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Drowsy Notes and Sleepless Nights
Have we collectively become more sleep-deprived these past few months or is it just still us, the usual suspects — the insomniacs, the night owls, the creators, the brokenhearted…? These Drowsy Notes are a documentary of one of those sleepless nights. Five hundred twenty-four notes, what’s another one? 4:40 a.m. on the clock and heaviness in my eyes. A news article made its way in my brain about sh*t I couldn’t care less (I like to pretend). My stomach in crumbles, dinner was a mango and I couldn’t stop thinking how my mom would scold me…like a child. Already a working hour for some, this very early morning. The silence…
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If My Walls Could Talk
They’d probably tell on me, but I wonder which rumors they’d choose to spread. Would it be the story of how much I procrastinate; how I spin on my heels eighty-nine times a day before making it out the door when I need to be somewhere on time? I wonder if they notice me when I have a bad day, when I’m out in space, when I can’t concentrate because the world’s batsh*t. I wonder if they can tell that my soul is scarred because cold-hearted lads keep finding a way to get in my heart; that I allow too many chances, that I’m too nice to the unkind. I…
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Phases
Looking at the round, bright moon above this night made me think about our own phases. When it blooms; when it’s full and in all its glory, hardly anyone would say it’s not a beautiful moon. Just like the moon, you have your stages. And, each one of them is special, and each one of them has its purpose, and each one of them is unique and beautiful. Works in progress work that way; they are for tweaking and learning. They’re ever changing and evolving and teaching everyone who witnesses the process. So, those days when you hopelessly tell yourself, yeah, but this WIP stage just never ends (and I…
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Past and Present Flashbacks
Writing this with my eyes closed, wanting to keep trapped the thoughts that might slip through the cracks when I look away, out in space. Nothing is kind anymore. Not the sound of night, not the air I breathe, not the light I see hurting my eyes like a splash from the salty sea. In my flashbacks, I see the good intentions that failed to be anything but good by those protecting my youth. I would’ve changed some things if only I could. What bothered me then, bothers me no more now. Not more than it should. Painting happy endings. Frustrated that the paint smudges before anything ever gets dry.…
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What Was It? – a Poem
The clues were always there, I just never knew how to read. Now trying to solve the mystery I get confused in the mix. Was it the heat of the summer? Perhaps your inquisitive ear? Was it your puppy eyes begging for me to come near? Was it your persistence, the wordless words you spoke? Maybe your tender smile, hiding a million thoughts? What was it?
