18:

i am trapped in my own skin,

i never seem to be able to undestand who i am

i know who i am but

i can't understand why i do and the act the way i do.

i want to run in the wind so fast that the leaves fly with me.

i want to bath in the mud like a seed.

knowing that inside me is a green dream waiting to errupt.

ONE DAY.

The questions in my head are hitting and bouncing off each other.

Do i know who i am?

Will i find him hiding in the bud of an hibiscus, growing and learning until he is ready to bloom and guide me towards him with a little ray of sunshine.

When i wait outside in the rain, the tink of the droplets dancing on my bare arms, the mud reaches from between my toes, i hope to be at one and peaceful and then he will come.

Our souls will mirror, so that when apart they will never separate. There will always be a reflection hovering in the triangular looking glass of my soul.

ONE DAY.

A poem: For Bunga

with your shiny yellow hair swimming down your shoulders
and your infectious giggle revealing your dimples
instantly i wondered...
are you my soul sister?

and then we were joined by one thought
summer. SUMMER.

Chop chop, your threads of silk feathered to your feet
and the birth of the pixie alice Bunga astounded us all.
BAM!

PLink, plink, plink, the pieces of my heart fell to the floor
but Bunga held me in her arms and coo-ed.
We swigged from the bottle and we swished our hips
to and fro to the rhythm pulsing through us

we are connected by one thought:
summer. SUMMER.

Pukana-la-love

One day, in my wishful, lazy sun bleached world i shall meet him. No need for an exchange of words, i will just walk up to him and sit on his right on the sand. He will take my hand and we will listen and watch the sea lick our legs. His brown skin will brush over me like a silk blanket, and his lips will caress me. Underneath the day-time star we will lie, the glowing peach printed on our eye lids.

Pukana-la-love.

My sprig of summer love will keep me warm by the camp fire and we will dance naked among the naked flames, reaching our hands into the air. I will capture his soul through the lens through his eyes and stick it on to my wall with blue-tac. One day my sprig of summer love will open his arms and invite me into his music, howl into the wind and eat avocodo.

Pukana-la-love.

Pasting myself with mud, i will let it bake and dry on my skin. When i am cooked i will bath in the sea and i will wash away all the badness and nastiness clinging to my soul. I will swim with the fish with my eyes open and he will kiss the taste of salt on my eyelids. On my lips. On my fingers. On my heart. On my soul. And we will let our love sounds float above the whispers of the sea into the air.

Written by casper.

Dreams

What has happened?

Swimming against the tide, the rushing water spinning, spiraling towards the plug hole dragging me down.

I feel useless as i succumb to the forces that are pushing me under.

Her blonde hair, whips around her face like a fish caught in a net. Her eyes are staring at me with a blank composure, the piercing blue dulled to a milky tear drop. Her pursed lips, blood against her fair skin, drained of any emotion as she drowns.

Wailing around her, free from life are her limbs, clawing at the water as it escapes her every grasp and laughs at her meek attempt at saving herself.

Suicide blonde rips out her beating organ

as the pied Piper plays a song on her chest

music has left, Pandora's box is empty

that final jump blonde thought was best

Her chest is lifted abruptly into the air, her head thrown back as he gasps for one sip of air. Clawing at the sheets as they become loose, she tears them from beneath the matress. Breathing heavily and fast her eyes flick open and her surroundings embrace her.

The familiar smell of her inscense burnt room, the photos of her life.

One more dream as real as the prior and the one before that.

a good old walk and talk. deep

There they go again, each colour representing a different aspect of my life that has been run of the rails. The strings that i held my balloons with has been cut, and as i stand here on the ground i watch them loose control in the wind. The blue - my depression. All this pent up hurt balled up into a fist of tears. The green - my happiness. All the things that make me smile and set me free with contentment. The yellow - my inhibitions. Dancing in the air, leaping forwards and swaying in beat with the gushes of wind. The orange - my soul. My fiery passion for exceeding and breaking expectations, the engine behind my wild, wily ways. And last but not least, the red - my love. I see this balloon on its own on the horizon, slowly falling to the ground, the life in my red balloon is seeping out from the hole that cupids' arrow made.

One, two, three, four, my feet are rooted to the floor.
Five, six, seven, eight, i'm rooted with my evil hate.

Sitting on the grass, crossing my arms and legs i cry and say goodbye to my balloons. I wish i gave them the space and freedom they needed, because maybe when they did go i wouldn't have felt so helpless and useless and so feeble. Accepting my mistakes and embracing the errors of my ways, the wind stops blowing, the trees fall silent and my feet dangle limp and life-less beneath me as i am raised up. Beneath me floats a cloud to sit on and one by one my balloons come back to me. I hold their strings in my hands but feel a slight disappointment. I feel compelled to let them go. Up and away i watch them fly, even little red musters the courage to swim.

In the spur of the moment i take from my pocket my pouch of marbles. From the cloud i open the pouch and drop the colourful cat eyes to the ground and close my eyes. A feeling of weightless-ness drifts over me and i close my eyes mistaking it for tiredness. one minute, two minute's, three minute's pass before i open my eyes again. The suns arms are hugging me and i awake from my dream.