A wrinkled green patch
Chocolate frost lining
Ruffled red hair
That really needs trimming

The doorbell tinkled
Mischievous feet tiptoed
The bronze cashier rang
His pupils dilated

Splashes of rainbow
Neatly arranged
A sea of bright bottles
The shiniest stood out

Crisp silent air
Droopy eyelids
Economy drought
The shop owner slept

“No one else is around!”
Excited inner voice
Quickened little strides
Bursting joy controlled

Always the brown one
With shiny reddish cap
His mother would kill him
For the shame he might bring back

Short of height
He jumped, he jumped, he jumped
Tiny fat fingers
Bottle out of reach

Piercing explosion
Shattered glass bottle
Tasty fizzy drink
Coating concrete floor

Rudely awakened
First puzzled, shocked; angry
The shop owner marched forth
To catch the thief-to-be

Family owned shop
Since Grandpa’s generation
She would put a stop
To any damnation

The fox was now trapped
His very own bait
The huntress glared on
Salt water appeared

“I’m sorry for the loss,”
“I just want to save my sister;”
“She always liked root beer,”
“I don’t want to be too late.”

Softened features
Tight emotions
Depression period
Widespread desperation

Without a word
She reached to the top
Hugging her and the new bottle
He wished a silent goodbye

    I wrote these entries today (9th of May, 2006) not because of PMS. If moodiness is solely linked to PMS, then I’m proud to say that I have PMS everyday. My true friends love me for my PMS. My PMS made me say the things I say, write the things I write, think the thoughts in my mind, like the things I like, hate the things I hate, do the things I do, feel the emotions I feel, and live the life I live. My PMS made me who I am today.

    Any problems with that? Screw yourself.

[Author's note: This is my poem from what could possibly be the point of view of my dearest Indonesian maid, Mary, when I failed to wake up at 5am in the morning to bid her goodbye.]

A darker shade of indigo black
Blinding darkness
Yet I sense you, your slumber
Innocent protruding back

The crickets greet me
A morning person
You are the contrast
As always, the past two years

Your name resounded in the deafening silence
You failed to awake
Or did you?

I pick up my bag of heaviness
Weightless of the clothes I first brought in
My flight is due
I still stand at the door
Silently praying for you

I hear you
Somewhere
Somehow
Not in your dreams but in your presence

Sad that you can’t see me out your door

You said everything
Still told me nothing
Like a morning veil of purple dusk
Signifying new beginnings
Signs of old bruises and pain

Melancholy looms
No song no end
A reason untold
Unfathomed
Like the things you left unsaid

Random thoughts
A torrent of emotions
Scattered
Cluttered
Like you and me

We don’t speak
Don’t share
Just move intertwined
Between Lost and Hope
A map of Revenge
For our heartless fate

The Gods see us; silently
We rebel for all its worth
Achieving something and nothing
Painting reveries of castles and trees
Slip our hands into each others hearts
Finding everything and nothing

A playground of minds
Absence brings cold and neglect
You came to spread the warmth and joy
You went away the other day
Will you still come back and play?

Trip
That innocence you now see
It’s over the fence
Over meadows of yellow and green
It tripped over a rock

Peel
A layer down
Just go down
See the fishes swimming in the pond
Their scales peeled

Bleed
Just seeping through your veins
To the outside
Leave a scar of your name
I bleed these torrents of thoughts

Trickle
See the rain falling down softly
It moistens your lips and mine
The tension is high
Kissing empty spaces of Trust

Wilt
The blossom awaits
Its petals stretch out far
From the hopes and dreams
Too far over and down it will wilt and die