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now when I think of love I want to puke,
the thought literally makes me sick to my stomach because I know now what it does to a person

how you lose yourself in someone else and then all of sudden you can't breathe anymore without them

I am promising myself to never be that stretched again,
to give myself a try for once, relying only on my intuition and will to power through life and relationships, never getting too blind to see things as they really are

I wanna know what it's like to be so good alone that the earth shatters when I take a step,
electricity radiates from my skin and my soul is so loud it shouts through my eyes
she just shakes her head

she meets me on the street-corner, me from work, she from dance,
in the grayling dusk of a thank god it’s a freedom Friday night,
I greet her with words semi-adventurous -

“come with me, few errands to run, keep me in good company”

to the candy store we go for to purchase my weekend eve
lottery tickets and blow-pop lollipops, just in case some
kids appear, a surprise omen as they come
trick-or-treating just before Thanksgiving


the Bangladeshi candyman calls out a long prayer
in his native Bangla

she asks “what’s that he’s saying?”

“Oh, just wishing us a pleasant Sabbath and
may his gods smile upon our good lottery fortune”

she just shakes her head, from side to side

emerging from the store, walking home in the
now doubly ***** darkly dusk,
a set of white teeth from a passing shadow-man says to me
“you’re home late and have a great weekend,”

she asks, “who is that?”

“why,” I reply, “that is our very own personal postal carrier’

she says:
“he delivers mail to ten thousand people all in buildings tall,
yet knows your name, your face,
where you buy your lottery tickets,
your coming and going hours,
how came that to be”

but waits not for an answer
she just shakes her head, from side to side

I show her my secret entrance to our apartment house,
the fast route to collect our mail, dry cleaning in one fell swoop
a secret door, secret elevator taking us directly to our apartment

a secret elevator which is under the direction of
Bimal from Nepal,
who I greet in Nepalese, (my tutor)
I, asking after Brian and Bryce, his 100% American boys

now she says nothing, but before our door, as I go key digging,
she just shakes her head, from side to side

later she says:

“let’s order in, apprise me of  your expertise,
some exotic fare from Manhattans First Avenue,
known for its aphrodisiacal powers
afterwards,
you must tell me each dishes name,
in its tongue’s nativity,
but much, much later,”

and as she speaks, grinning,
she sticks out her tongue,
while she just shakes her head,
but this time,

up
and
down
11/17/18
nyc
mostly a true story, mostly
poems are not all
sunshine and
rainbows

sometimes,
just sometimes
we have to ****
in the bathroom
sink of beauty
to find out how
repulsive it can be
underneath

I find the soap ****
of the shower drain
to be more enriched
with adorning features
than the palm trees
of florida

art
and all forms of it
are inexhaustible,
you could never
take that away,
including this
ugly
ugly
ugly
poem
Art needs its balance
Hello.
I am the trending poem.                                                            ­            
         you see me and I make you feel alive
                                             so you like me and re-post me
                                                              ­    then you leave me alone to die.
Hello,
I am your forgotten lines.
             you created me with a careful love
                                                          an­d decisive rhymes
                                      and then to the bottom of your page I'm shoved.
Hello
I am forgotten, alone and unloved
                           a faded smile a broken dove
                                               I once was beautiful, touching.
                                                       ­   now, I've been replaced, I'm nothing.
I want to be there for others who need me.
But I am barely there for me and when myself shouts for my embrace, I kiss it with violence.
Self destruction
I just won't change,
I'm still trapped in my dark days,
Bet you aren't even proud to have me as a friend,
Apologies for everything,
Intolerable my behaviour it was,
Having dreams that'll never happen was one,
Crushing it into shards is another,
You,
Looked good as the day I met you,
This overwhelming feeling of getting you back,
Is just a distant chance gone begging,
Thanks for alerting me,
Of how much of a dump I was,
I would have gone further if I had not realized,
How miserable you were with me.
geez
An impish dweller of
sunless times, but a Guardian
of the monsoons within which
our thoughts raced as fast
as lightening did across the wet
patio tiles and those pouring black skies.

My brothers, they smelled
of grass blades,
of sun-ripened wheat.
But I smelled of barren
waterlogged dirt, sickly and twisted
with sour veins, but left flowering
a heavy rain-sodden smile.

Only now as I sulked
in years, ruminating,
fermenting,
I grew sullen.
Sapless and fruitless, I sought
the meaning of your touch and devotion.

For, I grew no roses,
sung no sweet scent,
sank spines and dried sympathies...
But you stopped
a moment,
And your cheeks
teased my petals with warmth
that rivalled any sun.
No greater wielder of nature than the nurture that dwells within love's idle caress.

— The End —