Foreigner

Friends and family stand by your side, for better or for worse.

But the thing is, sometimes you need an outsider: a vagrant yet beautifully irrelevant perspective.

To make all that had seemed likewise hopelessly irrelevant to you--relevant. And hopeful. 

Sometimes you need that lightning bolt shock of revelation. (sorry, religion is inapplicable here)

Maybe shock isn't the most apt word. After all, these things you saw irrevocably beyond your reach, were at your fingertips all along.

Its a jolt. Zing. Wowee. Tingle. Shiver. Slap. Caress. Flick.

Its someone with foreign skin, touching your life and changing it forever.

Thank you.

So this is not love

“Love is never having to say you’re sorry.”

Well I’m sorry that I’m not good enough for you. I’m sorry that all I can offer you is sex. I’m sorry that I think that way. But you sure don’t stop me from it. I’m sorry that I intrude upon your life. I’m sorry that I try to care about you. I’m sorry that you let me.  I’m sorry that you use me, I’m sorry that I let it happen. I’m sorry that I can’t let go. I’m sorry that I have to. I see no end in sight. Just to be sorry forever. I’m sorry I think that this is the best I will ever have. I’m sorry to think this is what I deserve. I’m sorry that I’m scared to be alone. I’m sorry for everything.

Acrostic

False. hope that sighs from your hot breath, in out in out into my ear. forearms encircled around my chest, fingernails I claw your smooth skin.
Up. down the mattress bounces to your heartbeat. a rhythm to accompany my moaning melody.
Contours. run your hand over my hip. scintillating shivers dance up my spine. Reflexive arch, I turn my head to
Kiss your slightly parted lips. forget the past, bleak future ignored. unwrap the present with the tip of my tongue. they always said I was a talented one.
Mixed. lines, friend, foe, lover, but where to draw? moments of each in disarray. confusion and anger, pain and pleasure, lost to be found, all silenced by the
Earthquake between my thighs.

H2O

He once told me a story of Greek mythology. Aries, the god of War entwined in the embrace of Aphrodite, the god of Love. War and love, in bed together. The greater the strife, burned brighter the passion. Blazing and blistering like irate pink pustules that surge to the skin after scalding one’s palm.

I found the comparison apt. When we used to kiss, I’d feel the heat of my desire sear my lips into charred ashes. Fire cackling peals of laughter would scorch my being. Everything dry so dry unbearably dry. Choking on our thirst, to be quenched by the other's lips. Our kisses weren’t sweet. Our kisses were infuriated by desperation. The need to abate the flames that seethed within us.

But I kissed him today and all was quiet. Perhaps itd been so long, I’d forgotten how. Nothing, not even a shy ember. I still tremble at his touch, at the sight of his taut shoulders. But when I opened my mouth to taste the delectable cool relief, I found that

actually, 
I wasn't
thirsty. 
Why?

The Quest of Humanity

to many, it is of utmost importance to “make a difference.” to bring about change. to leave one’s ever elusive yet definitive mark on the world. the flesh is fleetingly mortal, but the actions executed by the limber tendons of man are forever crystallized in permanent immortality. when we are young—barely grasping the mechanics of reality—we dream of grandiose impossibilities made plainly possible. precisely, we dream of easily found and unreservedly granted happiness. thrust upon the fickle teenage years, we skip lightly upon the path of illusion and disillusion; the heady scent of fame (more aptly, infamy), success, and popular acceptance quickly consumes and replaces the childish (literally) notions of when-I-grow-up-Im-gonna-fly-to-the-moon. yet, still the veil of idealism shrouds the eyes and from the set trail, we wander askance: this one on a journey to the Ivy League, another on a journey to catch the girl out of his league. happiness is recalibrated and reapportioned to worldly desires. as it is, we enter the prime of our lives and the procedure is augmented, the pace accelerates uncontrollably.

years pass, and finally the machine jams. for some, it is only a minor malfunction. to most, it catalyzes the proverbial “opening” of one’s eyes and the return of the infantile wish for content complacency. the soul grasps blindly in the pursuit of happiness, and for the lucky select, it is able to fill its hands with this magical substance. in truth, it is within the capability of everyone to acquire this elixir.

how does one elucidate the composition of happiness? simply. I believe happiness is the sum of the uplifting impact we effect upon others: friends, families, a random stranger. in times of despair and desperation; in times of lazy pleasure; we must never cease to empathize with our fellow brethren, for surely this ability has established the evolutionary superiority of our species. it is the only way to “make a difference”, it is the only means by which our posterity can recall their ancestors, it is the only panacea to the cruel and somber realities exacted by the commanding mistress Life.

it is the duty of man

Identity

As molded clay hardens into its everlasting form does one’s character assume its enduring structure—one that it inevitably returns to even after the most inspired deviation. the spirit yearns to slacken, if not unbind completely, the chains of habit and ingrained actions and yet, the flesh unceasingly imprisons the soul like any common thief. but the relationship of the captive and the captor is twisted and gnarled; it demands that which must be held apart to entwine hopelessly in love and hate, purity and impurity, should and should not. there exists no solution to this paradoxical contrast. there only exists you.

what can you decide, what measures can you take? when explosively, idealism rebels against reality. perhaps you summon the courage (the ignorance) to reject and replace the recently intolerable self you don each morning before venturing out into society. the exhilaration of a newly formed, improved persona lasts for an romantic, albeit evanescent moment. and there the self dances gleefully as the brief honeymoon terminates, and back to square one you dejectedly (placidly) trudge toward: the old you, the fucked up you, that’s the true you.

no matter. you are a creature of comfort: the familiar surroundings beckon, soothe, and return you to your senses. this is who you were, who you are, who you will always be. you may choose to foray into the occasional morally righteous expedition but to your credit, you will never forget the way home. 

Divergence

I love you I love you I love you. but now I realize that you are not perfect. you are not always right. we are different people. we are not each other. your looking glass does not show the world the same way that mine does. I don’t know what to say. I feel sad. you are another childhood illusion, broken and shattered to pieces. but lying there on the floor, these pieces form a magnificent mosaic. so things are not that bad after all, are they? but only time can tell. time, the monstrous villain we have faced together forever. but only now does he reveal his true strength, the force, the enormity of his insidious power. I’m scared. we’ll see. what does love conquer?

First Post

Dear Reader,
    Whoever you may be. Under whatever circumstances you have arrived here. Purposefully, or by chance? No matter. You're here, in any case. At least, have a glance. Judge my form. Reflect upon my content. I do not write to inform nor inspire. I simply record my thoughts and musings in what I hope is a syntactically correct and pleasing manner.

Very nice to meet you then,
     P.