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 May 2014 Triiniity
Rohit Rohan
There is a number in my phone
That I never call
But its just there
There is a promise I made
To never call
So its just there
Its impossible to erase it
And there is no reason why its there
But its just there
I never message
Or call it
Or get a call
Or a message from it
But its just there
If someone ever asks me for it
I’ll probably say I don’t have it
Or that I never had it
And they will not trust me
But that’s what I’ll say
That its not there
But its just there
I know it by memory
It will probably change someday
Get new random digits
But it does not matter
It is not there only on my phone
Its not just a number
But its just there
Its probably out of my call list
Or not
Coz I keep deleting all others to make it be there
Or when it goes away
I just dial it to have it on the list
To know that I know the number
To know that its there
I shall never call the number
It will never get answered if I do
I shall never get a call
I might not answer if I do
But its just there
And if someday I erase my phone
I’ll probably feed it back in
But won’t ever call the number
Won’t ever get a call
But I’ll just want to have it
To know that I know the number
To know
That its there
Don't ever fall in love with a poet
because they will indeed admire and watch your every move
they will write about how the pen marks on the side of your palm when you write
don't ever because they will trace
every single freckle you have on your face and
write about the color of each and every one of them and
describe how they smile so brightly under the sunlight
they will want you to want to know every little thing about them
even if it's just what hand they write with and want you
to be wondering why they write with that specific hand when in
reality it doesn't even matter

the poet will watch the way you dig
your eyes onto that book and your small quick remarks onto the 26 letters all crumpled together and will know that everyday at 5:28 p.m. you smile

they will look deeply into your eyes
to see if they can at least take a little
peak of your soul and they will write
about you like if you were the only
thing they see good in this world

they will want to know what you think
about when you look at them and
see if you also count each and
every freckle and hope and write  
that you do but they will
love you endlessly and they will
show you that they love you and only you

but don't date a poet if you aren't
capable to watch them and
admire their imperfections
when they sleep late at night
beside you.

j.f
s (o) c (i) e (t) a (l) |  m (e) (d) i (a) (s)
    |     |      |     |            |    |     |   |
o i t l e d a s
i s a o t e l d
i s o l t a e d

.i s o l a t e d.
| |||| || |

-r0
There’s a theory about alternate universes, or if you want we can call it the multiverse. It’s where for every single idea ever thought of, there’s an alternate universe where it’s actually happened. For example, when George Lucas thought up star wars, somehow in another time, place or galaxy far far away, a star breathed in light. It breathed it in and out and created a universe where eventually, like ours, it gave life to atoms. And these atoms created people or monkeys or god or something which eventually : Became the star wars universe. I’m not a scientist but I think that’s pretty sweet. It’s this theory that kind of punches hope into my chest because what other way will I be able to take hope without a fight except to punch it directly into my chest. I guess though in a way also though, ****** also thought up of killing off all the jews and probably becoming world leader but let’s hope that didn’t happen.

It’s a simple idea like that though, that I have a little more reason for living. I’ve seen dark days and darker times created inside my own little piece of mind like p-i-e-c-e and not peace like a peace sign. Cause my mind is a battle field filled with corpses and death and totally dead people all around and to be honest it gets me really bummin. So instead of filling my mind with the dead I fill it with scenarios where I’m spider-man. I swing my web high till I run out of buildings, I let my body sky dive down into the ***** pits of New York where I help clean up the trash and gag cause I really hate taking out the trash like literally it’s really gross. But I help nonetheless.

When I was little I’d have dreams that didn’t end up happening until like eight years later and I realized I could see into the future. All the things I’d see were insignificant though so it’s not like they really mattered but one thing I keep a look out for are spiders. I had a dream I was spider-man, I swung a web accidentally and if I hadn’t woken up panicked I would’ve hit pavement harder than the realization that maybe God didn’t exist when I was eight or that...dad wasn’t coming back. All of this is off track so what I’m trying to make my point about to close a poem with is this: There’s a theory that what you think up in one universe, it can happen in another. So what I hope for is maybe there’s some kid in another universe, just like me. He looks up at the sky or in his room or a ceiling light when he’s really high and thinks: Hey, maybe I have spider powers in another universe. Cause the day I become spider-man, maybe I won’t be such a loser anymore.
Blue eyes that stare back
With pain and with hate
Pain I know well
Because mine are the same

I have made mistakes
But everyone does
All I can promise
Is I will always love

You

Whether or not
This feeling is returned
Is all up to you
That's one thing I've learned

So I'll give you some space
And plenty of time
But at the end of the day
The decision's not mine

Don't wait too long
We all change with time
And once more I'll say
The decision's not mine

So think long and hard
What it is that you want
I won't wait forever
At some point I'll stop

Waiting
 May 2014 Triiniity
Elizabeth
all alone in the unaccustomed patches of this
house, irrevocably mesmerized, washing the
eggshell blue ceramics submerged in winter,
all folly for the tallies I've sketched across
my forearm to the number of
pensive detachments I've buried in my pocket
from only that day, and that day alone.
no answers to the manner of this impulsive
habit of stretching my mind across the ocean
a fishing line with no hook
a photo frame with no picture living inside
I’ve turned you into someone you're not
I’ve brought you to places you’ll never be
surrounded by strangers, lovely oblivion
they don’t know, they’ll never know
and neither will you
 May 2014 Triiniity
kay
Breaking
 May 2014 Triiniity
kay
I want to let your fingers walk over my skin
See if they bleed on the broken pieces of my body
I want you to open old scars and snap bones unbroken before.
It turns me on to think you'll break my body like you broke my mind
It makes me hate you
It makes me want to ******* too.
I'd never let another person over me
But I want your hands under my skin.
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