Trying to heal before I’ve been hurt

My best friend ,  with her newly growing umber locks, warned me to hurry and catch my balance in love …to stop falling for that marvelous french boy, before it was to late. We all knew that he loved his home , in the once french ruled islands of the Caribbean. But I thought he also loved me, or at least cared. It felt like he did in sporadic moments , when I’d be  so ineffably pissed with him that he could sense it, as I passed him wordlessly in the halls of our small miserable school. He would pull me into a hug and ask me what was wrong, or come sit shyly besides me and coax my pen from my journal to explain once more what I knew shortly after I met him…his life was a maelstrom of everything wrong that had ever happened to a kid (or perhaps in my adoration of him, I am too sympathetic) . But I listened, because the tune of his voice is my favorite melody and the absence of it ,for too long, springs tears in my ducts and a dull ache, made vibrant by the histrionics of my imagination, in my heart.

But, now Easter vacation has come and he’s gone back finally to visit the land that cradled his infancy and blossoming adolescence. He told me , un-quiveringly , on the last day of school, that he wasn’t absolutely certain he was coming back. So I sighed. But, I didn’t believe him at all. I thought I knew he’d be back  for sure, for his education and for me. But now, as the days go on, five days exactly have passed, my certainty wanes . How many times had he complained of Trinidad and longed for his home’s sun?

What did this country really hold for him? He says he needs no one, that he’s alright with being alone. But I think  he’s just inured to the old loneliess that consumed him, he learned to mask it ,and move on with his existence . But what of a life, that goes past teenage years, passes smoking mary`jane and distrusting everyone? Am I really supposed to believe that he wants no more from life? I didn’t believe so, but now I feel that he might become so intoxicated with the possibility of getting his old life’ll all slip away. He’ll forget education and me, while under the haze of  marijuana and rum. Or maybe, it won’t be the same.

The maybe is what I hold to. Maybe, he’ll think of how I adore him and know its not weakening to be loved, but empowering. That’s all I really want him to know.

p.s Of course there’s more, but for now i’m finished.

Sadness full of joy


The world we live in is dying
Yet we keep on smiling.

Earth is a jar , marred by her owners’ mistakes. She lasts through war. Through hunger and pain. We stain her perfection with the colour of blood. Is she happy or is she sad?
We dont care, because we can’t see
The pain we inflict on her. Its easy to ignore pain- when you can’t hear the screams and the world keeps spinning- keeps working for us.
Like a child to a mother, we are ungrateful  for her efforts.
Inside the protection of a layered atmosphere, we’re blanketed by the skies. We can smile, and ignore all the troubles of Mother Dear , because she hides them behind her – on the other side of her ample back.

The Boy In the hat and his bee

            Wednesday August 8,2012
The honey bee buzzed around the
circumference of his hat. The boy,pen in hand hummed a melodious stanza of his poem.Nectar dripped from his fingertips, intoxicating the bee, encouraging her to assualt the phebe in delightful ways. The bee dove south, twirling and swirling imaginary dotted lines around his arm. The boy in the hat swatted her away, arms waving madly. Narrowing her huge eyes, an impossible reality, she sunk under his sleeve, unbeknownst to him. Sinking back to his delicious aberations, our young man made a mess of sweet nectar on his pages. He guided it to form lovely patterns and designs that only few can comprehend. The Bee , peered down at his page, and being one of those discerning few, she understood the sweet relevance of each locution.  Nodding her round honey-bee head and shaking her plump abdomen, she readied herself for the final execution of her plan.

  She brushed her wings against his wrist, causing him to twist. The boy rose his sweet scented hand to shoo her away again, but suddenly noticing how lovely a creature she was he leveled his head with her levitating body. The stared one another in the eye, The Boy curiously, The Bee rather audaciously, I think, for such a teeny insect. Tentatively, the bee flew towards his page, she hovered , circumnavigating his ‘O’ . The boy watched eagerly, forgetting entirely that she was a bee,and offered his precious cream pinkie as a perch. Setting her bum on his knuckle ,the bee faced him once again. The boy in the hat pursed his apple-red lips and blew a gentle breeze for her. The bee blinked once,twice, thrice in wonder of his honey tainted breath. She fluttered off his finger in elation, and danced to his fingertips. He narrowed his eyes. She narrowed hers,then quick as her wings beat,she stretched out her peculiar leg and caught a nectar blob in a nectar drop. Raising her leg to her mouth, which was slowly opening to reveal the smallest, cutest humanoid togue, she ate it.

Supicious bee, The Boy In The Hat thought,I wonder…
As soon as he began to wonder, his fingertips released more nectar than usuak and his optical vision clouded. So when he felt a kiss, which was more like a bump, on his cheek, then his nose, he was astounded to see that the bee was admiring him. She grew larger and larger then sat on the table, her legs growing and becoming copper- her body stretching into a long vessel , until she was a human girl the color of his honey, and just the size to fit on his knee!