twenty-one

things you never tell a girl

you don't tell a girl she's fat-
not unless she insists.

you don't tell her that she looks good
when you don't mean it

don't be a hypocrite.

don't swear at her,
be gentle.

don't tell her that she makes you
miserable

or that she gets on your nerves
when you're just playing games

never tell her she's
a no good girl friend.

and when you did tell her that,
don't tell me that i didn't warn you.

spend time with her
talk to her when she's feeling peckish

give her what she wants
if you can.

after all,
it's hard to find someone
who actually cares about you-
and loves you.

no matter how
utterly loveless you are,
you swine.

so when you feel like being careless
and feeling ready to cuss and diss...
step back and breathe deep.

because you don't have the
right.
to tell a girl things
she does not really want to hear.

because brother-
you won't be here cussin'
and dissin' and playin'
if it weren't for a woman.

so shut up and watch me leave.

----------------------------------------------------------------
this poem is not as great as my other poems. i just feel like lashing at someone.
good night

twenty

this poem is dedicated to the two people who made me write again. my lancelot and guenivire. the cosmopolitan tristan and isolde.

i would like to emphasize the fact... the very sad fact that in this damn, unfair world. we are only permitted to dream dreams once. and act out a perfectly good scene without cuts. without retakes.

imagine yourselves in a poetry bar. the stage is small, the lights, red and orange... flickering. the air smells like fruity perfume and cigarettes. you sip cheap beer from the clear, plastic glass. to relieve yourself from that terrible pang that makes your insides twitch and turn.


the announcer sits on his table with a chunky cigar on his lips. he is crying

man: damn those things they say about destiny.
fuck destiny. screw those things they call promise. spit at those cards that end in forever.
(the announcer throws the cards) this is my story.

a girl runs on stage. she is dressed in white, she has jet black hair and a pale face

girl: (bongos play a slow, steady beat. the girl looks above)

"then you left"

alone

alone

alone

darkness is no stranger to me,

all that is left of me is memories

nothing but silly, foolish movies in my mind

that i play...

again

and again

and again.

i walk around the streets

everything is black and white.

there are no flowers,

there is no YOU.

you told me that

"i will always be in your heart"

and

"we will always have these memories to hold onto"

SCREW THAT!

memories of you will never

keep me warm on a rainy night

and it will never be as warm as you...

your hands.

it won't guarantee my sanity, love.

everything is topsy-turvy.

the girl falls down. she struggles to get up

I LOVE YOU!

but i cannot.

i can't trust you.

i can't believe you.

because everything is bleak

no answers

no repose.

love, it's just a phase.

but how painful a phase it is.

you think...

silence is nothing? silence is calm...

silence is the noise of heartbreak.

everything was fine. even dandy.

we were happy.

but...

this act was played... late?

then you left.

then there was silence.

and all i had to do... was close my eyes and cry.

to take it all in. to partake of it by myself.

the audience snaps their fingers and the girl bows

---------------------------

hope you like it :)

nineteen

"la nuit nous avons volé le temps"

(cheri, you know who you are..)

i don't understand this fact...
why do we avoid each other's eyes


i guess it is suffice that we are left to see
but not touch.


it would not be proper i thought...
but you thought otherwise


who would have thought that a short simple stroll
could be absurdly enchanted?


everything was perfect
everything felt like it was meant to happen
everything felt like the first time...


it felt like being seventeen again.
it felt like a first kiss.


the dust from the street and the smoky air
the dim streetlights
it was chiseled out of an avant garde scenario


but darling, it was a dream scenario


where being twisted is good...
and feeling twisted is rewarding...
burglary was rewarding!


whether it was the smoke or the alcohol talking to me
or whether it was the "irie" feeling holding my hand
i am thankful.. it was you.


jusqu'au prochain baiser, chéri
c'est une chose triste et triste pitoyable
qu'il ne va pas se produire encore

(until the next kiss, darling
it's a pity sad, sad thing
it's not going to happen again)

because we only dream dreams once.

il est un beau, intemporel et moment intense, amour
(it's a beautiful,timeless and poignant moment, love)


it felt like walking on clouds, that night.

i therefore name that night, our night"la nuit nous avons volé le temps"
(the night we stole time)

--------------------------------- :)
hello! i finally got this posted. the blasted computer won't cooperate last night.
but anyway... i learned two important things while i ruminated on this poem. the most important was-


that when your guts tell you that a certain moment's going to happen once. don't deprive yourself. fall easy on destiny's hands. it is rewarding.


the other one is... the best things in life most of the time happen at night, and are free :)


this picture is dedicated to this moment.

eighteen

hay

i have been uninspired lately, so there. i have been trying to write a short story this summer. typical COSMO-ish plots... i want it to be published by i am so struggling with the plot!

but anyway, i have been having lots of nice thoughts in my head. simple accidental lines that cross my mind- whether it be in the shower, mall or walking. but i have n0t written all of them down.

i am having a mental constipation, i can't write poems... another poetry hiatus now.

i need something... or someone to be my MUSE :) applicants??? :D