My loneliness is a crowded schoolyard, Sweaty boys flirting with girls whose skirts are pulled up five inches above the knee, hair perfectly braided, sleek pony tails, nike shoes, boys flirting with girls, Not me, because my skirt covers my knees, because last year I read too many books, because I speak too loudly, belting my truth when the truth is a dark sonnet about the void of loving then losing, the deception of time when all we have is a short timeline of fighting and forgiving. My loneliness is a man who obsessed with me enough to keep testing the limits of my own genes, kept pushing, Kept pulling, work faster, think faster, wax those legs more, pluck those eyebrows more, pull that hair, spit that food, be more like her, that woman in his class, his mum, that woman Who seemed happy and free Until I switched off my brain, until I switched off the TV. My loneliness is a short nap on the sofa because what else is there to do on a Sunday afternoon, because people want to text you but never walk with you while you just weep, because smiling is easy and stripping yourself naked of this mud of insecurities, this cloud of inadequacy, this dust of vanity, because stripping yourself naked is hard And sometimes comes at much too high A cost, whoever is stripping is losing If it’s only one person in two. My loneliness is a misplaced happy song, it plays loudly till I am deaf with what I should feel, till I am lost inside The labyrinth of my self-constructed Sense of worth and lack of it. **** My loneliness is simultaneously A proud hymn and a soft lullaby, a return To my days as a young girl, this time Untamed, this time unfazed, this time Unstoppable. The comfort to let go of what doesn’t suit me, standards of beauty and expectations, the fear of losing someone If I’m not willing to lose myself. My loneliness is a short nap, the pristine beauty of a quiet moment that I had the luxury of choosing, A sad song that makes me happier.
1. Release **** Turn off the news. I want to tell you I have already spent countless hours counting your freckles, measuring the size of your beauty spot, running my fingers through your hair, smelling your skin. I have already spent countless hours loving you remotely, writing virtual postcards, clinging on to wifi, trying to grasp a glimpse of your mood, an inch of whatever it is that burdens you so that I can lift off some weight. Turn off the news. I’ve loved you in my own mental prison before all of this, I’ve loved you and I know better that now is the time to let go, let go, let go, let go of the pride. Release it.
2. #whoami **** I will take you in my arms like you’ve never been held, slow cooking, slow loving, that slow song that hits to the core, piano jamming off beat, acoustic guitar on a sunny, lazy Sunday afternoon, water that’s boiling, that gargling sound of revolt, never compliant, never complicit, that mature alto note that never fits in, high energy, turn up the volume, fizzing, sizzling, fizzling away sometimes, high temperature that suddenly drops then stubbornly rises, I will not give in, I will not give in.
3. Chewing gum (thoughts) **** I’ve chewed on this idea before, that we can find meaning in nothingness, these repetitive urges that rejuvenate and deplete us, all at once, but this is the type of strawberry chewing gum that wears off in 30 seconds, soon you’ll be left chewing and chewing and it will only be your mouth that hurts. I don’t know if we have to decipher, decode, demystify when all we can do is blink, scratch our skin, repeat. I feed myself the questions anyway, I mourn over everything that isn’t lost just yet, I call it a practice test. I switch off the lights, lie on the floor, sink deep inside this moving sand I call my thoughts, I feel heavy but also light, whatever darkness there is, at least I’ll know it’s all a funny game, I’ve been there before.
4. Slow up **** I gaze outside my window, the flashing lights of a police car to nowhere, the speed of an ambulance, a quick illegal trade, the thought of my ego reflecting in the glass windows of unused skyscrapers, tell me how did we get here. Tell me how did time pick me up and drop me here, like a pin in the virtual map of life, tell me why do I still travel back sometimes to the leaves of that lemon tree, cold lemonade with three ice cubes, my sister’s laughing in the distance and dad’s still watching the news, the summer breeze kisses my shoulders, that loose white dress feels light on my shoulders, bare feet, my MP3 player, a melancholic song about love, growing up, a coming of age book sitting on my lap, tell me how did we get here. Bad news. I got lost outgrowing my old self. Good news. I am growing back into myself, more self aware now.
5. Untitled **** In an imperfectly structured, clumsily balanced, multiple-shades-of-black-and-white world, I do not know what justice looks likes. Some everyday, no-expert thoughts on what it probably doesn’t look like: 1) A society that breeds an innate, subconscious fear based on genetic features that cannot be chosen at birth or changed. 2) Cities with ‘good’ and ‘bad’ neighbourhoods, ghettos on one hand, green spaces and good schools on the other. 3) A presumption that a person’s cultural background dictates how well read, well educated, well off, well polished they are without any questioning of the definitions of ‘justice’, ‘democracy’ or ‘well’ for that matter. 4) Workplaces that necessitate actively seeking diversity recruitment. 5) A ‘justice’ system that would leave Kafka scared. 6) A place where freedom of speech is afforded to haters and -most dangerously- the ignorant (with no sympathy for the rightfully emotional responses of those deeply undermined and affected).
6. What I’ll miss **** When our breath runs out, what I’ll miss is the rain, the way it taps on the trees like tears tap on cheeks, the way fingers tap on stiff bodies at the end of the night, the way fingers run rivers through hair, the way the wind sweeps wild hair like a kite that’s broken free, the way we always want to break free, the way our bodies are programmed to swim when we are diving deep, drowning deep, the sound of waves, our avalanche of feelings in silence, the way silence and music have the same calming effect, the syncopated notes, piano playing off beat, dimished chords in an old jazz song, the way the sound of saxophone glides through the ears, the way a lover’s breath glides through the ears to make us feel found, to make us feel lost, the colour of love, the depth of brown eyes, the pink as it blends with the blue, the simplicity of a sunset when for a moment you are a tiny human, a breath of life loved by another breath of life, both carried away by music, rain, colour and wind, the mysticism of physics, the blunt beauty of biology, a destiny not yet written yet destiny, yes destiny, still.
Rational Artist 