Coconut Milk

Curries can be really trying to make. Some people get them right immediately, but I spent years avoiding the attempt at making them because they never tasted exactly how I wanted them to. 

If you don't get them right, the flavours in a curry can be jarring. Sometimes nothing cuts the spiciness properly and you can't taste any of the flavours. Whether its Indian, Thai, or Malay, I could never get it right. Everything was mixed together but it didn't work together. 

That was until coconut milk. 

Coconut milk is the secret ingredient to a curry. Yes, yoghurt or cream is an option but there's something about the softness and sweetness of coconut that cushions everything. It's difficult to identify in a dish - especially one with loads of other ingredients. it does the vitally important job of launching all the other flavours without being overly conspicuous. It provides a lightness that takes the pressure off the situation as a whole. It's like a neutraliser in a dish and I can't stress its importance. 

She was coconut milk. 

In any situation she provided this softness and this sweetness that made everything seem a lot easier to handle. Without being too loud or extravagant, she would cut tension and lower pressure. She made things easy and everyone around her was affected by her kindness. They were the other ingredients, and with her around, they complimented each other and worked well together and things seemed little less overwhelming. 

She was like coconut milk in my own mind. I have thoughts and feelings and ambitions and non-ambitions that clash together like the world's most disgusting curry. They fester if go undelt with and everything intensifies. I am broken and overwhelmed and my head needs coconut milk. My family needs coconut milk. My whole world needs coconut milk. 

Lack of Light Behind Her Eyes

She is an expert at arranging her face
So that her thoughts are not seen through her eyes
She can laugh and smile to mask the fact
That she actually is broken inside

Her inside is merely an abandoned, old house
Littered with glass and covered in mould
It's not very pretty, and no one else knows
Because she'd rather bluff, than fold

But some found the house, abandoned and cold
Standing alone on the top of a street
They brought in supplies, and rebuilt the house
Until it could stand, proud and complete

She thought they wouldn't notice her broken-down house
Or the lack of light behind her eyes
But there were people who loved her and they couldn't be fooled
By the joker of her disguise.

The Art of Breathing

Breathe in

Drops of dew on the petals of a daisy
Piping hot soup on a day that is lazy
Mist over cities, making everything hazy
but the lights poking holes in the skyline

Breathe out

The smell of an oven with an almost-done roast
The wild sea crashing upon a rock-lined coast
Butter melting on a slice of hot toast
With a steaming cup of tea on the side

Breathe in

Washing the dirt off slightly-grazed knees
Finally finding your recently-lost keys
Taking a walk and admiring the trees
And the dappled light that sifts to the ground

Breathe out

Finding a story in which to get lost
Early morning grass with icing-sugar frost
Sunsets and sunrises that only just last
Long enough to look at in wonder

In a world filled with darkness, suffering and pain,
Which throws shadow over any hint of light
You can't stop the sun from rising again
Because everything will be alright.

Death, You Shifty Sleazeball

Death flirted with me once.
He grinned at me with gleaming teeth
He held my hands, told me to breathe
We watched the stars and chatted

Death told me of his underworld.
All was peaceful, all was black
He said I'd never have to go back
Despite the people I'd left there

Death told me only to go to sleep
He told me he'd take the world away
Told me all I should ask was for him to stay
And he would, he said to me

But my world is filled with people, Death.

They need me alive and one day, I hope,

I'll need me alive too.

The Many-Fingered Monster

A many-fingered monster
lives inside my brain
He puts clouds around my stars
And manipulates my rain
My alarm clocks ring
In a deafening tone
And they join in with the bell
Of an unanswered phone
But my many-fingered monster
Does whatever he chooses
He doesn't answer phones
Or click on any snoozes

I have a piano
That plays tunes inside my head
While I'm working in the world
Or lying in my bed
And the one that plays the piano
Has a scent that lingers
His smile is sly
And he has many fingers
His hair is unwashed
And his shoes are untied
He knows where I run to
And he knows where I hide

He looks after my thoughts
When they try to escape
He replays them repeatedly
on his cassette tape
His face is awash
With a benign grin of pleasure
When my heart wants to stop
Or I'm under the weather
He shows me comfort
He carries me home
He says I may be lonely
But I am never alone

My many-fingered monster
Sees through my eyes
He spits poison at people
And uncovers their lies
We leave phones unanswered
My monster and I
We won't stop the music
Even when I try
I don't know where he came from
Which rolling seas, which sailing ships
But I think he's just convinced me
That my head is where he lives.

The Sinkers, The Mountains, The Chains

There are sinkers attached to my eyelids

And clouds that serve as reminders 

Of the darkness living inside us

They're fogging up thought in my brain

There are mountains attached to my shoulders

Made of money and Microsoft folders

I thought they were designed to hold us

But it looks like we're holding them 

There are chains attached to my feet

To all but me, they're discreet

I want nothing than just to retreat 

Back to the comfort of closing my eyes

The world shouts, "you fool, come join us!

Stop living in dusty corners

Look at the happiness that which adorns us

Don't you want some of this too?" 

They can't see the sinkers, the mountains, the chains

My shattered undetectable pains

The thoughts that drive me insane 

And I'm not sure if I'm just being lazy 

I'll have to remember that everything ends

it's comforting, because thats when it all mends

And then the universe quietly sends 

Something which is only beginning