Turned the pages, and made silly notes in the margins; witty remarks and slug lines to a script that even I could not have dreamt up for myself; confused, the text was wondering and decided to be a drama that lives like comedy (or is it the other way around?).

There is fear, seductively keeping me inside my comfort zone. Who ever said fear was terrible? it is sweet and delicious, comforting, beyond a mother's touch. It succeeds to cage even my strongest desires, it makes love to my hope and gives birth to fantasies and daydreams... To dream and never reach for it, to never achieve...

How to pick up the thread of life? when you're not sure what kind of life you've led? How to decide? Where to go, down which road best fortune lies? What to say, when the curtains closed on a kiss and the sound of trumpets? When the script has written soundly "the end"? Where to go, from here?

I have feelings and emotions... and I know my song is here... How to give in and lose myself again? To lose myself, and live, again

...

I want to bring someone breakfast on bed, and feed her sweetness from my lips... I want to have Tracy Chapman on repeat in the kitchen and dance to the sound of her voice, fuck it what people 'd say. I want to have hope, for some distant future. I want to eat the icing of cupcakes, and leave the cakes for someone else. I want to live and love, with a smile that refuses to make way for anything. I want to be who I can be, not minding my words... despite the fact that they are too many, and get me in the sort of trouble that too often sours my heart. I want to touch, and enjoy long kisses for lunch. I want to live, live, live, and understand my purpose in life!