she is jetting off on another adventure,
all those escapades across the waters,
while I sit at home, piecing together
snippets of her life, play them like a
pirated movie, drowning slowly in a
second-hand experience of her.
forget wild parties or listening to
the unfamiliar beats of foreign hearts,
she has done it all. that girl bleeds
art and probably drinks it too, I wonder
if my life could be like hers if I liked
grapes less than I did wine?
don’t lie to yourself, sober fool,
it was never about you. even this,
I almost gave to her, happy to be
a little parrot, rolling scraps of her
sunshine across the tongue because
I thought I could never light my own darkness,
bright plumage hiding a tepid fear of existence,
latching onto her so I could anchor my life.
alas, today, why not let the winds of fate
carry away the map to her as I am no
longer seeking to follow her path,
tales of greater adventures
shall be written yet.
She knows that, I am sure. This is
not for her, or you, it’s for me and now.
There is enough ocean for all of us
to find what we are looking for,
if we have enough spirit to go searching,
traversing separately but never alone towards
the horizon, through our own shades
of welcoming blue.
one day, a lonely boy
builds a dingy raft
out of empty vodka bottles
and sets out to sea, so he
does not have to see
straight, ever again.
he prays for merciless waves to
crash and roar, overwhelm the silence
of strangers on the shore too afraid of
getting their toes wet, he wants to drown out
the whispers of wayward ghosts luring
him into the murky depths of despair.
maybe the wind can carry his listless
body to shore or at worst salt-water can
hug his lungs and sting the open wounds
of his heart like hickeys or lighting,
forecasting the long overdue iris rain.
do you remember
when we were younger
and they told us
we could hear the ocean
if we held a sea shell to our ears
as if those lifeless husks
contained some echo of home?
as a naive & introverted child,
my brown spotted conch shell
became one of my most prized possessions
and I spent hours upon hours
at my auditory beach
close my eyes
so the waves
could drown out reality.
well it turns out
they lied to us
like they did about everything else
(faeries, santa, growing up)
and the sea-like sounds we heard
was just our surrounding environment
resonating within the cavity of the shell
I guess you cannot escape reality
only distort it temporarily
google tells me
it’s a cheap trick
replicable with an empty plastic cup
(by holding it up to your ear
or finishing the liquor inside)
do you remember
the time you cried
as the midnight waves
her sea foam love
as I tried to drag
your listless body
back to shore?
do you remember
the time vodka and mistakes
ran through my veins
and I clung desperately onto
to anchor myself
in this maelstrom of life
and you became
my false sense of security?
because I remember
when you told me
that you were starting to like
the girl who lives by the sea
shy, kind and sweet
and sunset cheeks
I guess I stopped listening
when you confessed
that you still yearned
for the mermaid
who didn’t stay,
and that’s when you became
my next mistake.
The Challenger Deep in the Mariana Trench is the deepest known point in Earth’s oceans – 10,994 meters below sea level with an estimated vertical accuracy of ± 40 meters.
I want to be a maelstrom because it’s difficult
to turn away from a disaster. Look me in the eye as I drag you to the murky depths of somewhere in between drowning and being free, tainted flesh and salt water wounds are easier to touch in the dark, breathe me in, before the sunlight slips out of reach.
Can we only find love on the sea floor because that’s where shadows of desperation
overwhelms sanity? Watch the rubies spill,
as rock bleeds into rock, proving that I am broken, just so you would want me.
As the octopus wraps itself around my sea-foam heart, it whispers its melancholy warning – I am twisted, little one, run away or surrender and I know I shouldn’t be happy
to give up my autonomy but
in that moment,
I could almost see anglerfish dancing at the end of the tunnel in the wake of my supposed destiny. Neptune,
he did not save me.
humanity thrives in
maladjustments and oddities because we are the abandoned children
of the deep sea. That’s why we soak up pain
and wish upon washed up starfish that we can avoid the same inevitability
and for our agony –
to be special.
we are all flesh and no soul built weak dreaming of going to sea so the waves may wash away the minutiae not so we can ‘find ourselves’ but to just be ourselves won’t you join me, before the beckoning of the earth takes hold?
you see, the ocean is no place to venture alone I’ll need you to be there to steer, paddle or shout – “Land Ahoy!” as you run about distracting us from the starless nights when we can’t help but wonder if the moon pulls the tides of fate or if we’ll have to find our own way in this cold and empty place
unfortunately, even those at sea fear inevitability that, my love, includes you and me one day the monsters will drag us to the murky depths of abyss but right now our fragile bones are overcome by the silent song of the salt-stained breeze they move because they know the music of life and you are enough of an excuse for another night on this rickety boat even though we’re scared? we’re here
it was 491 days later before something shifted in the atmosphere rolling eyes and loud sighs displaced indestructible sea floors sharp tongues like whips cut masts of pride torrents of heavy words sunk ships and a tsunami of sky-high idealisations couldn’t hide the realisation that it hurts to love with a washed up heart darling, it was your voice, not the endless, breathless siren’s song that reminded me both the ocean and tears were not as beautiful as I imagined I suppose adventures don’t make for smooth sailing but look, the sun is rising and if you still dare to brave the scorching days and relentless rain
won’t you please
kiss my bruises away and hold me when phantom pain haunts the moon-lit night?
the waves are calling,
let’s not keep the ocean waiting.