Image

Seven and Nine

When I was a child, all I ever wanted to be was an adult. Then I woke up one day and wishes had turned to horses except the unicorn had neither wings nor horn. I asked the wise man Mr C why and he said that for me to see them, I had to use my mind’s eyes.  Was he asking me to think like a child or like an adult?  I suspected it was the former but I had bad news for him.

I had no more innocence left in me. In fairytales a kiss awakens a prince but in this life mere words turn to poison the moment they touch the lips. I once lost a portion of my innocence to the tick tock of the clock and later lost the whole lot in deep brown eyes that danced excitedly whenever the host’s tongue spewed venom. The unicorn finally got its wings and in the place of the mind grew its horn.

They tell you 5 + 4 = 9 but so does 7 + 2 and that and that and that. A child knows but the adult understands. What you see isn’t always what you get and sometimes what you get isn’t what you deserve. So what do you wish me to do with mere conjecture my dearest June? He says he loves me to death but he will be loving Pearl tomorrow. My mother insists he’s being truthful on both days. That’s the fault in his nature, she says. It’s like 5+4 but instead of getting 9, you repeatedly keep getting 7 when 9 is what you should be getting. And then one day you wake up and realize 9 too wasn’t it.

So you see June, when that man walked up to me and said he loved me, I looked him in the eye and said, “I love you too.”  You think me cruel but I did us both a favor. He appeared before me in his princely armor on a four wheeled beast with promises of a happily ever after on a Hugh Hefner budget heart. His words reeked of expired saliva from the four wenches he bought from the brothel up on Alm Street that’s right above the Baptist  church. He says he’s looking for a good girl to take to his mother. He thinks I’m it. He’s right. We’re soul mates. We deserve each other.

He doesn’t know. I’m the second wench who was dressed in a black dress with yellow strips around the waist whose tits he said were the best he had ever tasted. Yes we met on Alm Street on a Sunday right outside the Baptist church. But Saturday night was our first. He thinks I’m playing hard to get when I turn down his proposals but he already had me at 7 and 9. I am just waiting for him to realize that 10-1=9 too.

Because when we were kids, all we ever wanted to be was adults. Me a woman, and he a man. We both got what we wanted.

And it was neither 7 nor 9.

Image

Sois mon paradis

Come….

🎶 Love me like you do

Ellie Goulding

They say you’re a dreamer. It is not a compliment. They wanna box me. They live in a cocoon and follow a prescribed way of life they’ve come to regard as normal. But you tell me, what would you do if you had the power to turn your wildest dreams to reality? Would you run and hide, or would you close your eyes and surrender to the wind?

They say you’re too deep. It’s a fact you cannot deny. They wish for me to be basic. They sell you fairytales of happily ever after and when you tell them you’ve been to forever one too many times they tell you to live in the moment. But you tell me, would you throw caution to the wind for a fleeting moment that does not speak the language of your soul?  Or would you rather wait for the one who sets your soul on fire?

They say they love you. You don’t feel it. It’s a trap dressed in fool’s gold and it reeks of cheap promises. A white picket fence and a thornless rose garden. But you tell me, would you settle for luxe when you only come alive in the jungle?  Wouldn’t you rather create your own universe, a place where the only rule that applies is the one that brings heaven to you?

There’s always hope for the one who once touched the sky. A packed suitcase in the corner for a journey that might never take flight. Jumping castles might get you off the ground but baby, there’s no home on earth for the one who’s feet once touched heaven.

Mon amour, le paradis est un état d’esprit

Image

A Villain in Distress

You’re like a storm begging to be a light shower on a sunny day
You picture yourself a haven for a lover’s bliss
Yet it’s so cold under your arms

You’re like a back up singer discontent with the darkness over his head
You fancy yourself a leading role
Yet you shiver under the spotlight

You’re like a little boy dressed in superman’s costume
You think yourself the damsel’s hero
But in your eyes it’s a villain she sees

She’s like the calm you feel before the storm
She carries herself like a butterfly
But there are spines under her wings

He, a villain in distress
And she, a damsel in armor

Stay, if you must

In her quest for happiness, Diomeda once borrowed a leaf from Doctor Faustus’ pages and sold her soul for a bed of rosses. She held hands with Zeus and slow-danced to his tune under the fleeting moon’s shadow. Like a flower, she beautifully blossomed into his most favorite kind of sin.

Ecstasy. Continue reading

On Days Like These

On most days I needed him
Not in the way people need water, or food, or oxygen
I needed him like I needed tomorrow
Something I had no control over, yet I longed to behold desperately

On certain days I wanted him
Not in the way people want chocolate, or cars, or beer
I wanted him like I wanted yesterday
Something I had already had, but pined to have repeatedly

On days like today I’m drawn to him
Not in the way people are drawn to familiar places or things
I’m drawn to him like a magnet
Like a last piece of a puzzle that knows exactly where it belongs

Everyday I fall for him
Not in the way people fall  for deceptions or illusions
I’m falling because it’s that easy
Like two hearts in sync and forever tuned to lover’s songs