I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)

A friend asked me
how to be a writer.
I wanted to say,
lock yourself in a room,
scream until you have
a poem and no voice.
Open your veins and bleed
until you know that your bones
are pure words and sorrow.
Act as if you slit your own throat
and all you can bleed
are your own regrets
and all of the darkness
you boxed up for inspiration.
Write your mom a letter,
tell her you're leaving
and you won't be back for awhile
Because being a writer is traveling
through all seven layers of Hell
and denying anything is wrong.
Forget loving yourself
when all you have is a pen and paper
fused to your wrist
and Jesus is tapping at your skull
saying turn back now.
Warn the neighbors that if they smell burning
It's just your soul
clawing at the front door trying to get in.
Learn how to be alone.
Learn how to lose everything you have
in order to feel release,
learn how to only feel deceased
from now on.
A friend asked me
how to be a writer.
All I said was
don't

I thought I knew who you were when we were together
I thought that when we weren't apart it was sunny weather
U used to treat me like a princess flowers dinners and trips
I gave you lots of chances but my hopes and dreams were ripped
The minute u chased the dragon was the minute you left us all
As from that moment onwards u kicked us to the wall
You used me and abused me dropped me like a stone
From then on in it was just the girls and I alone
I can't decide what was worse, the fact u loved drugs more
Or when you kicked me down the stairs and pinned me to the floor
When you forced yourself upon me and said it was your "right"
I just had to lie there in pain, crying I couldn't fight
You took away my self respect, my confidence was shattered
You didn't even stop using even for the ones that mattered
I gave you more chances, encouraged you to
quit
And still you chose the drugs and treated me like ****

I can't begin to tell the girls what you did to me
I only know that ill protect them like I've done since they were wee
You will never hurt them or me again I promise this is true
The sad thing about this all is I pity you
The things you've missed the girls doing,
the women they've become
I am so proud of who they are
They're fighters like their mum

স্বার্থক আমি, জন্মেছি
অপরূপ দেশে
গর্বিত আমি, বাংলাকে
প্রাণে ভালবেসে!

প্রভাতের সমীরণ
পুবালি অরুণ
মধুর গুঞ্জন মন
করে যে তরুণ
সতত রইবো আমি
এ বাংলার পাশে!

বট-ছায়া ধান ক্ষেত
রূপালি জোছনা
মুগ্ধ করে মন-প্রাণ
পাহাড়ি ঝরনা
আমি যে উদাসি, বাংলা-
বেলির হরষে!

আমি চাইনা বাংলার
ধনি ধন রত্ন
ধন্য আমার জীবন
পেয়ে তার যত্ন
জাগ্রত আমি বাংলার
রঞ্জিত পরশে!

সবুজে ঘেরা এ বাংলা
ভুলিবো না আমি
সে যে আমার প্রাণ
প্রিয় জন্মভূমি
বাংলার রূপে মুদিতে-
চাই, চির হেসে...

Somehow,
You have
Excavated the tiniest crevices of my bones
Nestling into the cracks as comfortably as if you were born to sleep in them

Somehow,
You have
Crept into every quiet moment of my mind
Inhabiting my thoughts as naturally as if you were created to be in them

Somehow,
You have
Uncovered the center of my heart
Feeding my emotions as easily as if you were made to care for them

I’m 5’9”, loud and strong. 

I’ve got big hair, perfect brows and a straight back.

I radiate confidence, sexuality and metaphorical ***** as my curvy hourglass figure walks with purpose down the street.

My attitude says “There’s nothing I can not do.”

My eyes say “You wanna fight? I’m ready.”

To them, I’m a lioness. 

I protect all that is mine — except from myself. 

Behind the facade, I am small. 

Behind my words, I am afraid. 

Behind my sunglasses, my eyes are wet. 

And under my luxury lingerie, I am naked, just like my soul is when I’m writing.

I’m not who they think I am, are you?

Do you know me at all?
Do you know what I've seen,
Where my mind goes when it drifts off?
Off, off, off
Until it falls right off the Earth.
Favorite song,
The one I sing to break my heart
Over and over again.
Favorite movie,
That always excites my personality.
Favorite book,
That always leaves me inspired and craving life.
What brings tears to my eyes?
What gives me the warm, fuzzy feelings.
Am I just a toy to you?
New and shiny, for the moment?
Until I'm thrown into a corner.
With all of your discarded things,
thought, and feelings.
Left to collect your dust.

A puppet girl, all dressed up, with painted lips and lined eyes, stands on her toes as she spins and glides.
Guided by her puppet strings she swirls and twirls around the ring.
Round and round this dusty stage she gets up and dances day after day.
The hands that hold her gentle yet firm show her just how much she must learn.
The hands grow fierce, music harsh,as they pull and push her into a perfect arch.
A string then snaps, poor puppet goes loose, abandoned and alone as they tie her a noose.
A puppet girl, all banged up, with chipped paint and bleary eyes, slumps alone as she starts to cry.
Musical laughter fills the ring, as she hears someone begin to sing.
Clanking clattering across the stage, she drags her limbs out of her cage.
She topples and falls tangled in string, trying to find the source of the singing.
Kneeling before her, with beautiful wings, is another girl living her dreams.
A puppet girl, just like her, moving with ease, unburdened by the need for strings.
"Are you an angel?" she rubs her eyes trying to see if this girl is a lie.
the girl before her smooths over her dress, before gliding into a curtsy and saying "yes."
"I wish to be an angel like you, then I could be free to move."
The angel tilts her head, her smile sly, before opening her mouth to reply,
"As you wish it, it shall be so."
then with terrible grace and ease, she cuts off the strings...
and with it she holds the Poor Puppet Girl's head,
her body lays crumpled up,
shes.... dead.
"Shh." she whispers as she cradles the head,
she spins and glides claiming shes been naughty,
and attaches the puppet girls head on an angels body.
And as the puppet girl blinks her eyes,
she realizes she's back to life.
in a form now free of strings,
she can dance and spin as she may please.
then she sees her body crumpled where it now lies,
and with a shuddering sob she begins to cry.
the angel takes her hand in hers
and with a crazy smile and mad glint in her eyes
she starts to sing:
"hush little one,
now we are the same.
don't worry baby,
no more pain.
Now listen to me child,
let blood fall like blissful rain,
and we shall free those who remain,
free them from these awful chains."

We were drinking coffee when
depression showed up at the door of the home we built, pounding.
Eviction notice in hand,
your soul parceled out into donation bins.
Foreclosure sign,
caution tape around the chest that I slept on for a year.

I sit out in the sun
to bleach the tan line from my ring finger.
I hold cold cups and shake strangers’ hands
to erase the mould of your grasp from mine.
I want to sear off my palms.

I miss even those nights when you looked at my fire and laughed.
So I make you coffee (but I know I make it wrong);
your ghost in this house still criticizes.

I made you coffee every day because it was all I could do;
my only way of getting into you, a vector.
As the hot brew flowed past your heart, I watched,
like a child at Christmas, hoping you’d feel my love.
Hoping the glaze would clear up from your eyes.

I only wish this were a bond that stayed,
that stayed when your mind put plugs in your ears:
when I screamed and screamed that I loved you,
that I’d rock every little thing you regret to sleep.

I went to the doctor about this dizziness.
He checked my ears, he asked why my eyes were red.
This vertigo--a hurricane made by the page turning in my life.
I am a bag in your wind.

The day you left I wrote you a recipe for how you like your coffee,
because you don’t know, but I have it memorized.
My handwriting changes halfway down the page, as I change,
as you drive farther and farther away.

Our love is a child I’ve carried,
now I’m bent over, sick.
Loss took your place in our home,
but it’s unsteady on its feet;
I have to walk it from room to room.

My name has been yours, possessive.
And although these days I correct myself and say ‘I’ during speech,
My thoughts are still ‘we.’
I still think about your lungs when I cough.

So I still make us coffee every day (but I know I make it wrong).