Sarah Kay- If if should have a daughter

If I should have a daughter…“Instead of “Mom”, she’s gonna call me “Point B.” Because that way, she knows that no matter what happens, at least she can always find her way to me. And I’m going to paint the solar system on the back of her hands so that she has to learn the entire universe before she can say “Oh, I know that like the back of my hand.”

She’s gonna learn that this life will hit you, hard, in the face, wait for you to get back up so it can kick you in the stomach. But getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air.There is hurt, here, that cannot be fixed by band-aids or poetry, so the first time she realizes that Wonder-woman isn’t coming, I’ll make sure she knows she doesn’t have to wear the cape all by herself. Because no matter how wide you stretch your fingers, your hands will always be too small to catch all the pain you want to heal. Believe me, I’ve tried.
And “Baby,” I’ll tell her “don’t keep your nose up in the air like that, I know that trick, you’re just smelling for smoke so you can follow the trail back to a burning house so you can find the boy who lost everything in the fire to see if you can save him. Or else, find the boy who lit the fire in the first place to see if you can change him.”
But I know that she will anyway, so instead I’ll always keep an extra supply of chocolate and rain boots nearby, ‘cause there is no heartbreak that chocolate can’t fix. Okay, there’s a few heartbreaks chocolate can’t fix. But that’s what the rain boots are for, because rain will wash away everything if you let it.
I want her to see the world through the underside of a glass bottom boat, to look through a magnifying glass at the galaxies that exist on the pin point of a human mind.Because that’s how my mom taught me. That there’ll be days like this,“There’ll be days like this my momma said” when you open your hands to catch and wind up with only blisters and bruises. When you step out of the phone booth and try to fly and the very people you wanna save are the ones standing on your cape. When your boots will fill with rain and you’ll be up to your knees in disappointment and those are the very days you have all the more reason to say “thank you,” ‘cause there is nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline no matter how many times it’s sent away.
You will put the “wind” in win some lose some, you will put the “star” in starting over and over, and no matter how many land mines erupt in a minute be sure your mind lands on the beauty of this funny place called life.
And yes, on a scale of one to over-trusting I am pretty fucking naive but I want her to know that this world is made out of sugar. It can crumble so easily but don’t be afraid to stick your tongue out and taste it.
“Baby,” I’ll tell her “remember your mama is a worrier but your papa is a warrior and you are the girl with small hands and big eyes who never stops asking for more.”
Remember that good things come in threes and so do bad things and always apologize when you’ve done something wrong but don’t you ever apologize for the way your eyes refuse to stop shining.
Your voice is small but don’t ever stop singing and when they finally hand you heartbreak, slip hatred and war under your doorstep and hand you hand-outs on street corners of cynicism and defeat, you tell them that they really ought to meet your mother.

The refuge of the insane, or the utterly despondent, the written word. Tonight, I hope I shall write out all I feel on this kind, yet faceless computer screen. In between what I have been , and where I shall be, there lies the present. They say that the past is comfortable, the future, insecure, But the present is a bit of a Bastard.I see her sometimes, stil, coming at me from thacross the cast empty moonlit beach, with the seawaves caressing her feet in a strangely aqueising sort of way... Like the godess that she is. Her long floral skirt conceals much, and yet seems to augmen he contours of her body in a way that reminds one of Venus-De Milo. She waves at me, from across the shore.... and then suddenly, a mist draws upon us... Her silent shriek echoin throug the night. As I am left in the darkness, with only the lilting cadence of the intonations that the waves make as they splash against the water.
The mist clears, and there is no one... all feelings of devotion turn to uetter horror, as her mangled body lies on the shore. Like some broken branch of a now dead tree, I see her face turned towards me, its visage a mask of utter horror. What happned in that ist, I shall never know, for the strange quality of mists is that they conceal more than they reveal. Maybe she was never there in the first place,just a figment of my shattered imagination,The seashre withers away into a glass shell,
Ans I am left banging against the wall, my hands restricted by the straitjacket, screaming away into the dark recesses of m slitary confinement.

Of weary travellers and lost tales

Ah, so we have a traveller at our inn again... it has been a long time! How are things in your part of the world...wayfarer...May the happiness in your life be as plenteous as the stars oin a chilly hillside evening....May the angels of joy gallivant ahead of you strewing little pieces of happiness all around... A big storm rages outside...come in.. And shut the door behind you...
A good stiff drink then...for you! You may remove your coat and place it on the stand by the door...And I shall make sure that you get a comfortable room for the night..
What is it you said.. A story... do you want to hear a story from us..?? Well.. Make your self comfortable then for the night has just begun..and the storm may rage for a while longer..
Hear then this, the story of the blind fortune teller and the dancing Girl of Semptokha
This happened a long time ago...at which time, men had not yet becomes as cunning and beguiling as they are today, and much good still prevailed in the world..
The animals too, had not yet lost their power of speech. That did not happen till. Let me see.. the hundred year war was it?? Ah! But I digress, that is part of another story, and one you may hear tonight, if you are lucky !
So, much peace prevailed over the world, and in a now long lost kingdom, nestled deep in the mountains, lived an old monk.
What the monk was named is not important, and neither is the name of the hill where he stayed. He stayed in a monastery not long removed from the capital of the kingdom, but the hillside was dotted with many such monasteries, such that his, like all the others, has now passed into oblivion. There was nothing special about the hill, the monastery, or the monk, each being alike to their multitudinous brethren strewn around the country.
So every evening, this monk would go and light a butter lamp at the shrine of his deity, and then close the door behind him to retire for the night’s meditation. And every morning he would come out again, extinguish the butter lamp , and retreat back inside to tend to his small garden- From where the monk derived most of his sustenance.
One day, as the monk came out of his hut for lighting the butter lamp, from atop another hill, there sat watching him and fox and a badger. Now, if you do not know this already, let me tell you, the fox and the badger were the most cunning animals who ever existed. And the squabble between them has lasted eternally, ever since the first fox and the first badger came into existence. Why it is so, nobody knows, for not even they now remember the reason behind this quarrel.
So there, on the hilltop, sat the fox and the badger, and they eyed the monk with more than a passing interest. For soon, a wager was made between the two. Whoever managed to drive the monk out of his monastery, for more than 3 days, would have won.
When the monk rose the next day and went out to extinguish the lamp, there came upon him the sound of thundering hooves. And he saw, from afar, three horses atop whom sat the king’s soldiers. One of them was wearing the rank insignia of a captain. The horses stopped in front of his door, and from close, the monk could see that they were the special breed of dragon horses that the king’s magicians had bred into existence. The horses could breathe fire.. and were wild enough tp strike fear in the heart of the hardest of men.
Ah!, but look, dinner is ready. Ale and cake and meat await us. Come, weary traveller, let us eat, and I shall continue with my story.