It starts out innocent enough.
"Share yourself with me."
"Tell me what you've been working on."
Now you've finally let me see it.
My stomach churns as I read through your emotions through the decades.
Was it me that hurt you, or someone else?
Was that me you pined for, or her that you've long forgotten?
It is strange to think that you has such emotions before me,
Because you tell me you've never felt so strongly.
If these are not your strongest emotions,
then what emotions do you have for me?
Monday, December 23, 2013
A list of things to buy
Buy the house and when the house runs out,
buy stock.
Buy the stock and when the stock runs out,
buy bonds.
Buy the bonds and when the bonds run out,
buy land.
Buy the land and when the land runs out,
buy art.
Buy the art and when the art runs out,
run.
buy stock.
Buy the stock and when the stock runs out,
buy bonds.
Buy the bonds and when the bonds run out,
buy land.
Buy the land and when the land runs out,
buy art.
Buy the art and when the art runs out,
run.
Or Why I Learned to Love the Rain
When I was a girl...though I am still a girl
I would wake before the dawn for school.
Eyes bright, I didn't know that tiredness could ache my bones.
I had built muscle as armor, though no one told me.
Or perhaps I didn't want to believe them.
I didn't want to believe that I would ever be weaker than I was then,
Though I am physically weaker now.
It was then, in my unknown body that I set out in the rain and fog.
My ears stung, and I wore the crinkly grey windbreaker that was my shield.
God forbid that anyone know that under all this, I had begun to become a woman.
My friends affectionately called me Piggy after we read Lord of the Flies,
And I knew, even though it wasn't true, it was also because of my excess weight...of which there was none.
But in this morning, in this crisp rain and fog and unyielding weather even in the face of sunrise,
I was just me. The chill froze my collar and my feet squelched in flip flops in the rain.
It cooled me from my anxieties, pin-pricked me into loving my existence.
Even when things began going truly downhill, I knew that there would be dark-then-slowly-light mornings with rain.
The fog of my breath was my evidence of life and I knew I lived on.
When I moved away from that rain and fog, I forgot that feeling. I forgot that I was alive.
Where in this sunny utopia, I should have asked, does one find the pinpricks of existence?
I tried to find pin-pricks in a desert, but I only wounded myself with other instruments.
I've learned about my existence since then. I think I read about it in a book.
But listen to me New York and LA and even little Providence:
Where are your pinpricks? At the sight of rain you hide, when all I want to do is lay in the soggy grass,
In my coat with my hair, like roots, spread around me,
As the pin-pricks pin me into the grass,
I want to feel the pinch of blades beneath me as the heavens rain down love above me.
They are saying, "You exist, Sunaina." as they wash away grime.
I would wake before the dawn for school.
Eyes bright, I didn't know that tiredness could ache my bones.
I had built muscle as armor, though no one told me.
Or perhaps I didn't want to believe them.
I didn't want to believe that I would ever be weaker than I was then,
Though I am physically weaker now.
It was then, in my unknown body that I set out in the rain and fog.
My ears stung, and I wore the crinkly grey windbreaker that was my shield.
God forbid that anyone know that under all this, I had begun to become a woman.
My friends affectionately called me Piggy after we read Lord of the Flies,
And I knew, even though it wasn't true, it was also because of my excess weight...of which there was none.
But in this morning, in this crisp rain and fog and unyielding weather even in the face of sunrise,
I was just me. The chill froze my collar and my feet squelched in flip flops in the rain.
It cooled me from my anxieties, pin-pricked me into loving my existence.
Even when things began going truly downhill, I knew that there would be dark-then-slowly-light mornings with rain.
The fog of my breath was my evidence of life and I knew I lived on.
When I moved away from that rain and fog, I forgot that feeling. I forgot that I was alive.
Where in this sunny utopia, I should have asked, does one find the pinpricks of existence?
I tried to find pin-pricks in a desert, but I only wounded myself with other instruments.
I've learned about my existence since then. I think I read about it in a book.
But listen to me New York and LA and even little Providence:
Where are your pinpricks? At the sight of rain you hide, when all I want to do is lay in the soggy grass,
In my coat with my hair, like roots, spread around me,
As the pin-pricks pin me into the grass,
I want to feel the pinch of blades beneath me as the heavens rain down love above me.
They are saying, "You exist, Sunaina." as they wash away grime.
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