I see a stack of short jean shorts and that same feeling comes back. Yellow dandelions blossoming on green hills. The springing of summer. That long lost feeling of looking forward to something; of changing into a young woman from a preteen. The start of a new life filled with sunshine and warm weather.
In the mid nineties, small bright tribal patchwork on jean shorts were trending. My body and mind was changing and I had new ambitions on… being a likable girl. I gravitated towards the funky colorful yellow-orange vibrant patchwork pretending that it was just a short term whim; that it wasn’t really me because I tended to think through things.
Wearing it would be like like bursting out of a timid dark place with flashing colors. There was a new season swirling around, and I’d be embracing it with a giddy smile. There’d be new adventures and new places to find. Sun in tinted hair, sliding through the streets in rollerblades. Chasing after a white puppy on a leash. Concrete school with spells of spring break. New boys, new social circles, new freedoms, new events to participate in. I would be drenched in all this dreamlike glory of newness. The air would smell like springtime in full boom, as I bloom.
Morphing into a newer body, those shorts would curve and hug around me like it was meant to be. I’d swing my hips and dance on them while being the sunny girl I always saw myself as. The world would shimmer under my feet, the trees would sway and dance with me. It was a new season, and I’d spin with the turning globe. The possibilities awaited, and the possibilities were infinite, omnipresent, and endless.
I begged to buy those shorts, and I was finally able to. Once home, I rushed to try them on. I jumped in front of the mirror in hopes of witnessing magic before my eyes. The frumpy, wide, saggy denim hung around me. What a disappointment.
Maybe it’s time, I don’t know, it happens every late morning
And once in a while before bed…
This feeling of total control over my life
It’s like magic, with tricky hands
I can see where the ball strikes next
It’s like that in your harried presence
It’s your commanding glare
Looking at my
Dirty skin and hair
But I didn’t fear that one time
I looked at you
And once more, it was an empty room
Full of eyes
Fire on fire
Ice on ice
Yet you behaved oblivious
And I used to wish that you’d know it
I can feel the humid summer night breeze that strike
And resonate like the way of stringed instruments
Whose sound move to the flow of the ocean waves
Somewhere in the depths of your holy soul
The dirty scumbag
That you wanna scratch clean with your finger nails
And get down and dirty on the ground with
He takes the lead and holds you in his strong arms, reassuringly
He is sea god
You trust completely and let go
while dancing with water
Is a wish to be free
There’s a lot of pain, and you slowly die in the process
It’s as if you no longer have control over yourself
And all your molecules; all the pieces of love that make you
diffuse into the ground, as you sink in
I can’t gather you, wrap my arms around you, save you
I myself don’t know who I am
I can only fall apart
And let pieces of my self diffuse apart
Hold your hand
And disappear with you
She’s in her palace; her head resting on its beautiful marbled floor. She sighs at the way it cools her cheek on such a hot summer’s day. Breeze comes through the large windows and balconies that surround this grand architecture. They tease her wavy hair strands, which in turn tease her face. She’s listless and still, and the only thing constant is her repetitive breathing. Her chest heaves up and down, slowly, bringing life to the stone surroundings. Her long flowy skirt splatters like paint over the beautifully patterned white floor. The atmosphere is impeccable; it’s an intoxicating mixture of floral scents and dampness. Lilies, jasmines, roses, lotuses, and lilacs. She twists and turns, as she slowly rolls to face the high ceiling. There, a green gecko crosses path. She turns to the side, and several ants are marching by. She reaches an arm out and rests her finger on the ground in front of them. They avoid her finger and continue to march around it. This little play makes her smile for a second. Glancing at the ants, their image blur before her eyes as she looks beyond towards the open balcony. There, the bright green banana trees sway under the sunlight. Then beyond them, she stares at the clear blue skies. This is everything she’s ever wanted. This is everything she has. She hears the sound of a sole peacock calling for its lover. It soothes her to sweet sleep.
She wipes away a sweat drop on her forehead as she regains consciousness. Her hairs stick to the side of her cheek when there’s no breeze.
Her heart slowly thuds in somberness. She clenches her long skirt as she twists over the hard marble.
This is everything she’s ever wanted; she reassures her heart,
before it surges into uncertainty once more.