I run the rapids
on his back. A rocky ride,
an avalanche of spray
and chance. Twists and

turns. Old returns
of smiles have me belted
in the moving whirlwind. I’ve
fallen off once or twice. But the water’s

cold as ice. And I can’t swim. He
has a knack for pulling me
back. Mountains and trees, swirling
leaves of memories steady me, amongst

the spider sun. I spun and spun
as a **** on a vane. Now the falls
are fast here as a cockroach
in the kitchen cabinet. I’ve no regret.

fay folk
in the legends
regular folk
from what I've seen
tie-dye with vital red
savage minions
rushing about
with such naïve purpose
maybe maybe I do you a disservice
maybe you understand more than I did
God knows I can't ask
no good reason to prove
what you might suspect.

It was freshman year of college. We kissed there was no spark. We lasted a week. You wanted to get married to me and kids with me on day 3. I didn't see that future. You tried to killed me in your car several times going at top speeds because you were angry at something. You texted me multiple times you wanted to **** yourself. I came out to you as bisexual after we broke up. We stayed friends somehow you got worse. You became a sexist ***** because of college. You slap my **** when you want attention. You talk about sleeping with my friends. You make jokes about my sexuality. You generally make me uncomfortable. I am your only friend. I am glad we broke up when we did. I can't deal with this. You are toxic and I know I should leave at some point. You think everyone want to use you for money which is pessimistic on a multitude of levels. Even "The Beast" inside of me can't stand you and that says a lot. I know you are a science nerd but you give that honor such disgrace it makes me want to punch you in the face. I emotionally and mentally stopped investing you already. You are so clingy it's exhausting.

I hangout with my best friends much more often now that I am medicated. It's refreshing talking to them. I trust them with my life. They are amazing, talented, intelligent and good people. Every time I hangout with my best friends I feel free, loved, and cared for. When they smile and laugh I know it's real because I can feel it in my heart. They are the realest people I know. I never have to hide my mental and emotional scars from them because they aren't perfect either. I never have to try to be normal around them because together we are weird, quirky and well read.

I realised....
Our heart is just like a strong wall of bricks
protecting our infant like soul...
protecting it from all the wars outside...
But was anything ever safe?
People hit you with their stone like actions...rock like thoughts
Sometimes they become brutal...

Cracks begin to appear in that wall
But...that's where the light enters and feeds the soul to grow...
'cause the infant has to grow....to protect itself...
to stand strong for that one day...when everything would be broken!

The D-day comes...when the dams break...
eyes are flooded with tears...and the wall breaks.
The light just like a mother...nourishes the soul to grow...
Because now it has to protect itself...

It's tough for everyone...and till the time you're broken
You hide it really well...behind the thick curtains of your smile
Nobody knows...what's behind that smile
The soul works hard...to put everythings back together
Trying to get back those millions of broken pieces...
But we forget that if the creator of stars...
sends someone to break...there is someone to put it back together....

Finally...the time comes...when you meet that one person...
the one who changes your reality...
the one makes you question things...
the one who makes you a better person...
the one they call 'a soulmate'.

Sometimes, sometimes
I will sit in my own room like a stranger
I will gracefully drag the chair out its den
And run my fingers through the white fur
That is white no longer
It lies there inviting
But I prop myself on the table instead
Head just touching the shelves above
Books kissed by dry dust
College notes never noticed
An empty fruitcake box
A candy wrapper
I run my gazes up and down the walls
Up and down
Up and down

A disheveled slave girl bare—
Still for me
Someone has covered her wounds
With poems ripped out of forgotten books
Her tears slide down like curious cracks
Beneath the silver veil
A bottle of Kerosine oil sits patiently near the pallet,
Rows of paint tubes
Children’s beds in a quiet, orphanage hall

Unfinished canvases awaiting a god
Brushes scattered around
Scattered like arms and legs
and skulls
In a tired battlefield

Sometimes I reread the stories
Scribbled on the doors
Quotes as bullet shells
abandoned
and hollow

Like a stranger
I admire the designs on the wall picture
Leaves of all the races
And the blueness beneath
Like a stranger
This silent, beautiful girl I see
For as a lover I have long ceased
A shy dove scared
Quietly humming a tune
I have never known

I look for the person who smiles in the pictures
The girl who’s known to talk to the walls
But the bed is empty
And folks in the photos
Will not meet my eyes
The verses swirl around in the air
And fumes of the oil
Rise up
Slow as the arrival of blooms
Slow as a withering moon
Till they are everywhere
A horde of soldiers
Marching down my throat

There is no one here
Somebody once taped the roses to the window
And painted suns on pieces of stray T-shirts
hung them up as tapestries
But they are not here now
The walls reek of aridity
A slave girl who will not smile

They like to preach to us to
Always be ourselves
But who are we—
Some fancy clothes wrinkled on the floor
As if passed out after a jolly evening
A fidget spinner
Spinning spinning spinning
In my hands
The fan groaning—
A symphony struggling to scream
And fumes rise up

I jump off the table
And slide the window open
The city, a worried lover, rushes in
It kisses the room
Its beautified bruises
Washes her with light
Air jolts the calendar awake
“Are you here?”
“Are you here?” It seems to ask
Are you here, are you here, are you—
And the walls nod their tired nods
A practiced, perfected ritual

Sometimes, some nights
I will tread through my own writings
Trail touches down
My own drawings, looking
For myself
Looking, looking,
And forever on search

Sometimes, sometimes I will realise
that no matter how many plants I hang
And words
I nail to these walls
To make them mine
I will always be a stranger to this room
Searching the stalls for another anklet
that will smile a star
in her next alluring dance—
A slave girl
And her golden crown.
Dah