help me i am
 
                  d
                  e
                  k
       h        o
            o

from the way
you laugh to
the movement
of your hands
when you tell
a story. i do
not want to be
with anyone
else.

Tell me where you're coming from so I can write you off
Then I will put a question mark in place of what you thought
The Darkness brings the sleepyheads together in the night
But only those who know the sun will wake up to its Light
I wasn't even listening to anything you've said
I thought you would've noticed I was every kind of dead
I guess the people talking now can do it in their sleep
And force the words to leave their mouths, developed tendencies
But somewhere in the time it took for me to move my lips
I took a breath and let it out before it even clicked

I am from a rooftop garden
That smell like fresh guavas
And hard, wired fences
Behind which lies a foggy skyline
A dreaming city

I am from a small, brown-red backyard shed
Tucked between rural green fields
Where two little girls defended the world from evil by
Laughing and swinging wildly on a rusted, fluorescent swing set

I am from a row of townhouses
Where no matter how late the return
Warm lights inside glow
Beckoning  

I am from strong rocks
Against which foamy, icy waves crash
Leaving behind grass
Soft to touch  
And hard to uproot

I am from eating overdone fried chicken
From short-lived patience
From a voicemail
That will always say
From Lucy, Tulu and Samah

From don’t eat that, it’s for the guests
And if you have to do it, do it, but I don’t want to hear about it.  

From too many whys
And not enough faith

I am from Dhaka, Bangladesh
From jostling crowds and hearing a million voices outside

I am from Limerick, Ireland.
From rustic houses and quaint parishes

I am from Wallingford, Pennsylvania
From suburbia and inane boredom

From the college-genius who crashed weddings on weekends,
The woman who is still unimpressed by sushi in Japan

I am from feeling sad if you do
But wanting to make you laugh anyway

Roses have thorns for a reason.
If they were all beauty with out defense
Those hard, sharp edges
Extending from their stems
They would be easily plucked and clipped
Taken advantage of.

They would be used
For some hideous centerpiece
That would be adored for a few hours
Than ignored for weeks

Until the water turned black
Leaves rotted and decayed
The petals dry out and fall
Leaving bare stem remains.

Leave me in my garden
Where I am surrounded by friends
The daffodils, lilies, white chrysanthemums.

The hard working bees
Could make delicious honey
From my sweet nectar
That would be taken to the hive
And served to the Queen.

The words I speak
Are my thorns
Verbal warnings
That I am not to be reckoned with.

Release your the sheers
Remove your greedy hands
Grab me like that again
My thorns will make you bleed
You will be sorry.

Truthfully speaking,
You will never be a rose.
Even if you tried
You would result as a ****
A blight, a disease
Pulled from the ground immediately.

You are a hideous creature.
A monster.
Without you
I am stronger.

I am not a dandelion anymore
Easily destroyed
From a meager blow.

Let me alone
I am a Rose.