'Who am I' she asks : A creative explosion of paradoxical remarks the student replied.

Dreamscape Therapy


“You don’t understand the gravity inside a dream
Your subconscious would think it is like Peter Pan – just believe
And yet you don’t fly on sole belief…it is something else that makes you run away.”
“What were you running from?”
“This school…that was wrought with the self righteous echelon that exists in life.
I was granted to fly on a  carpet, and I was laying upside down atop it when I came through the principal’s office
And as if their mere presence did it, I felt my backside against the rooftop shingles.”
“Did they stop you from flying?”
“They did.”
“How do you think they did that?”
“I remember the vice principal woman said, ‘—– You can’t do that, honey, you’re falling.’ and there I was, sliding off the roof top.”
“What happened then?”
“I ran out into the street trying to pump belief of flight but it wasn’t taking, so I ran between cars and side streets to avoid them catching me.”
“What do you think would happen if they caught you?”
“They’d drag me back into the school.”
“Is that really so bad?”
“Yes, it’s where dreams die.”

What You Know


“Because when you meet someone prospective, you become curious
To dive through their archive, a token treasure trough of who they once were
Despite what you may know, or come to find out
In fact they were far from they are now, and far from one you would love,
Only then you’d seek to ask yourself whether this was for better or worse
In finding ultimately more of yourself, for turning a blind eye
Or to laugh at what may have been many moons ago, as you were
And forgive us for what we’ve done.”

The Artist


“Is this what they mean,” she stares at the blank page before her,
“When they say only tortured artists can create.”
And as he trailed his finger down the trace of her back
Out went the stream of conscious that was her creation
Dug out by the assembly of emotions, intangible currency ran
Swiftly before she had known to remember, unfair exchanges
For words she meant to deliver instead
Before she had met him, as if there were no words to prescribe her
Not when one is happy and content, so she believes
She has alas ran out of words this way

Imperfect Love


“What you’re saying only exists in a perfect world. You know it doesn’t work that way.”
Refusing to pout, she only stared blankly in reply, “I know that.”
“So why do you buy into the belief? Why beguile yourself that way?”
With a sigh she confesses, “it’s not about the likelihood of coming true. I’ve read lots of book on people and it is probably a losing faith to invest into,”
Squaring her shoulders, she went on, “but I’d like to believe in the concept of unconditional love among people.”
A pause. “I’d just like to.”
He looked onward, stunned, not by her words, as he had heard them before
Yet stunned all the same by the imperceptible strength of will he saw
She possessed in love,  because the fact was, she hadn’t given up on him.

Tongue in Cheek


“So, it’s decided then,” he clasped his hands together for dramatic effect,
“Let’s go fall in love.”
“You can’t just say that.”
“Why ever not.”
“Because people don’t just fall in love once you say so.”
“Oh contraire, my love, you are missing the objective of life.”
Seeing the allusion, she intercepts, “I’m not in love with you.”
“Certainly,” he turns his back towards her to hide a smile,
“It’s not a state of being you’re referring to, yet somehow you just are.”

The Future


He was all just skins and bones, crouching before me
The toughened elbows of a 12 year old boy propped on his knee
With eyes that glowered instead as a man, I thoroughly believed him when he said,
“You and I, we are the pioneers of the world.”
Though we were but children hiding in our dug out
When they ask me today where he has been since, I can’t answer
Without coming back to this image of our defiance
Almost the perfect way to summarize what I’ve been meaning to say
As a farewell eulogy for his entombment in my mind

Twilight Effects


“You start to realize after a while that sex doesn’t really matter
As much since you’ve turned a new stone.” This fascinated her
As she laid upon his chest post-coital, she asks why
Equally bemused and taken by her inquisitiveness to life, he looks up at the ceiling
And says, “You just get used to being your own person, without giving two fucks
A partner stands besides you, but you’re still alone with yourself at the end of the day.”
Maybe it was his pessimism, oddly enough
Or the nonplussed attitude he had about opinions, she remembers
Falling for no reason, other than that she was addicted
To him, in contrary to all reason, and against his own better judgment

La Femme


The perennial effects of a handsome woman
Lies in the decided attitude at once
Lithe, without remark
The fragile strength her shoulders rests upon
Startled by a muted cough
Equal in yearning her eyes
A young deer stalking into a field of dreams
Upon a leap of faith
Given the hand that feeds, she trusts
One can only speculate
She had loved once, jaded
Virgin bespeaks
Truncated love, the doe weeps
The butterfly effect
Changing seasons
Flushed in headlights, her surmise
Lost, in the set of her jawline
Safeguarded, a glance short
Of a broken hearted cry

A Lifelong Search


An embrace ought to be more than
The singing of our atoms pulling together
Vibrations in the air, often mistaken for a spark
A deep stare between dilated pupils suggests
Pivoting orbits whose axle chanced to align with yours,
With precision I cannot tell you true love apart from
A familiar anecdote you might have once heard,
You’ll know when you find it
Is what she said

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