thinking of what you said

Hi there, this email might seem smiple and light hearted, but  I have thought it over several times in my head, how else would I be able to sound so interesting,

Saying the wrong thing makes me nervous,

Short snippets of knowledge I must admit I am obsessed with as well, once I gobbled up most of TED talks there are a few other channels on youtube that I like to watch QI, school of life, friendly jordies, and girl from Victoria retells stories of achient mythis really well.

I have a jack russle, who likes to sleep on the end of my bed when I am doing assignments.

Your puppie,

All this love and affection on a Sunday night when I could not care less,

I have to understand that this is momentary and that it will go away,

Just like my friend from perth, one day we were chatting, the next I don’t hear anymore, I would like people to say that they will be busy for a while, but I feel like people don’t think of that when things come up and plans are made, free time disappers with a busy mind.

Can’t we go back to page one and do it all over again? 

love blossoming between “just friends”,

I like thinking what could be,

lift my spirits up again and again,

not telling it all, but finding little bits about you,

I feel so loved when you write to me,

Nothing can hurt me,

except maybe you on the last page of this story.

Title: If I were a menu item, what would I be?

If I was a menu item I would be an entrée of Nepalese Momos.

I like to think of food as a stage production the warm up act (entrée), followed by the ‘Main’ show.

As Entrée I am the first act for this lovely evening.

Though I’m not just a ‘warm’ up act, I’m better fried.

I was born for this role tonight,

From your very first bite, I am simply a delight.

Giggle at my name, I am here to put other dumplings to shame,

I am Cleaver, simple I’d agree,

Mince chicken, red onion, coriander,

but tasteless? I say Never!

Like any good host I make sure to greet all my seated guest before the main act

See me dance from table to table as I am offered around the room.

Finally I make my way to yours,

Smelling green chilli, ginger, garlic

good service is no fable,

“Call  me Momo, I say” I’ll be your Entrée for this evening. “Momo is my name, and flavour is my game.”

Is that an accent you hear. I say “ah what a keen ear.”

“I was born in the back room over there, but I have a rich history elsewhere,

with turmeric, cumin spilling flavours  of the  south east Asian mountains,

ideas all the way from Nepal,.”

Admiring me now stuffed in a neat  wonton jacket ,

Filled to delight, at the start of your night,

Good on my own better with a sauce, but you know that of course.

Why do I want to be an entrée you say?

The first on stage, the fresh crowd, heighten the excitement, set the mood for the night.

After me you know you are in for a good evening.

I am class, an art piece each part of me shaped to be admired

I have a few jokes up my sleeve; don’t be alarmed, I’m 100% good taste,

An so I take my bow with your final bite,

too you and your company, I bid you a good night.

a taste just enough to have the wanting more.

Who knows this humble entrée might make an encore.

After 10pm

Title: Up late at the hippie convent.

I like this place, they have good food, an alacrt menu. And yeah everyone is volunteers, it sounds amazing, I do like that I can find a seat easily. I want to chat about it but at the same time, I don’t like sharing to much as I think it will get ruined maybe… maybe not. Which would be a good thing as it is so easy for my friends and I to get to.

Afrter diner, we sat down on the slopping grass, listened to sheep baa, and watched as hundreds of bats flew over. There were people playing hand drums that have a nice watery sound that I heard a lot in india and other intereremets with one dude dancing to a different beat in his head. I hippie wearing a seahorse around his neck came by and sat down near us. We all chatted for a bit, then he brought up the subject of  drugs.

For me, I am okay with other people taking acid, shrooms, extacy and smoking weed. But none of that is for me, I have even stopped drinking recently, I don’t know. Drugs don’t take me to where I want to be, they take me to somewhere sad where I can’t find my way out until it is over. I am a happy idervidual, and drugs do not boost my experience. Even alcohol which I enjoyed on long afternoons chilling with friends, does not have that same effect on me anymore. Maybe I am getting older? Maybe the last parts of my mind are trying feebly to stay sane. Either way, I am okay with the recreational drug culture with social drug use. But it is my choice to say no, every time.

Title: Tears to fall from dry eyes.

We went our separate ways, me ignoring you, you not texting.

But tonight you had to message me, and I did not like it,

I am not ignoring you because I want to be mean, it is every time we hang you get weird,

You are a downer to everything positive I suggest doing, you send me nasty message if I don’t reply when I am at work or school, I am busy sometimes, and you did not understand.

We had very little in common besides sex, Sex is great don’t get me wrong, but if I don’t like you as a person, it is hard to get wet.

And so tonight I will not reply to your text, I will not feel sorry or bad,

My eyes are dry, as tears for you I have never had.

Thinking out loud on a Thursday.

Title: Washing machine

I feel the pain in my tired eyes, my tired hands and wrist,

Lift them up, but feel the weight of the world pushing them down, pushing me around.

I try and stand up, only to slip, to have the ground move beneath me.

I will not let this stop me, I keep on pushing on, putting my energy on trying to compose myself, and stand up straight.

But what is the point? When this is not how to get where I want to be, I need to go with the cycle, go with the flow, be washed away.

I need the water and soap to enter my fabric, to feel drenched, to be cleaned of all my thoughts, and give room to new thoughts, ideas and experiences.

Purge myself of the past, hang me out to dry, colours bleeding, me in my true form. Fabric, frail but ready for anything.

I stand tall on the line, basking in the afternoon sun. I am me, not individual, but I am me, and I will make use of myself to my full potential, Absorb the dirt of the world. By don’t let that get me down, it is okay, I can be cleaned once again.

Title: traveller

Do I love to travel? Or am I told to?

I have travelled a lot in my short time and I hold those memories dear, but the notion of travelling more does not thrill me. I am not filled with a deep desire to research places, I am content working hard at the things I enjoy here in this city.

Previously when I travelled I was searching for something, I had many terrible jobs, felt unloved, and believed strongly that I was somehow missing out. But with my sence of purpose in this world and current work/school life interest I feel that I have found something worth sticking around for.

But travel, will I travel again where to? And for what reason?

Tax ideology

There is inequity in how tax is paid here I Australia maybe the world,

Paying off accountants to find loopholes, I’ve earnt it you say?

But let’s think, what is a quick fix, something obvious, something that hurts,

Luxury cars, brought with this money stripped from the community,

Well I would like to stop time, just for one night, venture out with my merry men and women,

Gone in sixty seconds, Nicolas cage style,

Change the deeds from coal miner, you single mother, and average family,

You have worked hard for it, you didn’t even realise you earnt it,

See happy faces driving around town,

It’s yours now, don’t believe me? Here there are no self-awarded crowns.

Monday sweats.

Title: Mimosa

You seem so much older than me,  yet you look 26

You have studied arts, and animal science,

Yet you are very kind. I don’t know how long that will last,

I get nervous and say silly things,

how I react around some, and feel so comfortable around others,

lets just call this practice, and see where it leads,

I know you are good for me, I hope we get along, and bond

Title: Ankle  pains

Homework straight after school, Work to be done,

I know I have to do it, but I just want to shower and lie in my bed for fun,

It will be good for me, and I feel I know it too,

But right now my energies are low, and my heart is beating slow,

I am angry at my desk, chair, hands and ankles, they all annoy me, my tired mind.

Siesta maybe?

Title: lyrics

This track is not broken enough for me,

I revel in the pain of a heavy heart,

is this sick, is this wallowing? Is this bad for my health?

I don’t care, I want more, I want to feel the sadness fill me, and spread,

A pain in my chest to match my head,

Sit alone with my thoughts, and when it ends,

Press repeat.

Title: summer sitting

Hidden curl,  a secrete I find in you,

Running my fingers through you hair, eyes alive, stare,

Lyrics in the background, garden contrast with your hair,

Freckles on your chest, Its these moments with you I like best,

Title:Pain in my chest

Scared with my blue heart, heavy stone,

Tear out all the vessels and ropes that hold it up,

Let it fall, the pain hurts more than I can say,

Sunlight on my tried eyelashes.

I hate working outside, take me back to my dungeon,

People happy, people looking pretty,

Will you not,read over my shoulder, stop,

I need water, i need shade, out in nature, my health decayes,

I dont care if you are pretty, i dont know what id say,

Give me the sun for my skin, vitamin D for my thyroids,

Anything else, just a hazard of being outside.

1 year anniversary

Many a time I have forgotten where I am,

How long have I been in this place, an hour? A year?

The length of time dawns on me, and I can feel it sinking into my heart,

What have I done in that time, how have I shown my love for the place I stay?

Exists as I choose, they say,

But what if I am not right to choose?

I am chilled, relaxed, floating in the stream of life,

though today I feel like I am stuck in the reeds, not a bad place to be

help me, guide me