This is what I see

I see that you and I would be fantastic together. We'd have great kids, and our home would be cluttered, rambling, heaving. Chaotic, rollicking, and topsy turvy. Every single day. There would be great fights, great discussions, dramatic utterences and over the top make-up sessions, apologies and declarations of love.

There'd be curiosities, nick nacks and tid bits, and not of the gastronomic kind, scattered everywhere. Each piece will have its own story, history. Even the tea spoon will be quivering with passion, and something to tell.

Our kids will not know what hit them and where they landed and whats happening till they grow up and leave home. But they will have learnt a lot of survival skills, and to argue.. a lot.

There will be a mountain of books.. or mountains of books.. in every single room, including the garage and the bathroom.

There will never be a 'Hush, baby sleeping' sign for any of the kids. They would just learn to sleep inspite of the vibrations of chaos.

Friends would know they could leave the whole world behind them when they enter ours, for they can be what they want to be and then some more. Their kids would wish they were ours. Ours would look horrified at such a wish.
This, and some more, is what i see.

But what I don't see, I suppose, is that I keep thinking you are some one that I want you to be, but you are not that, not yet, and perhaps will never be, for you don't see what I see.

You don't see that constraints are like blankets. You throw them off when the sun shines through. You might like to snuggle under and snooze as long as you like, but eventually, you do throw them off, or should. Even if after, you have to wade through piercing cold to reach your bathrobe.

Shot in the Dark

Deleted as this post will be published in an online mag soon.

The Sweet Sound Of Bees

Could you love a bee
that buzzed, tickled your ear,
brought tiny legs up to lips,
while amber honey dripped
down your breast?
And if he followed it there
carried it down
to the place where you open
like flowers, clear petals. If wings
grew tongues, and he said
you were enough
the very essence of you
that he could live, grow
in the sweet sugar of your hip.

Would you then turn and walk
away?
Say he is not a man with legs,
speak of spiders or ants
who would deny you both a place.
What if these were not reasons
just something you said,
for the hum had grown so sweet,
you realized an ability to sting.

T. E. Ballard

monday - entire day xcept 3 hrs
tuesday - entire day xcept 3 hrs
wednesday - post 6 pm
thursday - entire day xcept 3 hrs
friday - post 6 pm
saturday - entire day
sunday - no time

plenty of time i seem to have.

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25 what the fuck am i doings.

The Flu has revisited, and has brought along Fever.
Thankfully, Toothache, after one extended visit, decided I'm not its cup of tea.
Some burdday.