Theme Parks

I love roller coasters
The uncertainty of the upside down
The certainty of the eventual drop
Screaming so hard, your throat dries off.
I love roller coasters
so much so that I became one.
The uncertainty of upside downs,
the certainty of eventual drops
the sudden, jolted turns.
I was the roller coaster.
And I constantly apologized for it.
No one should be on a roller coaster
against their will
But he was.
And I constantly apologized for it,
Mornings,
Nights
Mid-afternoons,
Mondays,
Wednesdays,
With periods,
Without.
I apologized every time the button switched on
and the rails creaked a little.
Today,
The moment I apologized for it,
You told me you loved roller coasters.
It was then that I realized,
He hated them.
Hated the uncertainty of upside downs
Hated the certainty of the eventual drop
Hated roller coasters.

Yours truly,

Painted Shadow

 

(excerpt from a book in the making) 

The end is nigh

It was a growing cancer. It started out small, but now it’s small and spread all over. It’s terminal, I just know it. It has eaten every morsel and energetic bone in my body, except for my slowly, beating heart. I can almost hear its faint murmur. It won’t be long now. Saying those words out loud was harder than telling you I had cancer. I had to pry the words out with a pair of tongs – hot and burning every inch of my mouth, I pulled out those three words. Maybe, my body was too bruised and worn out from the metaphorical chemo I put it through, to say it again. Or, maybe, I loved death more. The moment I said it, it left a sour; eye-crunching taste in my mouth. It was like sinking my teeth into a piece of raw mango, or having a spoon full of vinegar shoved down my throat, that’s what it felt like when I told you I loved you.

 

Yours truly,

Painted Shadow

Things I’ve learnt – Part One.

I learnt to run at the first sign of trouble. My initial natural instinct of flight is more dominant than the fight response. My parents didn’t teach me well either. Their initial reaction was to fight, with fists and words and anything in between. They thought me to shove things under the rug until it formed a big mound one day, and someone tripped; breaking everything in their path. I got comfortable with having rugs around the house. They were safe to fall on and they were warm during cold dark nights. Eventually, we became close. They would always be there, they were always excited to hide things. Sometimes, they would walk over to me and beg me to hide just one more thing with them. Obviously, I trusted them, so I did. Life became so much easier with so many rugs.

Over the years, I’ve learnt that Fight or Flight are no longer the only options available, that they should not be the first thing you think of. I’ve learnt that shoving things under the rug only works when there’s no one around to help you roll the rug away. Rugs, I’ve come to learn are messy and take up so much space; especially piled under a mountain of secrets, lies and loves. Do away with the rugs. Admire the tiles, or the hardwood floor. Admire the fact that you’ve learnt, all by yourself, that rugs don’t always cover everything up. That sometimes, rugs are the bad guys.

 

Yours truly,

Painted Shadow

Unsteady

I find myself falling in love with things out of my reach, like the sky or you. I find myself holding on to things that are desperately begging to be let go off.  Things that don’t want to be held or touched. Things that love to run away. I’m not used to being in one place for a long time. I’m used to being temporary. I’m used to new places and new faces. I’m used to running away. I gave you my heart; bandaged and glued together, and you had the audacity to give it back with more cracks. I don’t believe in much but I believe in expiration dates. I find myself always looking for them on the back of milk cartons and on relationships. Things aren’t meant to last long. At least that’s what I’ve been shown. Until you drove past my darkest thoughts and stopped to listen.

 

Yours truly,

Painted Shadow

 

Big girls don’t cry.

Falling in love with you was like skinny dipping in winter

Falling in love with you was like

Benjamin Franklin

standing in the pouring rain

holding the key high enough

hoping to feel some sort of spark

some sort of electricity.

It was reckless

It was a suicide attempt.

Falling in love with you

was the only thing I felt good at.

 

– excerpts from a book I’ll never write.

 

Yours truly,

Painted Shadow

 

Ballerina

I’ll call her my very own ballerina 

as she pirouettes in and out of my mind;

her feet barely touching the ground

passionate, yet seemingly detached

as if they weren’t real limbs at all.

I’ll call her my very own ballerina

as she turns and points and scurries through my thoughts

poised and graceful;

dancing her own performance in hypnotic circles

in the theater of my mind.

She finishes in a grande jeté,

She leaps forward from my hidden corners

and bows in front of me,

arms outstretched

white knuckles clenching a beating heart

She was my muse,

and I, her biggest balletomane.

Yours truly,

Painted Shadow

Hurricane

Chapter 389

I was lying face flat on the bed

sweat dripping along the curves of my body

Your fingers  scratching away the memories from last night,

desperately trying to forget.

Chapter 349

You greeted me as you pushed me against the wall of the elevator,

while planting the softest kiss

on my hungry lips.

My heart churned awake

Thunderstorms and hurricanes brewed in the pit of my belly.

Chapter 370

You floated along,

careful to be with everyone

but me.

I replaced the desire of wanting  you

with the bitter taste of vodka.

Chapter 355

You laughed and tossed from side to side

messing our neatly arranged bed.

That afternoon, I found Orion the hunter on your back

Chapter 362

Your perfume lingered on my neck

and I found myself inhaling the memories of you

I was way too comfortable

I was in trouble.

Chapter 381

I’m sorry I didn’t seek comfort

from the warmth of your skin

I wish I was different, sometimes.

Chapter 1

You had me at Hello.

– – – Extracts from a book I’ll never write – – –

Yours Truly,

Painted Shadow

She used to be mine

I think I watched her a little too intently. I noticed how she lifted all her hair in a high ponytail and I was lost in a thousand moments, when I saw it swish from side to side as she walked down the path. I watched as she scooped a spoon full of rice and hold it mid-air, while her head swung back as she let out the loudest laugh in the room. I was hooked. I watched her eyes – packed with a 100 stories to tell, I watched as they fell upon mine. And in that instant, I forgot what breathing was.

You see there’s something very daringly risky about watching someone so deeply and so passionately. Sometime, someone else is going to notice you. They’re going to notice how your jaw hardens when she passes, and they’re going to notice how your eyes flutter and they’re going to notice that charming smile dances on your lips the second she walks in to the same room. They’re going to notice how you barely blink when she’s talking to you. Afraid that you’ll miss even the smallest second of her. And when that day comes, when someone notices, you’ll be in trouble. Because God forbid that person starts to notice those little things too. God forbid, that person starts to fall in love with those things. Then you’ll be done for. You will no longer have your little bright star. You will no longer have her. Even if it was only from a distance.

 

Yours truly,

Painted Shadow

This is not a love poem.

If I were to write a love poem

I would stitch my fingertips to the constellation of stars on your back

so my fingers would never get lost in translation

I would trace the outline of your body

and draw maps better than Google,

my fingers would find every small dent,scar and bump along the way.

I would kiss you until the name of your lover was erased from your tongue

I would sing you songs about the stars and the moon

and when they collide; when our lips finally touch,

I hope to God they’ll form a world around you.

I would whisper stories about your smile
to the birds and the wind

and watch it sing back the stories for everyone else to hear.

I would argue and debate and fight

that comfort can only be found in the

depths and corner of your thudding heart.

If I were to write a love poem,

I would name it after you.

 

Yours truly,

Painted Shadow

Little Things

I notice little things
a little too much,

I notice the smallest things about a person
a little too often

Like the birthmark at the corner of her neck
isolated and perfect,
my empty hand already writing stories about it.

I notice the jagged lines and dents on his forearm
creating valleys that I wanted to get lost in,
as he stirred his black coffee.
I memorized their rhythm
and just like a snake;
I was fixed in a trance watching his movements.

I notice things like
your off shaped tooth
or the funny scratch on your eye brow

I notice when your eyes twinkle
and when they go dim

I try not to on some days though.
But most days, I enjoy noticing things
Little things.

Yours truly,

Painted Shadow