This girl

This girl is just one of those crazy girls who'd drive by you, throw a pie at your face, and apologize with a happy, happy laugh. And all you can do is shake your head and laugh in spite of your pie-smeared face. Yes, this girl likes her jokes and her pranks. She likes teasing you about anything, really. She's after your reaction, and not after any possible smugness a person might have after teasing another.

This girl likes her halo-halo dessert to have a sweet surprise under the shaved ice. She likes hanging out with those people she is comfortable with. She likes laughing out loud, throwing her head back when she does. Laugh. LAUGH. She has a big laugh. And she snickers at almost every imperceptible item in the world. She likes her happiness. She thrives in happiness.

But she also grows in her misery. She writes poetry and believes they ARE poetry. She would call them such, no matter what others might say. And though she'd claim others' perception of her doesn't matter, in truth, it does. But she'd laugh, still. Nothing ever goes wrong with laughter in your life.

This girl loves her freedom, but also yearns to be hugged tightly at night. She likes to have someone open the car door for her 'just because' and not just to prove that chivalry hasn't completely left the world. Yet. She appreciates it when a friend helps her with her gym bag or book bag or whatever big or bulky that she may be carrying. She likes her brunch to have fruits and pancakes and brewed coffee for good measure. She never puts sugar in her coffee and she'd rather have it black, although she'd settle for an instant 3-in-1 when that's the only thing available.

This girl also loves her lunch-outs with friends. One friend, two friends, more friends, it doesn't matter. The conversation will still be good. And conversations get better as the sun sets. Over dinner, the conversations take a lazy but comfortable toll. The talks are easy here. And with beer, wine, and good armchairs, conversations with good friends can never go wrong.

As with conversations with herself, she has that all the time. Yep, a monkey might call her crazy but hey, we need craziness in this life to survive. She's still planning to vandalize someday, nevermind if she does that alone. She wants to make her mark in the world - every big mark that she could ever make. And she wants to vandalize, not just because it's a mark, but because she wants to do something she has never done before, and one that she has already promised to do. A mark on a wall is just a start. She has more tricks and plans up her sleeve. This girl is just bidding her time. She's pacing herself.

This girl will surprise you: you'd think her absence would be a welcome respite. But you'd miss her, too. You just won't understand why.

Oh, but she runs! Not too long, not too far. But she runs while she can. She'd like to do it in the rain, across the freshly-mowed lawns. And when it'd finally be time for her to stop, she'd look back at the direction where she started her sprint and be amazed by the distance she had been able to cover. Yes, this girl would like that.

This girl gets tired, too. Well, she is tired. She wants to just withdraw and crawl under the covers, lie on her cold bed, while hugging her knees to her chest. She'd like to sleep soundly tonight: she had a good day and tomorrow, she'd have another. Possibly, an even better one.

And this girl is tired now. Although she still wants to write a few more paragraphs, her brain is slowly shutting down. A glass of milk and she's ready to call it a night. (And then she remembers an adventure she had just rejected. Yes, just an hour ago. All paths are adventures waiting to happen, you see, no matter how small and seemingly insignificant they seem to be.) She wonders. And she smiles: she made a good decision for a good day. She remembers to pace.

This girl says good night to jokes and pranks, good night to laughter and misery, lunches and conversations with her own self. For now, that is.

Tonight, it will just be this girl and her dreams.

105

You have everything
in you.
Yes, you do.
Drinks and good time,
dirt and shame -
you're a conundrum
of trash and treasures
and you leave me
speechless,
wanting to close
my eyes,
so as not to see
your evil.

Often,
I walk past the threshold
and pray for enlightenment
along the way.
Other times,
I walk with acceptance:
you would be no different
from yesterday
and the day before,
save for maybe
a few more empty bottles
and silent protests
from the distressed sheets.

"Open the door",
you tell me.
I hear a wicked promise
of change;
I am drawn towards
a hopeful drama
of adventure.
I put my faith in
your promise
and prepare for something
magically neat.
But you,
you
you stay the same.

Ugh.