i. I’d tell them of the moment you spoke about your favorite cartoon characters, and the way your face flashed when you described them to me. How innocent that brilliance was and how guileless your mannerisms were. And I’d wish they understand why I fell in love with the feeling of your innocent enthusiasm about some nonsense cartoons no one else cared about.

ii. I’d show them all your worries and troubles stacked on top of one another in a carelessly balanced house made of playing cards. And while they were appraising these I’d point out how selfless you are. How your troubles were never centered around your own joy. And I’d wish they see that the house of cards I showed them is a reflection of the person you are. The kind of person who’d knock those cards down if they had your name on them instead.

iii. I’d paint them a picture of your mind as I see it. Full of intricate ambitions, contradictory emotions, unreasonable doubts and absent-minded memories. I’d use black and blue pen to dot your journey here. And bright red to show them the great places you are destined to go. And I’d wish they stand back and appreciate the amalgam of colors instead of questioning why. There isn’t a single spot on the canvas I seem to fully understand despite being the artist.

iv. I’d take them on a walk to the place we first met. I’d make sure it was a sunny day first, just like that one. I’d tell them I didn’t think much of you at all when I first met you. I’d make them sit in that same spot, and feel the same way we felt as indifferent strangers. And I’d wish they understand that despite the seeming insignificance of that moment, I look back and am convinced I see a halo of light above that place and the beguiling simplicity of that day.  

v. I’d tell them how tightly you hugged me when I was sad. How softly you touched my arm when you assured me that nothing was wrong. How quietly you showed me an overflowing friendship that’s waiting to combust  And I’d wish they understand that it’s not just how wonderful it was breathing in the smell of your old jacket. It’s how wonderful it felt, feeling the weighty presence of a thousand words unspoken.

vi. I’d warn them before they meet you, this is what I’d say: “It’s easy to make that boy laugh, but it’s hard to win him over. His love is not on display, his mind has been sent to the dry cleaners. His laugh has been blocked with by caution and logic. But don’t ever say you don’t understand that he’s a wonderful human being”, I’d hope they understand your appearance is all pretense.

vii. And if someone asked me why I love you, this is what I’d say: It is hard for me to imagine going through the rest of this life and meeting another singular human being like you.

Pelican
Slurps on
What its
Belly can
Put stay
Whole day
In the sun
On the run
Just wish
Big fish
One stuff
Big enough
It can pick
With its beak
That can hold
Manifold
Bigger than
Its belly can
Wonderful Pelican

i don't know how to write poetry without
using cliches because
i don't know how to write poetry.
i know how to write poetry about as well as my mother knows how not to drink
so it should be rather obvious that
i don't know how to write poetry.
i form sentences that wouldn't sound any worse being pushed through slurred maternal lips.
i paint images that wouldn't look any better being viewed through hooded, blurry eyes.
these jumbled sentences and images are proof enough that
i don't know how to write poetry.
i write like she speaks - in muddled messy bursts of nonsense, sometimes stopping right
in the middle of a thought before picking back up, or maybe quieting into nothing and switching
topics completely lost is my sense of direction when it comes to mapping my thoughts,
as lost as the key she's had stuffed in the pocket she's checked a dozen times already.
i'm sure this mess makes it clear, clear as her tequila, as its empty bottle, that
i don't know how to write poetry.
i may never know how to write poetry.
i may never, ever learn.
but god i hope i try.

The moment her lips open
I start talking nonsense
I know how the women
Can’t bear men’s silence.
Her face in anger white
Mind benumbed of sense
She would sorely miss the fight
If I stubbornly hold patience.
I know what she craves for
Her eyes so clearly foretell
Something I deeply abhor
Pairing up with her in quarrel.
But she won’t bear with silence
Wants the heat to be on
If I keep quiet as defense
She can't fight it alone.

His arms reached around me,
But mine didn't come around in return,
I just sighed and restrained as he pressed his shoulder to my face,
Once I got free, He just stared,
As though he expected some emotional response,
But no, not I,
With a turn of the heel,
There I go, Down the dirty sidewalk with not even a sigh,
I felt eyes burning through my back,
But I had no need to turn around.
I truly believe some people just aren't meant for other people,
Some people are just suppose to teach certain lessons and move on,
I think I might be one of those people,
I don't desire to stay in one place long,
Maybe that's the lesson I am,
That good things travel,
Or that you can't tame the wild.

I'm really not okay with the way you look at me these days,
in fact
the absence of your look is more the right words

I used to be so much more eloquent and the words
would slip off my tongue and
through to your ears like molasses

You would crane your neck
to hear me whisper
nonsense

I'm sorry I was never serious
I'm sorry I was never quick enough

You're sorry you wasted your time

Paint coated fingers
Tap away at the touch screen
Dirtying my escape from boredom
The void of loneliness
Slowly engulfing my sanity
Time exchanged for money
Money exchanged for brief pleasantries
Reading
Slacking
I sit wishing to leave
To visit a familiar face
But still a stranger
From a place I’ve yet to travel
The phone rings
Screaming through the void
Another store
Manning the phone, a troll
Adorned with a name I’d care to forget
Nonsense drips from their mouth
Demanding this and that
All the while I deny it’s presence
As it stares back at me
My boss would be proud
He hates that store