A Week of Stolen Kisses

A week of stolen kisses

and subtly intense glances with eyes flicking away at the last moment

was the most difficult challenge.

The SAT, my exams, interviews-

nothing could hold a candle to it.

Oh how I wanted to wrap you up in my arms

and kiss you until the stars came out.

I stole kisses where I could,

in the coolness of the basement

far from prying eyes,

beside the bonfire

with flickering flames to hide our faces,

on the balcony hidden in shadows

beneath the midnight moon.

Heart racing in the moments of near capture

and stifled giggles muffled in pillows.

I’m curled against you when I wake,

your arm pulled tight around my waist

intertwined with dreams and reality

and begging the sun to wait

just 15 minutes more.


Cold Coffee Eyes

It’s always the same question. How can you be so cold, so numb to the people around you? How can someone with eyes like fresh-brewed coffee have a heart of solid ice? They whisper behind my back and stare, then return to their mindless tasks as soon as we make eye contact. What could have happened to her to turn her into that? And I wonder if the poets have stopped calling the stars cold. I wonder if they have stopped using frigid, and icy, and frozen for the celestial beings that burn brighter than the sun. The stars are anything but cold. They are white-hot, and roaring with exhalations to the void of outer space. So they are far removed from our corner of the universe; and I from yours. So what? I am extrasolar, but do not mistake me as cold. I am a supernova in my own galaxy, a consuming inferno of zeal and bliss, and for you to call me anything else is obtuse and nonsensical. The sun radiates in those coffee eyes. You’re just not close enough to see it.

The Sun Didn’t Rise

The sun didn’t come up that morning. I didn’t see it. A dry wind carries in the arid smell of the earth. One pillow is rolled under my head and squished into the corner. Grey sheets are snarled into a mess around my legs, and one foot hangs off the far edge of the mattress. I keep my eyes squeezed shut. I try to keep the dream from crashing down. You lay next to me, and it’s no longer empty where my arm rests. A warm heartbeat fills the midnight silence and above it I hear the marriage of a whirring fan and a gentle whooshing breath. I don’t question your being there, though I think I probably should. A sharp yelp from the Rhodesian Ridge-back next door, and my hand is clutching the pillow and not your hand. Does the sun rise when I am with you? ‘Cos it’s not rising now. Are you the dream, or is it the other way around? You must be the dream. You are full of gunpowder and I hold the trigger, and I would never be close enough to detonate. I recognize your face in every child that dances without inhibitions, in every artist shouting in frustration, in every athlete celebrating with delight. You are explosive and the reactions in your veins are millenia old. You tell me it’s the stars, that we are of the same star’s death, that the universe means for us to be joined. But you fade into a wisp the second I open my eyes. What about our sun? It burns on while you vanish. I found you among the stars and lost you to the one that shines with a vengeance. Perhaps it is payback, perhaps we pay our amends to that dead star, an atonement for the sundered sisters in the heavens. The sun didn’t rise. And now you never will.

Legend of the Seasons: Summer

Summer’s voluptuous pulchritude endeared her to the world. Her days were spent on the rolling green banks of lazy rivers beneath the weeping willows. All were welcome to share her company, and there was wine and nosh aplenty, the goblets and dishes replenishing themselves at a wave of Summer’s hand. The Sun visited Summer’s gatherings regularly, and would occasionally stay so long that the day would seem to never end. Summer was a favourite among the young and in love, and had unfailingly good advice to share with those around her. Rarely did Summer devolve into a hostile mood, but when she did, the world knew to take cover. Her aggressive temper would get the best of her, sending oceans into a frenzy, with thunder shaking the ground and gales dashing about the open spaces. Her glare would wither the strongest of women, and send men scurrying to their hiding places. When at last her calm would return, and the sun emerged from its camouflage, the world was pleasurable again.


The Legend of the Seasons: Winter

Once, a very long time ago, when humanity could speak with earth and understand the strange language of the trees, the world was free and glorious. Even the seasons were not confined to the invisibility of the skies, but walked among mankind, conversing easily with any they came across. Of all the seasons, Winter was by far the loneliest. She often tread barefoot along the forest paths, a thin cape draped and clinging to her skin. Where she walked, snow flurries drifted from her, rolling off her shoulders, and ice spread in cracked glass spider-webs over the dirt. A crown of snowbells woven by the hands of a child circled her forehead, a considerable contrast to her skin and hair. Few people ever walked with the Winter, leaving her to discover the world on her own. loneliness was a companion, but she grew accustomed to the shadow, and learned to enjoy its presence. The quiet opened her ears to the whispers in the trees and the rumblings of the earth. Some days were spent sitting to watch the sun walk across the sky, kissing the treetops in the morning and the evening. She avoided towns and searched out the wide open spaces of the North, contenting herself to watch humanity from afar, save for the few moons each year when the others gave up their domains to her icy touch. And so in the North she resides, observing the planet and watching it grow, in a glacial convent of population one.


A Day at Revere


So today was the first time I’ve been to a beach in Boston, and it was much better than what I was expecting! A group of us participated in a leadership/teamwork building workshop, which basically means we spent the day accomplishing these crazy tasks and then discussing how different qualities of leadership were shown. I adore the organization that runs these events and it was fun to meet some new people and catch up with those I hadn’t seen in a few weeks. Plus, spending the day at the beach is always a good thing! (Though the sunburn makes me wish I’d put more sunscreen on…)

I hope everyone has had a lovely Friday and is looking forward to the weekend!!


The Woman I Am

10 Women They Warned Me Against Becoming (10/10)

The Woman I Am. I am fire and steel molded together, a wild half-breed with dirt in my lungs and the universe in my eyes. I am not your pretty girl, cute girl, sexy girl, smart girl. I’m not your anything. I am perfect, and you cannot convince me to change me. I was not born to be ‘ladylike.’ What does that even mean? You try to put me in a box, in a tiny compartment tucked away from everything powerful and beautiful. I am never going to stop calling you out on your rubbish. I am going to be somebody, and no body is going to stop me. Oh, making demands is too hard-nosed? Then watch and learn. I am going to demand the world. I am going to build my kingdom. They will remember me. I will not be eclipsed by a history written by a man. Whatever you thought you were going to fabricate, trying to do in compartmentalizing me, you’ve failed. Miserably. I am become the Sun, the Hurricane, the Cosmos.You cannot subdue that which you do not understand.