‘I Love You’

The way your words brush against my ears
Sending an electrifying feeling
down my spine

‘I love you’

Three simple words
that drip with meaning
and emotion

‘I love you’

A soft whisper
Like a gentle summer breeze
Like the sound of a child’s laughter

‘I love you’

Like ashes falling to the ground
a beautiful disaster

‘I love you’

Empty promises
broken
shattered into pieces  
Jagged edges of a mirror
that cut deep

‘I love you’

Love and pain become synonymous
One incomplete without the other
like the thorns of a rose  
beauty tainted with agony
withering away as time goes by

‘I love you’

The words become meaningless
but they stay in my head
consuming my thoughts

‘I love you’

Like a music box
the same old bittersweet melody
over and over again

‘I love you’

They ring
like church bells
reminding me
convincing me
conditioning me

You love me

And in the same sick twisted way I guess

I love you too

I was born at midnight to a full moon,
the stars engulfing the sky.
The fourth Wednesday of the month,
two days after spring,
in a run-down hospital
somewhere in Kathmandu

I don’t remember much
What I do
I wish I didn’t
My memories like shattered glass,
bits and pieces scattered across my mind.

Our house
Mud walls and straw roofs
Cold hard floors,
blankets laid out in a neat pile
Pillows made of leftover straw and crumbled paper
Sound of crickets
At night
Like a lullaby

Long hours alone,
the feeling of isolation
before I knew what it was.

Long walks to school,
and worn-out shoes
that we could never afford to replace.
The stick at the corner of the classroom,
glaring at us,
mocking us,
“Who do I get to hit today”

Screaming and yelling,
Heavy words that leave a mark
“If I wasn’t tied down to you”
“I swear to god I’ll leave you”
“After everything I’ve done for you”

Leading me down this path of self- destruction
Stuck in prison of self-loathing
A cycle of abuse that I put myself through
Guilting myself into taking on more than I can handle
“After everything they’ve done for me”

Is love and support,
Comfort and warmth.
It’s my family,
my father’s reassuring smile,
my brother's laughter.
It’s the sacrifices they’ve made on my behalf.
It’s the smell of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies,
the blend of bittersweet chocolate and salty caramel
melting on my tongue.
It’s a crimson rose dipped into the sunset
and on to a canvas
It’s the fall leaves in brilliant shades of gold and brown,
Families coming together for thanksgiving.
Sitting around the dinner table,
Sharing stories, laughing.
It’s being reassured that there are no monsters in my closet
It’s the freedom in isolation,
seeking solace in the solitary.

But home isn’t home.

Home is the darkness I let my mind wander to when I’m alone.
It’s realizing that there was never a monster in my closet,
the real monster was the one tucking me in.
It’s the fear of disappointment,
the need for perfection.
It’s autumn, when everything begins to die,
when the leaves turn black and crumple to the ground.  
Is the deafening silence surrounding the table.
Family dinner treated like an unnecessary formality,
to keep this semblance of normalcy.
It’s roses, thorns digging into my palm,
surrounding an empty casket with my hopes and dreams.  
Home is impossible expectations and economic instability,
It’s drowning in a shallow pool of hopelessness and guilt.