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

the walls and floor were blue
in the long standing home of jazz.
i sat in that room on a wednesday afternoon
and felt that color
travelling in my veins.
i imagined the room was filled not with
sunlight and the chatter of teenagers but with
moonlight and music in that melodic silence.
i tried to absorb the aura of
that room to have for myself and breathed deeply
so i would remember the taste of blue. i imagined
myself boldly uncovering the piano on that stage and
imagined the names and legends embedded in its keys.
i heard the music of times gone now,
resounding against the walls and coloring the
wild yellow audience to subtle periwinkle and
deep sapphire and even wilder blue and
suddenly i realized why the sky is that hue;
God Himself must have taken a seat there, in that
modest blue room on
18th and vine
and it made perfect sense.
this beautiful revelation i found on
a sunny wednesday afternoon
is dyed in blue.

We meek children took the stage like we
borrowed it. I approached the grand piano,
and, asking for its acceptance of my novice hands,
seated myself before it. To my immediate right,
prepared for some unknown challenge,
waited our band, our rhythm and melody. Arms raised,
fingers gently hovering over keys and strings, we
eyed our cue and took it.
Three songs turned us from an uncertain bunch to a
formidable combination. We stole that stage
(as best as any high school combo could do),
and suddenly the stage lights didn’t feel so hot;
those lights shined for us. I left that piano
as a princess leaves a crowd in awe.
We proved superior.

dont ask me where i am;
dont ask about the view from the peak,
how it feels to brush shoulders with the clouds
like passersby on the street, dont ask about
how delicious the air tastes in my lungs.
i am not there, not there yet. see,
i stand not as an omniscient god,
presiding over my special throne, but as a
mortal traveler, muddy and sweaty,
seeking fulfillment, and always hiking forwards.
my compass pumps blood through me and
one day it will fail and my journey will end,
but for the time being i hike.
ask me how my heels are bruised, how my
back curves, misshapen, from the weight of
my aspirations. ask me the number of times
i crashed onto the icy earth, her gravity
dragging me, but always stood again
because i am stubborn.
ask me if the freezing air chills my frostbitten fingers anymore
and pains my chest to hold. and please
ask me where i am going; ask where after all this time
my heart finds warm blood to keep it beating, and
what i hope to see at the peak of this mountain.
ask about my failures, my successes,
and how my hike draws as much inspiration
in the journey as it does the destination.

roses smell of sugar and spring
but they will wilt and wither if they are not new.
chocolates taste creamy and bitter and sweet
yet they too will disappear; they simply won't do.
diamonds sparkle with the beauty of the earth
but even they dull in comparison to you.

when i have woes weighing on my heart
you listen, and that's enough

i carry my heart and it is full of emotions
and those emotions are like
waterfalls crashing with the momentum of pure gravity but
they are equally the eye of the storm in that
the scenery blurs in ugly destruction but
here all is quiet and serene
i carry my heart with me because
it is too intense, too restless to
wait for me to return from my life's voyage
rather, it shapes the ocean's winds
and guides me across the unforgiving world

Sometimes I am afraid
to begin something new
because I don't want to end up
just short of my destination
or rather I
don't want to find out if destiny
prefers my misery over my dreams
or maybe it's easier to
never begin in the first place and
I can waste away lying down
instead of dying in the heat of battle

if I start something new I also risk
losing my way  (again)  and
with things as they are
I should avoid new beginnings
I should stay as I am,
stagnant and afraid

yet I long for the feel
of the earth beneath my feet as I
walk forwards
for it is always stable

she reaches out before her,
gazing longingly into the sky,
and draws her arms back to her side.
her chest rises and falls.
her feet begin to push against
the ice and she glides like
a dove riding atop a gentle breeze.
she crosses her steps with elegance and
swiftly flies to the end of her terrain.
as she turns to return,
her knees dip and spring,
propelling her into the air.
her legs cross at her ankles
and she becomes a twisting airplane.
her feet find a landing on her thin blade.
she leans into the center of the rink,
clutching her leg,
and spins with a slow, melodic grace.
as she lowers into a crouch, her tempo rises,
and she becomes a brilliant storm on ice.
again she rises and she strikes a stellar pose, head high--
she tells her audience
the queen has arrived,
and she wears ice skates.

Under the burning sun, we run,
our brave hearts beating as one.
Beneath the shining moon we rest,
and in the morning we're at our best.
Together in battle we fight to win;
we'll beat the odds no matter how thin.
You're my partner through and through--
so let's use our ultimate Z-Move!

i know i said i'm agnostic.
i've said that for the past 6 years...
but i feel that i've lost it
and today i need a listening ear.
i don't know where i'm going,
and where i've gone doesn't matter.
i rise but then i fall knowing
i'll just end up shattered.
i worry that what i have isn't sufficient.
while others keep a steady pace forward,
i freeze, lose sight of my ambitions,
and i'm locked in a dark corner.
i study, i practice, i study, i practice,
i forget how to relax,
i wish i could fade to blackness,

but i remember to stand tall.
if i stand with good posture,
chin high, i might not fall.
in this world i have to conjure
some hope from somewhere.

i know i said i'm agnostic,
but this is a letter to You.
i am trying to find a place in this world
that i can call mine.
please, grant me the strength to
discover it.

the stars, hanging like cheerful christmas lights,
suddenly dim until they melt into the night.
i want to ask you
what you think about this,
but you have also faded into the darkness.
why is it that when we are so close,
we are still light-years apart?

"i want to take you to the space station,"
you said with your signature silly smile.
i laughed alongside you and
imagined how well your fingers would
fit into mine.
the thought alone
sent me beyond the stars.

summer sun and bone chilling ice pops
have nothing on the rollercoaster that you are
and ive wanted nothing more than to
hang on as tight as i can
from the stomach dropping incline to the
furious rolling of the car down its tracks
that initial piercing scream as gravity conducts its magic
and the sensation of free falling through its loops and turns
but equally those quiet moments where
the ride slows to a gentle suspension
theres nothing i want more than to
feel those things with you even when
the ride ends
and we have to hold each others sweaty hands
wandering through crowds of amusement tourists in the middle of july

june oh june
i'll just steal those lips of yours away someday.
i'll go mad in the summer heat i swear,
we'll eat ice pops in the grass on a clear day
and watch the sun melt into the horizon
and i'll steal those lips of yours away someday,
i swear on my life

i’m always Howling for more out of life. (these secret thoughts
never leave the ends of my lips but now flow from the
end of my pencil so smoothly)
i’m Howling for more time in the day because i can’t
grasp enough of it to satisfy the blank pages in my journals
and my sketchbooks and my sheet music but i must always accommodate
for my shortcomings in math class
i’m Howling for a wink of sleep and i worry sometimes
that my thoughts are as jumbled up in my writing as in my mind
because i deny them rest
i’m Howling for love seriously all kinds of it
unfiltered and clumsy first date love
or subtle and persistent friendship
or the comfort of a tightly-knit family i'm serious
i’m Howling for something real
you see all my days have begun to smear into indistinguishable hues
all the beautiful flowers bloom the same and wilt the same
there’s nothing different; i’m Howling for a change of pace.
something exciting, something peaceful.
something relaxing, something enthralling.
something normal and spontaneous, confined by
nobody and always Howling for more

i let my mind rest on the idea of you
and a four hour car ride became four minutes
it lingered on the sound of your voice
and the shape of your smile
and the rim of your glasses
and wondered if you lingered
even a little bit,
on the idea of me
or if i’m just imagining us both
humming on the same pitch
i dont really know you well
i can count the words we’ve exchanged on my fingers
and you always said the first ones
i know half the things i’ve thought of you
might not even be somewhat true
there’s only so much i knew and the rest
i’m pretty sure i just construed
so hey,
if you don’t mind,
tell me the little things about you…
rather than an idea, i’d like it if you were
a reality

i cut my hair off once
i used to feel the ends tickle my back
but then i ran my fingers through my hair and
reached my shoulders.
i held my head higher and stood taller.
see
there's a saying that when you cut your hair short
you get a new beginning.
once those frayed ends are let loose,
a new life opens its doors for the new you.
but i didn't see a new door so
i cut it again and
now its too short for my liking.
and i hold the door shut.
i guess i have to grow it out again before
i try anything else with it.

i close my eyes . . .
your lips brush mine like a dream
your fingertips lay on mine
as a musician's before he plays a masterpiece
a whisper wafts around my hair,
toying with it lovingly
i suppose that's when i realized
reality is a daydreamer's playground
and you are my best friend.
we hold hands like
we don't want to let go but even if we do we never really do
and we run like our legs are trying to catch up
with our heartbeats--
i always run a little faster with you.
music sounds like your laughter over the phone at 2 am
and your footsteps beside me
and your endless ways of saying "i love you."
you are my greatest symphonies and my
most quiet hums.
you are an unbreakable pinky promise.
you are a dream and you are
all the stars and constellations that adorn my night sky

the grass tastes like candy and the flowers
sparkle like morning dew at twilight
the sun only comes out to say hello, like a passerby,
and the moon is a familiar friend
imagination becomes a reality and reality doesn't actually exist
and existence is just a dream

a letter is just a piece of paper
and ink is just a mess if it falls off a table
these are incredibly simple things but
i want to make them special
and special is a very broad term but
i mean as special as that burning, flaming desire to
give other people our entire lives worth of special

so if i shape the mess into words
and i craft the paper into a message
could you understand what special truly means to me
could you realize it encompasses all that you are
and could you hold me the way
pieces of paper soak up ink and
symbols soak up meaning and
romantic daydreamers soak up beautiful fantasies

with this burning, flaming desire i’ve lit the candlestick at both ends
crafting carefully the contents of my heart
into this letter for you.
and in calligraphy, too.
because i want to shape the ink to fit
the curves of your lips when you smile
and the creases of the paper to bend
your heart into knots like mine,
and you could imagine your favorite word
in my handwriting
and sometimes the meaning of special will be me
just as much as it is you

in wonderful pieces the sky falls down
while the little girl in the corner
nibbles on the uneven ends of her fingernails
she watches with widened eyes though blurred vision
and her stomach sinks lower and lower
there in the distance stood somebody that told her
she could hold the sky together
the clouds and the sun and the starry night were
completely within her grasp she just needs to reach out she'll be okay
its too far gone in the depths of memories faded for her
to now recall those words of wisdom
rather she continues to rock gently and shake nervously
because what is she to do? the sky is falling apart
in wonderful, wonderful pieces

i want to hold you the way
leaves hold drops of dew in the morning light.
behold,
the new day shines but
not as brightly as you, my dear

we fill up schedules for senior year
and imagine what we'll be then.
i'd like to imagine myself beside you,
but i can't even look you in the eyes
without my mind
clouding over with daydreams
even my pencil is at a loss for words
and a year from today
i'll still be hovering over empty love letters
but if im in the same class as you...
i might be able to say something more to you than
small talk for acquaintances
i could tell you
about the daydreams i live in
and how you are always weaved into their stories
or how you are a daydream
and im a dreamer who cant reach to the stars
but finds herself stargazing every night anyways

she glanced up at the shelf hovering above her daughter's bed.
the digital clock was dimly lit.
"I can't read the time on that clock. It's junk," she thought aloud.
"Me neither. It was a good clock when we first bought it," the girl replied.
her daughter took the sad clock into her hands
and handed it to her mother.
she in turn fumbled with it as best as she could,
and found a button on the back labeled "brightness"
and upon pressing it, the clock lit up again.
her daughter smiled weakly.
"You fixed it, mom. Thank you," she said.

"I wish there were other things I could fix, too," her mother whispered.

i imagine little pieces of you
clinging to my shirt,
like dandelion seeds,
when you kiss me.

but you are much, much more than a mere ****.
you're a vivid, radiant flower in a garden of wilting stems.

and every time you smile at me
i swear,
something in me grows again.

perhaps you're the sunshine
that nourishes my growth.
perhaps you're the rain
that makes my cloudy days worthwhile.
and more than that,
you're the earth that keeps me here.
you're the dandelion that grows in my garden.

my fingers touch the piano
and gingerly the shadows rest on
its ivory white keys.
inhale, and my hands rise to
hover gently above the keys,
then exhale, and they nudge into
the body of the piano,
ringing five notes at a time.
i lift and push with more force,
and the sound sharpens,
cutting through the air,
through the background noise of the tv in the other room,
past the laughter of two boys playing video games,
beyond the quiet murmurs of the voices in my head.

redemption.
i'm working towards it.
for my teacher, whom believes i will soon
catch up to everybody else.
for my fellow musicians, surpassing me in experience
but standing beside me regardless.
for my instructors, whom led me to be the musician
i am today and will be tomorrow.
for my friends, whom cheer me on and
always will, whether i be smiling or not.

and for myself.
because i've had to prove to myself
i am capable of doing this.
that proof lies in my fingers,
in my mind,
and in my determination.
and because even now, i'm still
doubting myself here and there.
but i am not incompetent.
i am not incompetent.

i was never incompetent.

incompetent.
the music in front of me blurred slightly
and my fingers curled above the piano keys.
the room filled with sounds like a rainbow after the rain.
i became that rain in the room,
and wondered what kind of light
should shine through my clouds,
if any.

ghosts have feelings too
the ones that crawl over the windows at night,
the ones that live under your bed and in dusty corners,
the ones that fester in your open wounds, ****** or hidden,
the ones that you call your deepest, darkest secrets

We only met for half a minute
But that time was precious.
It filled me with
Surprise, to be honest.
But it left me with
New confidence, regardless of how small it was,
And a lot of questions
I have yet to answer about myself.

Who am i?
Who am i creating out of myself?
And is that person the kind to be
Strong enough to be approached?
And,
What can i do on my own,
Before i think of what i can do in a pair...

I thought a lot.
And that's what that half minute has given me.
A lot of new things to think about.
And i'm grateful for that.

I drank a cup of coffee
But that's not enough to
Dispel this drowsiness
I live in.
I drank a cup of coffee
To deal with today;
The only way i know
To deal with every day.
I drank
A cup of coffee,
But i could bathe in
A pool of caffeine and
Run my fingers against the current
Of a river of it and
I would leave
With eyes heavier than before.

I,
I think coffee,
Is not going to help anymore.
I think,
Something inside me is
Whirling doubts about me
More snug than is comfortable.
And,
This brew
Doesnt even taste sweet,
Or particularly bitter.
It's very bland.
And i prefer to leave it unfinished
Than empty.

I dont remember how i got here.
Loosely plastered together like an
Irreversibly shattered glass vase.
Shards of myself i leave to the wind.
Take me far, far away.
Its better, this way.

Once upon a time, I knew you.
Innocent, alone, quiet, but it all seemed like
A bad case of deja vu.
You knew me once, twice, thrice...
I knew,
You have the power to make our world
Or destroy it.
Despite this, I faithfully
Maintained the only promise I've ever made.

Once upon a time I felt the sun
Kiss my face and the wild breeze
Tame my hurting soul.

But now, I only feel the present.
All I know now is the emptiness
Of having everything torn away
From you.
This emptiness you brought me--
Let me repay it
As many times as you will allow me.

Or until
We return
To once upon a time.

i begin to recognize the smile on my face
and a single rogue thought runs across my mind
looks like, i have to start over now

Mom said she held the moon in her arms,
Quiet, majestic, the master of the twilight.
But her brother, the brightest of their time,
Prophesied that I was the sun,
Shining a light of my own upon all I touched.
He said so himself. And,

Over a decade later,
His light has flickered out.
The only traces of him left
Lie in the dusty corners of untouched memories
At which we toss glances in spare moments.
He isn't forgotten; he lingers in the words
Mom chooses and the choices I try to make,
And the dream I struggle to live.

Because, the truth is,
I'm searching for the light he saw in me.
Perhaps that has gone out like him. Perhaps,
His words were just memories, too.
Perhaps the light he'd seen had
Never really existed, actually.
It's easier for me to believe that than to
Believe the words of a man I never met.

But I know,
He hadn't meant for those words to follow him to his grave.
Dear mamaji, I'm trying very hard.
I want to fulfill the destiny you believed
I held in my hands.
Your words are trailing behind me in a faint echo.
But,
Sometimes I can hear them.
And I'm filled with a bit more light than before.

the man who lives at the top of the mountain
does not know of the life at the root of his tree.
he needs not strain himself to touch the clouds,
and has never found himself in such a position.
from atop his throne at the summit, he peers
at the world, sitting alongside his feet, and he
snickers. such a man could have a heart of
unwavering ignorance, built by the icy castle
he stands upon. and thus, it was necessary for
Fate to push him off his mighty pedestal . . .

and suddenly, he was not king of the world.
he found that every human
was the same as he, but so vastly varied as well;
their hearts chimed of their own accord,
but together at the same time;
their voices were strong alone and
powerful when congregated;
their eyes met the colors of the rainbow
and found those same colors within themselves;
and the sky was, alas,
too far to reach.
and what, may you ask, did they do?
they have done as you have,
laughing at the patterns of the clouds,
gazing at the messages of the stars,
and determination filled their veins
as they sought to reach the sky in their own ways.
a single mother sends her first child to college;
a doctor manages to save a life;
a couple or more find eternal love;
a single person chooses life over death at the edge of a bridge.

and it was in these ways that the man learned,
his mountain was the flattest plain in the world.
the mountains lived within people, and there
his icy castle gave way to a little bit of
hope,
a little determination.
and he gazed at the sky the same way they did.

is the life of one person
worth a family's freedom?
is the life of seven people
worth a kingdom's liberation?

after a life was stolen from me,
i deemed this to be proper payment.
but after stealing six lives,
i suddenly have found myself
hesitant to take a single step further.

you long for home, so you have journeyed this far.
we have longed for something akin to a new home.

but the look in your eyes say,
even if it meant you could see your family again,
you would not steal another life.

so then, why have i carried on this long,
pushing along this false sense of righteousness
alone?

A million miles over
Cities toppled over like broken glass,
Raging waters with pointed teeth,
Familiar hands lost to the journey,
And hardships nobody on this
Seemingly godforsaken planet
Deserves to endure,
And at the very end of the very last mile,
What right do you have to say,
"You are not welcome here"?
Have you seen the fire that burns
In the orphaned children?
Have you seen the blood of your loved ones
Spilled across your feet?
Have you faced death in the eyes and
Felt his presence in your shadows?
Or have you instead,
Thought the valiantly wandering refugees as
A threat to your quiet life?
I ******* dare you
To look their people in the eyes and tell them
They could be suspected of being terrorists.
I suspect them of being nothing but humans,
Because assuming the worst from not one, but
An entire population--
What kind of logic is that? And
What kind of heart do you have that cannot see
People in need? People that need a place,
If even temporarily, to call home?
Rather,
What kind of heart is it that you lack,
That cannot find the good in people to
Cherish as if you knew their name? And
What kind of heart is it that you lack,
That cannot open your own eyes to the dystopia that is our world
And try to help at least
One
Wandering soul

your flowers are beginning to bloom
in my heart,
and i know that i shouldn't fall in love
because weeding it out will be too hard,
but alas,
your flowers are too colorful
and aromatic and
captivating,
i can't help but
lose myself in you.
and i want so desperately to
brush your petals softly with my fingers,
but i almost would rather
watch from afar
in fear of ruining the entire garden.

and i don't know if you're much for gardening
but if my flowers sprout within you,
let me know

a lovely girl
must be proper
but absurdity lies
in between her precious
smile and her breathtaking
poise and her scrumptious
hips and her plump
******* and her delightful
porcelain doll legs and arms

if you consider perfection worthy
of your eye then you may as well embrace
sorrowful nights in solitude.
at this point, you're enthralled by
mere fantasy, an abominable image
of the real life woman.

the loveliest of maidens resides in
every single girl
if you have not been taught that yet,
what are your flawless dreams but
simply dreams

You are a starchild, born from
the heavenly bodies and all
their celestial love affairs; You
twinkled among the stars and
owned the universe with them,
and yet you came down to
Earth and instead took over
my heart. And you say you
don't remember any of that as
we lay under the planets, but
when I look into your eyes I
see a galaxy. You shine with
a supernatural sort of radiance
that I can't believe to be earthly
and I am awful at science but
when you speak to me, astronomy
makes sense. The universe makes
sense. And you say that, just as
birds and clouds and humans
die, stars eventually die out too.
Our time is short but, darling, we
are infinite. We've become our own
universe. We threw away our mortal
selves when we realized this and
embraced this fleeting moment we
have together; stories never die and
neither will ours. And you say you
want to take me to your place,
among the asteroids and nightlights.
Yesterday I would have said, "No,
I'm afraid of the dark" but mapping
the unknowns of outer space with you,
surely we will become constellations.
And besides, I already am in heaven;
after all, that is what love is, isn't it?

i always craved something like a tragic backstory
a picturesque melancholy, shedding tears like fallen stars,
a beautiful face with a broken heart
only one person could put back together

but no one ever said
that when you broke, your eyes swelled and became blurred
and your heart shattered like glass on a hardwood floor
you don't feel beautiful at all
you don't even feel like a star
all you are is a badly written story with seemingly no ending

Your voice is a pale yellow, said the boy who
Etched colors into sounds. What he didn't say was that her
Loneliness dyed it that color, and that mosaics
Like her are much more that that; but she can't see herself as art.
Only a broken heart sewn together by shaking fingers,
Whittling away on a train to somewhere.

Losing herself to the roar of a motorcycle with wings she questions;
Are you going to destroy the world?
Understandably all he did was laugh in response, but the
Girl learned to laugh as well. And she
Held on a little tighter.

A smile like the sun on a hot summer day
Cracks open the darkness and peeks out from
Corners of the dirtied bathroom stall;
Other days seemed so hollow that she could
Merely be flung into the air like thin sheets of
Paper with a gust of wind; but today she
Lost herself in a boy who simmered in the pool.
In an instant she learned to live. And, when given the
Choice, rather than take to the air once again, she
Enlisted in his army.

wandering in a drugless daze
among wafting dreams and empty speech bubbles
a soft acoustic plays against white walls
as we search for some sort of meaning in blank canvases
we're drowning in nothing.
we're drowning in uncertain futures
and teetering on tight ropes whilst looking down.
and yet we wake up the next day and brush aside
the colors we mixed too much on our palette
as well as the ones we don't dare to touch.
hello sleepwalkers,
dropping dead one by one from buildings
dreams of growing wings splattered on the asphalt.
hello sleepwalkers,
pressed for answers
and squeezed in between questions.
hello sleepwalkers,
the children of yesterday, the voices of tomorrow,
the unshakable nausea of ******* up and loneliness
of today.

sometime i suppose
God created the horizon line at the end of the world
and He made it so that
we were unable to see past it

but what He did not know
was that we are dreamers, us poets
we saw the horizon line and chased after it;
when we got tired, we sat down and
dreamt of life beyond the horizon
and we put it to words,
music to our tongues and
sweet love to our world