all art scares me [part 2]
listening to her talk about credit cards at an art gallery gave me a sickly sweet feeling at the pit of my stomach, much like the red punch in my plastic cup. she was wearing a white shirt, the same blankness of the walls, and the long strand of beads on the wrist that is whats uso right now. she'd exclaim to the person next to her in sheer delight "parehas tayong relos. we-eeell, ganyan talaga pag uso". i hated her and her painted eyebrows almost instantly.
she'd give me a pointed look "are you a friend of the featured artist? weirdo yun, eh. pati mga kaibigan niya, weird." i stood up to leave the table but instead ending up hitting someone with the chair. he had this stupid grin on his face as introductions were made. "you write poetry, right? nikita writes too" marge offered "although her work is dark." he turned to me with a -there's no other word for it- leer and said "maybe your darkness will comlement my light tones". i stared at him blankly, somehow i knew, quite unhappily too, that i would end up talking to him the remainder of the night.
and i was right.
the night slipped away and i thought it was okay and i thought i would never see him again but he has my number and he found los otros and i wish he would just fade away into the thousand nameless beings that i will never meet. but he can't.
just because i know his name.
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note:
yes, this is the thirty-something year old poet. auughh, i can feel the lolita comments coming
she'd give me a pointed look "are you a friend of the featured artist? weirdo yun, eh. pati mga kaibigan niya, weird." i stood up to leave the table but instead ending up hitting someone with the chair. he had this stupid grin on his face as introductions were made. "you write poetry, right? nikita writes too" marge offered "although her work is dark." he turned to me with a -there's no other word for it- leer and said "maybe your darkness will comlement my light tones". i stared at him blankly, somehow i knew, quite unhappily too, that i would end up talking to him the remainder of the night.
and i was right.
the night slipped away and i thought it was okay and i thought i would never see him again but he has my number and he found los otros and i wish he would just fade away into the thousand nameless beings that i will never meet. but he can't.
just because i know his name.
--------
note:
yes, this is the thirty-something year old poet. auughh, i can feel the lolita comments coming