A crystal with a thousand facets,
A different scene reflected in each,
A different colour and flavour
To compose the rainbow of you.
I got cut countless times
Trying to turn it on the face I want,
My mind slipping and fracturing
Trying to switch in between them
While understanding the whole of it.
It looks simple from afar,
A straight wall of static images
But there’s more to accommodate up close.
I’m a three-dimensional being
Faced with a four-dimensional puzzle,
Every facet of you an entire world.
We know what the fourth dimension is,
And it should be fine from now on
But my, how terrible us humans are
At dealing with problems of time –
We’re abysmal at predicting the future
And even worse at learning the past.
So I find myself scrambling,
Stretched thin on the edges of you,
The laws of distance and position
Changing from one turn to the next.
The best I know what to do
Is take each facet at a time,
Completely disjoined from the rest,
Remind myself there is more to it
In the times when I land on a piece
That does its best to push me away,
And desperately try to forget the same
When we land on the ones I enjoy,
Hoping you’ll take pity on me
And make it a long to permanent stay.


It’s said that all creative minds
Entertain multiple representations of all things –
That’s the only way to give birth to unique perspectives,
Having random things bubble and mix and blow up
In an array of colours and metaphors.
The minds of artists have voices recounting truths, realities,
That their imagination then compounds on, shoots out from,
In ever more complicated fantasies.
There are also voices whose sole purpose is to keep track
Of which voice does what, of inner workings, and make sure that
Fantasies land on paper, in stories, paintings, sculptures,
And they don’t interfere with function in the real world.
There are times, however, when the real world is ugly,
So you tighten the fantasies around you,
Breathe them in, burrow in their warmth and security,
And shut down the voices telling you it’s wrong.
It might be surprising, that something as slippery as obsession
Starts with a conscious decision. But it does.
Like going down a slide, you need an impulse to get it started.
You need to choose to shut down the realities,
And you ignore that aching awareness sounding an alarm.
You pick and choose. You only hear the nice fantasies.
And, with no other raw material, your mind doubles them up,
Compounds on them instead of tempering them down.
It becomes a self-fulfilling spiral of quicksand,
Creating just enough satisfaction by its mere existence
To keep itself going. It’s overwhelmingly much,
Yet it’s achingly little, making you throw yourself desperately
Over unrealistic things, trying to soothe the growing need.
It’s painful, yet when the world delivers, my…
There’s no bliss quite as strong as feeling the worlds collide,
Sending the shock waves of the contact down your soul.
So you throw yourself harder down the next spiral.
It’s just a mistake, you see. A coping mechanism gone wrong
Though can you even claim it is wrong if it does its job?
Because it does tie you over the rough patch,
Your mind so full with your fantasies it’s numb to pain.
Sometimes, when you’re paying enough attention to the process
You can even trick it into becoming an absurd motivation
That walks you up the hill you so happily slid down before.
And when you’re strong enough, you can always disengage,
Get to your feet, breathe out the quicksand,
Shake the clingy bits of obsessions off you
And convince yourself you’ve got everything handled.
This, of course, until the next long stairway
To the bottom of the ravine we call life…
When you are more than happy to push yourself down the next slide.

How, When, Why

I had time to think, and came up with some questions.
I realized I want to know HOW.
How did your smile become so special to me?
How did my smile come to rely on your presence?
How did you turn from passing amusement to the locus of my tranquility?
I realized I want to know WHEN.
When did it all happen?
Was it when you made my brain go into overdrive looking for your answers?
Was it when you first made me laugh so hard I was crying?
Was it when you just looked and saw me for who I am?
I realized I want to know WHY.
Why did you have to be so much of what I needed?
Why do you want to make this so little of what I want?
Why… why you?

There are other questions, of course.
But I know better than to asks questions
That I don’t want to hear the answers to.
I don’t want to know WHO.
Whether it’s who you really are, or a person I’m making up.
I don’t want to know WHAT.
Whether it’s love, passion, fantasy, or none of the above.
I don’t want to know HOW FAST.
Whether it was so gradual it snuck up on me
Or so fast it exploded and erased the ‘before’ from existence.
And most importantly,
I don’t want to know HOW MUCH.
How deep, how mad, how all-encompassing this has become.
Whether I’m still holding onto some rational thought
Or if my heart has already run away, cuddling at your feet,
Begging to be broken for just one touch, one taste.

I don’t want the answers to those questions.
I don’t want to know how wrong I am in what I think reality is.
So I’ll just stick with HOW,
I’ll just stick with WHEN,
And I’ll just stick with WHY.