I hope when I turn around,
I can feel your face,
You can tell me when things are not okay.

But when I did,
I was holding air.
I hope I turn into Ash.

Honey, when I am buried in a box,
I want you to tell my teenage tampons,
Black tees and socks;
Tell her that she's not dead,
She is buried in pain
Tell her write on a paper
She has a name
Honey, when I am dust in the board,
I want you to know that chicklets fly after they are sore,
My mother said ten and 5 scores ago
Your body is fine
You need to dance on the floor;
Honey, when I am cat litter on the shelves,
Pay no heed to the friends that I cried for and helped,
They played their highschool drama
And didn't pick up my call,
They will give no **** about you
When your grandson is tall;
Honey, I am not here anymore
I hope you know there are plenty of fires
And plenty of doors,
Dead and decay I may rot and smell,
But honey,
The people who betrayed
They are all going to hell.

My king rules a cacti
His subject is as prickly as he
He goes on wars every night and day
He calls his enemy as "me".

The reason he is dead
Isn't tyranny or hate
And it isn't the fall of monarchy
I assure thee so;
My king lies dead
Of his saddened ill fate
He planted a tree and as true it can be
It grew legs and walked out of the door

What good is a king,
If he can't love anything
As little as a tree and not any more.

I have heard of women
Who bear not children,
They bear dreams and swords;

My mother knew she gave birth to a Viking,
But nonetheless, a sad Viking.
She washes her face as she goes for wars,
Tell her, let her know good sir,
Butterflies are not her enemy.

You may think that I am not enough,
but look around you,
Is anything enough?
Is it a deaf man's problem if he cannot hear your pain?

I'll pick up myself again, and paint your image blue,
I will pursue other forms of torments
And if it makes you happy,
I'll fall in love with you again
And cry about not being enough until you smile

Can it be clearer than a day that I write to me
And complain about trivial things
Like how it used to be?

Death is trivial, I can cry about death,
But I cannot cry enough about possibilities,
I wish it had been a hassle or a disaster,
But it was beautiful

By god, I say, how can I replace you?

Didn't I try enough?
Didn't I?

I do not know why people follow rules,
They stand in the traffic amongst the red and green,
Like they are a **** reunion.
I lost my cat amongst the red,
The abhorrent hide and seek game of floundering.
My mother tied my braids,
My father marked my grades,
I cannot feel emotions.

Yet, I see your melted face and I cradle you in my *****,
Are tears gasoline?

And now I am in the floating world;
I dare not say where my talons reach
On a wasted bar in an
upscale town
Or an alley where Fatima found her treasures
In the long lost desert of the warm hole,
Warm hole, I guess the intoxicated parental hugs and childish glee,  
I look up from the clouds,
To the endless possibility of the diamonds
That often singers wrote about.

I say, dear sir,
Who am I to stare at her face,
Who am I, to debate regarding astronomy
To appreciate what the clouds offer,
To gaze at endlessness.

To look down at earthy abrasion,
To scratch a letter about the sky,
I am no Euclid,
I cannot calculate severity.

That begs me to differ
That,  people plainly cannot deduct  
signals about lost thought,
The algorithm of pain.

Poetry begs of loneliness despair and the will
to obligate any will to look at the sky
As only diamonds of beauty,
I too am no exception;
Alas, to bring a clown to an opera
Is no different than associating pain with love.

/I too am in love/
/I too was in love/

And certain beings of certain genders
Makes you feel whole,
The last ingredient of banana bread,
the parmesan of a Michelin plaza

And yet towards the end,
all the love come to a halt,
and no ingredient can complete it whatsoever.

Heraldry: would you rather be the next karate kid?
What is the conclusion of your armory,
to be in love
as always is a momentary pause in the general affairs of society?

Have you related to a succulent plant?
Well, I cannot,
I am but a group of the ant farm,
boring away in close proximities of career-oriented blabber,
Naysay, it is not culture nor an obligation,

I simply do not have the courage to fly.

I lack in art and imagination,
As a poet, it is quite a blasphemy,
But dear Lord would you call a layman a poet
If he dare not risk beyond boundaries of nomenclature
You call her a fraud,
when she dare write and not live
when she dare speak and not do,
She is not a poet, good sir,
She is a prisoner of propaganda.

I do not remember days and years,
but it was once in July,
The sun was setting,
And calling over to take the place in the night sky,

Needless to say, it was an abrupt end with no closure,
but she took it out on the sun
Whilst her muse ended things at the barrel of the gun.

Truth be told,
I am sick of ballads,
I am sick of subway seats
I am sick of occupancy.

I dare you to sing a rhyme
Which you sang with him behind
And hush your tears,
because you bestowed the music in his grave.

I am angry,
I did the same!

Well, enough of angel tears,
I take back my sun,
I take back the sky,
I take back the dreams!

I am ready to see sunsets.

If only I knew,
My house was burning,
I was delusional,
If only i knew.

The truth was I cried not about your smile,
Nor your kisses on my forehead,
I shed my tears for a little me.

She sat on a pyre and burnt herself.

Your soul matches the colour of the perfume that my mother wore,
I now know how it feels to be dead, it is just wind kissing your face and you are stuck on a lonely boat,
I thought I would meet you but your body lies cold
In my memory, you're still blushing and your red tshirt is pretty bold
I guess I take my journey alone as I came empty
I heard your sound in the trees above
And to me that was plenty;
My time on Earth is now a memory and a foam of milky stars,
You might not be here with me,
But I know that you ain't far.

She is sad and she is in my trunk
I'm smoking cigarettes wrong,
Maybe I am drunk
Miss girl from some sad place thought she could play
She got shot in the day

I blame my father,
For carrying me in my arms,
telling me how to walk
And showing me how to love;
It is scary how my set of men
Terrifies me when I talk;
Love is a false situation.

I blame my sister
For playing with me in Indian Afternoons,
Riding carousel
Showing me how not to be Epicurean,
All I found in my friendly mud
Was I;
And none else

I blame my mother
For teaching me ways
How to sing Do Rae MI,
How to do good
Tell me it's a lie,
I am but a Villain for Daffodils.

I expect naught;
I cry in my lobby.

Hush! for she might wake
I just hit her head with a rake
Tiptoe till my midnight turns to dark,

I just told her that it's her mind
She is not running out of time
She is not the two by two in Noah's arc

She kept telling me he is good
She's adamant and rude
She's acting like her mother, she is blind

I told her time and time
Men are sick and unkind
Yet she kept talking about him,
she isn't smart.

So now that she lies dead,
I can look for the winter ahead
Summer was about him and so was the fall

I killed myself for it all.

In the light of the war,
I am woman of all;

Woman, mahila, mujer;
This is more than your nephew
Who came out of your aunt,
There are artistic chemistry
More epiphany under the sun;

My hip bones are strong
But so is my mind,
You have unleashed a beast
I won't be shunned, I won't be kind;

You have released the Kraken
She comes with claws
Yet she always saves her newborns
From other Kraken Jaws

She smokes three packs a day
And her hair is not meant for little kids

She has blue and red
And a bald spot

She tries to be the man of the house
And yet she is pointlessly barking at
Her neighbour's dog

I hope she fits in her jacket.

You aren't him,
But you are you.

When I'm gone,
I'll pray for this compromise;
I'll pray that I get to live again,
In the heartbreak hotel,
And promise myself lies;

I love you for you,
This poetry does not belittle
I chose you,
I did not settle.