21 things i want in a lover

do you like babies
do you like dogs
can you dance like there's no tomorrow
do you like meat and are you an any sports fanatic
do you have big hands that will correspond with my small ones
will you think that surrendering is actually freedom
do you enjoy poetry even if you do not write
are you a voracious reader and can hold your own with the best of them
do you enjoy comfortable silences as much as laughter
can you be silly on occasion
are you strong really strong and not be bent by adversarial circumstances
can you adapt
do you believe and does that belief spur you on
do you possess prowess
can you USE that prowess
are you patient and accommodating
can you read minds
can you anticipate me
can you speak to my fears
can you love me on the condition that i love you and nothing else

the bus

i ride an hour on the bus the ride is bumpy and swerves and throws you sideways left and right and if you dont know the person sitting next to you you feel uneasy its not your intention to push into their space
but i have a seat i always get a seat the two days ive 'travelled'
the drive i savour with every riff that plays on my music player today i wished singing out loud suddenly in public places(buses) wasnt considered off kilter i wanted to sing along with paula cole about how my baby's got me feelin love
i love how the view is the same but not the houses some grand some not the lives our bus passes by
i love the hour bus ride
i hope i always get a seat.get through my daily playlist. crane my head sideways the whole way to see the outside as i sit in the inside of the bus

I want your hands

I want your hands
Your fingers to messy themselves in the dark tangles of my hair
I want your hands
Your fingers to chart territory on the compass of my body
I want your hands
Your fingers to fit with mine
Like
Key
To
Lock

choice

i pleaded God to give me my object choice
God said:my greatest gift to Mankind is free will
that was the end of it

them

She butchers tropical fruits
Cuts her own hair.
Seen and done too many things

He sits like a girl at times
Crossing legs
Yet she is rendered limp when he moves his mouth

punctuations

My feel for you boy is consuming my insides like wildfire and I am scared to death of what I will be capable of if you retreat.

There was too many magic happening too many likes and similarities and coincidences to not think the meeting was fated

A day without a talk spent in paranoid obsessive assumptions leading to deletion of certain frames of an identity

Not in the inside though not in the inside

The wait is long it seems and lonely and excruciating and there seems no reprieve for hours still the connect is felt to have been lost

How frantic a grasp should be exercised to get back the what was almost had so it becomes a real possession a something to cherish and hold on to and fight for come what may

Death makes angels of us all

today we went to pay our condolences to one of our student's family whose dad had passed away. he lived with oesophagus cancer for close to a year. and died of it. various people spoke of the occassion of the bereaved family and of the deceased.mostly of the deceased. i had tears brimming when the new widow got up to say how she dreads going to sleep and when she did sleep how she dreads waking up. in our culture, it is said that the pain of losing one's spouse is akin to hacking one's shoulder off(or something to that effect). personally i think it MUST be more painful than that. personally i dont think the loss(death) of a spouse(if love is shared) is NOT akin to any other pain in this world. and therefore shouldnt be compared to any other pain.
that said
the other thing that crossed my mind is this
'death makes angels of us all'
what was Jim thinking of when he wrote this? because i feel its truth. when people come forth to speak at funeral wakes, it is only the good in them that they speak of. never he/she was: petty/deceptive/contrary/shallow/narrow. i dont mean to take anything away from the memory of dead people(pardon my crudeness) but i find it strangely amusing that we,that are alive, feel the need to make angels of those that are gone. not before they are gone. but. after they are gone. hmmm.how contrary.
my father died when i was sixteen. and by all accounts(after his gone state), my father was goodness and kindness incarnate. like i said, i was sixteen, too consumed in my own existence to really know or even want to know anything about my father save for what he stood for, for me, ie a father. so i never knew what kind of person my father really was. not really.
and all the years hence, when people(his friends/acquaintances/colleagues/subordinates etc) realise that i am my father's daughter, the most i can infer from their accounts of their time with him is what an angel he was.now, this is all fine and dandy.because what daughter wouldnt want to hear that her father was a good man?!
but sometimes, someeeetimes, i wish someone would tell me who my father REALLY was. his 'exits' and 'entrances' so i could know what about me in me is a living part of my father.

and i look at the student and think...young person, henceforth, you will only ever know that your father was good and kind and steadfast and true. will you grow from this knowledge in this knowledge.

i requote The Lizard King: Death makes angels of us all and gives us wings where we had shoulders smooth as raven's claws.

edit: i also just remembered this one time i was at YMA night for the deceased in our neighbourhood and when one of the YMA 'hruaitu's' got up to speak loftily of the deceased, a drunk a few seats behind us mumbled,'why didnt he say all these nice things to him when he was alive?' LOL