frayed copper wires never to be bound
electricity is lost, connections unwound, and
where one end surges in power
the other cowers, weak in comparison
i watched their awful lives and wished
someone's expert hands could finish their plight
i attempted to fix it in the past but
other copper wires are so tightly woven!
and meanwhile, this little lightbulb
flickers meaninglessly.
why no one has smashed the wires
under their feet and then in a raging fire from fatigue i
dont know.

The last time I felt like this I
was a high school freshman
trying out this new word as if I'd
just heard it.
My mind escapes reality on its own accord
and returns to moments where
your summer brown eyes made
my chocolate brown eyes melt.
The image of your neck gently curving
to listen to music replays in my head
like an old jazz tune,
like I'm a chord holding out for resolution.
I sway in memories of watching
your reflection in the upright piano,
eyeing your hands gliding across
the familiar fretboard,
as I played alongside you.
I am bound to your smile.

I wonder if you've ever had a
love poem written for you?
I wonder if you even think about me?
I wonder if you even know
you inspire me.

I carry the clothes on my body–
a plain t-shirt and sweater leggings–
attempting to stay warm and keep cool.
I carry my backpack,
my heavy, heavy backpack,
to carry the things I can’t carry in my arms…
my books, pencils, papers, and keys.
In my arms I sometimes carry more books,
sometimes a cup of chai, and sometimes, nothing. Sometimes
I wish I carried a little bit more time;
then I could carry the things I’ve left behind.

I carry all the parts of me simultaneously, and I am full now.
I carry my eyes, for without them, my path would be blurred,
and I would be ignorant.
I carry my ears to hear music and dissonance and
I carry a heart to feel the soundwaves and make sense of them.
I carry my nose to hold the sweetness of a flower in my lungs,
and skin to caress their soft petals,
without plucking them.
When I carry nothing, I sleep,
and in my dreams, I carry the clouds and the stars beyond them.
From there I may see the things I have yet to carry.

I carry my own weight across the populated Earth.
I carry my own gravity and the light of the sun.
I carry the stars from my dreams, and from them,
I create constellations in broad daylight.
I carry my heart.
I carry the soundwaves of voices like
space nymphs, singing songs I want to remember.
I carry the sight of people coming closer and drifting further from me,
escaping and re-entering my orbit,
an arm-length or a light-year away.
I carry their images and sometimes,
I reach for their silhouettes and I try to feel their thoughts.

I carry my heart and it is full.
My heart is filled with emotion,
and my emotions are the Earth’s turbulent winds
across a golden, sun-kissed field and
the sound of a waterfall crashing into
a pool of water at the bottom of the valley, and
equally the eye of the storm in which
the world is a spinning oblivion,
but here, it is quiet.
My heart is the recollection of times past
in a yellowed, well-worn tome awaiting a reader and
the diary of someone whose story begs to be forgotten.
My heart beats for someone to understand its journey,
but it longs to understand what it beats for.
I carry the silence and the music alike;
I carry the Earth and all its wonders.

5 lies I used to believe as a kid.
1) Santa Claus is real, and he visits every child’s home on Christmas Eve,
Delivering presents all around the world.
I guess he is real, though in my eyes he only comes to
One house and prefers Indian food to cookies.
2) Fast food is bad for you.
I mean, it’s definitely bad for your body,
But it is like a bowl of blended greens
For your soul.
It’s a spiritual experience to get your food through a window in a bag.
3) I’m not good at the flute.
See, one day in the 5th grade we played with some
Band instruments and got stickers if we did well.
I did not get the flute sticker and I supposed it was a
Sign from God telling me the flute life wasn’t my life.
I guess I forgot that effort builds talent,
And practice makes perfect; everyone has potential.
4) Everyone is as they seem.
I see all the colors in the human rainbow but underneath that layer
I guess some people hide behind brittle plastic.
I wonder how their blood flows through their veins,
And I wonder if their blood runs warm or if it’s a cold cry for help.
5) The world is innocent.
As a kid I thought the Earth loved everyone equally,
Like 1) Santa Claus is real and 2) Fast food is bad for you
But turns out that once you put on a few more years,
Grow a foot or two, gain some weight on you,
The world reveals itself to be a battlefield, and you realize the truth.
Things like 3) Everyone’s not good at something whether it’s
The flute or this constant battle for confidence against society.
Things like 4) Everyone has a plastic layer of some kind whether it
Conceals their vile warfare or thinly protects them from
3) The negative thoughts that tie people into knots.
These truths against these lies make me wonder if
1) Santa Claus ever really existed,
Even in the minds of children;
But between nice and naughty there may be hope yet
Before the Earth falls into coal.

I felt a soft pulse under a young boy’s
neck within my grotesque hands,
felt his breath escape his lungs like
a frightened snake in burning sands,
watched his eyes frantically search for a savior
but instead find my vile complexion.
My heart swelled with revenge against this
world that only resents me and yet
his shrill screams against the thunder,
the lightning outlining his still silhouette--
he was innocent, this I always remember.
I don’t deserve the pleasure of this hatred.

My next sin I committed against a cheerful man,
a sightseer in a beautiful, foreign land;
I closed my gruesome grip around his slender throat
and left him sleeping forever on the sand
under the luminous moon with his heart still, yet full of love;
how jealous I felt that he should die
and have someone to grieve for him, while I’m reprimanded
for living, or rather, simply existing,

My final mark I left as charcoal fingerprints
on the sweet skin of a new bride.
I instilled fright into her perfect wedding night
and, before a lake’s gentle rolling waves,
behind the watchful Jekyll to my vengeful Hyde, I
stole her life.

Her groom, a bright, scientific architect,
thought his monument a magnificent, malicious failure.
In his eyes, I am a virus upon the Earth’s body,
a hideous figure copied not in God’s image, but in the devil’s.
I should have known I’d always be alone
as my creator wishes I weren’t his own.
Doctor Victor Frankenstein, I hate every ****
inch of your perfect human frame, and I hate
the imperfections you’ve bestowed upon me.
I swear, I will reciprocate these bitter blessings
you have given me, and when I’ve ended you
once and for all,
only then can I rest;
I have nobody to love,
but I’ve got nothing to lose.

sometimes the rain falls a little bit harder
somedays it feels like april blues and
the rain falls a little bit harder on your umbrella
even if your window invites sunlight onto your face
and the newly birthed flowers tickle your feet as you walk past
and the grass curls softly in the wind you leave behind
and the birds chirp hello like a beautiful little chorus
and the day is new
sometimes the rain comes by and it falls a little bit harder
than it did yesterday,
so the flowers are subdued
and the grass reaches for that rain
and the birds duck for cover
and the day decides to try again later
you can try to hold a little hope but
april is not yet over

fight war with beauty. fight
evil bloodshed, the sounds of
children whimpering in the ruins of their homes and
the elderly leaving the only land they've ever loved and
the continual struggle to perpetuate war with
beauty. we can rebuild shattered buildings,
torn land, and broken flags,
but i mean the beauty found not in
material things but in our hearts.
fight not with angry slurs and
faces crumpling in careless ignorance;
fight with a full heart that hears the
stories unsaid but written in the scars of children.
fight with a heart that beats not as a citizen of
a single country, but as a resident of the
planet Earth--fight for your neighbor's right
to live without fear,  for
this sacred land to know love again, and
for humanity to know itself again.
war's costs are immeasurable and
beauty's worth, infinite.
fight war with beauty and
hate with love