Foofy’s experiment

watching: one hundred thousand little legs
scale the wall of the jam jar
squirming onto the dried up twig
and leaves so many
and peas so many
laid by a little hand of nine odd years
to make a caterpillar’s forest.

when will they ball themselves up
into cocoons of waiting?
sighs the fog of breath on the glass between them,
longing to grow wings of her very own.

i watch her watching and wonder
if we too, are caterpillars in a jam jar
or are we, perhaps,
little girls
being watched watching
and longing to grow wings?

Disenchanted

Blearily fumbling back and forth and yet … Slumber beckons and the will impales itself on the threshold of mismatched frequencies.  Cycle interrupted.  Again and again and again.  Leave.  Be gone!

Maniacal laughter resounds in the crevices of brains minced neath the butcher’s knife.  Who are you?  State your business!   Take heart, your Diaphanous Frailty!  There’s much time yet, I promise.  Hush!  Hush now for she’s on her way with tresses long, splayed over purple nipples.

A spark in the dim fuzziness, the sear of a scarlet blade and rivers course, unbridled.  Over?  Already?

This one’s for U

It so happens that when I’m least pulled together, I run into U.  Because this is either a textual encounter via our cell phones or a virtual one, he can not sense the sadness or agitation on my end and often goes off in his usual chirpiness.  It does surprise me though that despite all these years, he still can not pick from the tenor of my replies that I’m out of sorts.   It usually takes my telling him in explicit words that I’m upset, confessing which in any case takes a lot out of me, for him to be receptive to the fact that something’s amiss.  Once he knows that though, he always wants to know what the matter is.  He has gradually learnt however to let me be sometimes.  For a good long while though, until I learnt to recognize that he is not so in sync with my insides to know my distress and to learn to accept my vulnerability to him by asking for some space, most of our bad arguments ensued in such moments.  It was largely my inability to cope with my own grief or stress and to admit my lack of composure to him that made me go on the aggressive.

After this realization there were times when I allowed myself that window of vulnerability with him and U, being wired the way he is, tried to logically reason me out of my distress which sometimes came across as him trivializing my situation or tried to distract me with other things.  All the while I have known that he was sincere in wanting to help and yet neither of the two approaches worked for me.  I ended up more irritable or sadder by the end of the conversation.  I grew to understand that U could not comfort me when I was losing it.  I accept this inadequacy in our “relationship” because he is a friend and to expect beyond his capacity is unfair in the platonic dimension.  I deal with it by way of avoiding him when I’m out of it so I do not damage my ties with him.

A couple of days ago my plans of avoidance weren’t quite so successful because when I found my way to what I thought was the quietest, loneliest corner, guess who was already there?  U.  I demanded some space but I don’t think that kind of straightforwardness is very palatable for U.  I think he construes it as a rejection of his sincerity for which he is off sulking somewhere in his closet.  I’m sorry that it is the case because I can’t help the fact that when I’m emotionally ravaged, I either need to be with someone who understands the particular wiring of my brain or be entirely alone to wait it out till the phase passes.  It’s not the kind of wiring that I can explain either.  I don’t like hurting him but I can’t help being me.  I hope he’ll come around to figuring that out and accepting that between the two of us, we are certainly more than fair weather friends but on dark, cloudy days, we are more likely to and better off spending time apart.