With every long hair oil massages and
the long tea break on sunday evenings,
mother told me the stories that she lived,
rich with genres.
The ones with her siblings are my favorite,
but there are these little stories that she often repeats.
some brings a tear or two,
and she sips the tea and says what else she could have done other than accepting.
Even with the colorful, rich genres of stories, she never had a dream.
And everytime it makes me realize how much it means to have a dream.

-Gopika Krishna

If my life was a book,
What genre would it be?
I don't think there's a genre for lonely,
Not lonely from other people,
But lonely from myself,

But that's not me,
Not constantly,
There are just days the sun shines,
And the rays seem to miss my face,

It wouldn't be a tragedy,
Even though there are days I think it could be,
I don't believe that my life is tragic,
Tragic things just happen sometimes,

I wouldn't call it a comedy,
No matter how much I'd like for it to be,
I can't imagine how easy it would be,
To only have to laugh,

If this is supposed to be a romance,
The author is doing a **** poor job,
I can't think of anything less romantic,
Then the way that boys have treated me,

But I know life's not that simple,
To be pinned down by just one word,
It leaves the good things or the bad things,
One or the other gets left unheard,

Life is complex and stories,
So many things have happened to me,
There are so many things that I've been,
So many things I want to be,

If my life was book,
The genre wouldn't matter to me,
The important question is,
Would it be a book worth reading?

Your heart dances a
Funky little beat,
And your jazzy fingers
Strum right along
To the song.
A sugar sweet soul
Made of rock and roll.

Indie lips sing
With an alternative twist,
A little reggae in your step.
Behind your lips, a classical dance;
Oh love, give the world a chance.
A musical melting ***, mon chèri.
Darling, you’ll be legendary.

Those little moans,
the thrusting of the hips,
the hush of the mouth,
the rosy cheeks,
that is all you need
when it comes to me.

An imprint on your face and my mind,
Your dimples curved like gentle commas
demanding I pause to trace those lines
Between kisses of every genre