the ocean outside the window--
that clear blue hue that
reflects nothing to the eyes
but illustrates the heart--
turned to autumn orange and
some blue shade of red
so suddenly.

with my eyes i watched
as the light travelled against
the shadows of my textbooks,
inching across the table
until it reached its end horizon
and disappeared beyond the window.

that blue was gone so suddenly.
and the ocean came
to my eyes.

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

i am so tightly woven into
the sound of your voice,
i become hypnotized,
and i feel like i am just
an extension of your music.
what should i do with these feelings,
but allow them to overtake my arms and legs,
let my eyelids shut like a curtain on a stormy day,
and breathe like i will live forever...
you are my best friend;
though we will probably never meet,
i know you so well my heart
hums the same music from yours.
my only hope for myself is that
someday,
i could just imagine what
living a day in your colorful world is like.

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 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.

i am saving words.
i find them in dusty corners,
old words piling up over the years,
and i collect them in my hands.
i look under books i wore from use,
between scribbled annotations in their pages.
in my journal i find words
i thought about a lot,
and sometimes, i find words in the spaces
that i thought about too much.
i search in the bathroom sink,
where they get caught in the drain,
and i work up a sweat to pull them out.
i search in places i used to go
just to remember again,
i am saving those words.
some of them i meant for my friends.
a few look like they were
for people a bit closer than friends.
most of them are for myself,
and i am saving those words for myself.
i am saving them to remember
the life i've lived thus far.

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.

a hushed conversation between the leaves and wind
lonely crowing from cicadas at summer's end
bubbling fountains crashing like grand waterfalls
shuffling in the trees; scraps of nuts raining as the squirrels feast
girls laughing together; boys calling each other
in the distance, a deep growl as tires tread asphalt
and thoughts, blissful thoughts

a million miles i've spent
walking along the shore, seeing what kind of people
would wash up here,
were worth it when i found
an iridescent pearl in the sands
looking for a wandering heart.
from nobody else in this world
could a single glance
set my nerves dancing like fireflies in moonlight
and tug for my smile to dance along.
i've forgotten just how much
the sand has sullied my calloused feet.
is this what the fish feel like
when the warm ocean washes over their gills again
to give them life?
fervent, vibrant life?

when i walk through the hallways
making sure to avoid stranger's faces
when i drive from home to work anywhere
and i sing to no one but a recording
when i open twitter on my phone to see
everyone's chatting in a thread but me
when i scroll rapidly through texts discord messenger
reading old messages for any leftover emotions to feel
when i throw my phone across the room
so i don't have to worry about anyone
when i look at it from afar
in case anyone wanted to ask are you okay? are you there? are you tired? do you want something? do you want someone? do you like your life? why do you laugh so much if half the time you laugh at your own jokes?

"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.

winding, twisting, curling, fraying
ropes tangle themselves in between my fingers,
dripping red for passion and blue for despair,
veins slinking out of my skin like nervous snakes,
and the hollowed plaster called bone follows after.

a myriad of jesters howl and hoot and holler
and then drop to a deadly whisper.
they say i should die or something because
the joke only runs for so long before it begins to grow old
and mold like a hard piece of bread.

and the snakes weave trails in the dust on the ground
they tie up my legs as the ropes ensnare my wrists
the jesters hush, watching with diamond eyes
if i try to look into them for some sort of answer
i may as well bury myself before im disappointed again

i saw someone
kissing your eyelids as you fell asleep
wrapping their arms gently around you
and pulling you ever closer
i heard their
soft breath tickle your neck
all the way from here
and no i can't really hear that far
but also i can, you know?
i'm watching them
unravel the impossible enigma that is you
with effortless swagger and irresistability
while you gaze into their eyes
and i
saw

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

enough! i said.
the tiger roared in its dull silver jail.
i lifted my bitten fingers to the padlock
and enclosed it in, finally.
you, i hissed,
you mustn't follow me anymore;
i am breaking away from all that you are.
your striking orange fur doesn't tempt me,
nor do your growling words phase me.
i am leaving you here,
so begone.
but alas, where can it go but around its cage?
soon enough i heard it call a name i know well,
the jail crumbled away,
and i found myself within its jaws again.

the flowers i turned into a bouquet yesterday
are now wilted and burning like fuel
"everything is fine"
is a bigger lie than the smile on my face
when i wake up every morning
and now i feel myself
catching  on fire too

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 live slowly.
i chew slowly, letting sweets and spices melt on my tongue
i write slowly because the right words come to patient minds
i fall asleep slowly so i can reflect on the gift of yesterday
and i awaken slowly when i am ready for morning's light
i drive slowly when i can,
and i run slowly, for the beauty of the scenic route
i fall in love slowly, carefully, fully,
and i may fall out of it, but even slower

see just as a flower waits until the warmth of spring
before she blooms,
i, too, am always
looking for a spring to bloom for
and i often find it
in moments that people slip past too quickly

and when i bloom,
when i am immersed in the warmth of life,
i bloom beautifully

when i wake up i fall from my ceiling
my shower water falls into it, though
my clothes hang upside down in my closet
i set my car in reverse to go

when i walk i always look behind me
i try to open doors, but instead they close
i wave hello to the people i meet
but they wave goodbye; i suppose
that's what having a backwards life is about

when i cover myself in blankets to keep warm
no matter how heavy they are, i am cold
i can laugh the loudest in a crowd
but i feel alone in memory's hold

i am always wishing you were here
even at times i don't want to think of you
i wonder if you think of me sometimes
but maybe you don't want to think of me, too
that's what having a backwards life is about

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?

would it surprise you to know
people have told me
they've never seen me without a smile?
did you know
i have one dimple?
everyone gets to see it,
plain as day
on my right cheek.
and when i find myself alone,
when i say goodbye,
see you tomorrow,
see you friday or monday or whenever,
and i am alone,
it disappears.
i guess
happiness looks particularly good on me.
i have always been
conscious of my appearance
after all--
i'm not me unless
i've got my dimple
on my right cheek!
ahaha.
no,
the truth is,
nine years ago in a
solemn little office for
children that don't know how to be children
my mother was told
i have depression.
nine years of this.
i have memories that put that dimple away.
at what age should you
learn how to take a pill?
i had to learn it so i could be happy.
at what age should you
learn not to take pills?
at sixteen i wondered how many i needed
to undo the life i've lived.
how much food is enough food?
i measure how well i'm doing by
how awful eating food makes me feel.
what should i blame myself for?
do my friends really like me?
am i pretty enough for people to love me?
and why don't people stay?
why don't people communicate?
what's wrong with me?
what's wrong with me?
what's wrong with me?
i'm looking for love in the wrong places.
when i look in the mirror,
what do i even see?
let me put on some eyeliner...
...that's a little better.

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 made you
a sandwich; it's
in the icebox.

i was worried
you'd get hungry.

i remembered
to put your
favorite
things in it,
so please
eat it.

i melt into your words like they're poetry
so here's my attempt to give you what you've given me...
how i see your world from my rose-colored glasses
and see a fairytale, and when i take them off,
i find with you reality is just as sweet;
how i'm always quiet when you speak because
i can't find the words to embellish my thoughts around you
but you can spin silk with the tongue you sing with;
how your smile means miles of metaphors to me
and on days i can't return the favor
you're able to shine though the clouds in me;
and how i feel compelled to tell you everything
even if i can't bring myself to say i love you aloud yet.
i don't deserve your poetry
and you're above mine,
but if you'll take it then that's all that matters to me right now

i don't talk to people.
sometimes i smile,
and i know how to say hello,
but i don't talk to people.

i can read, though.
it was foreign to me
until middle school age,
but the runes on the pages of
the holy book, the look of
my mother's first language,
became words that i could
slowly untangle. and
i was proud of myself,

but that doesn't matter when
i don't talk to people.
my grandmother tiptoes in
conversation with me; her eyes
know no frustration but she
cannot expect a full reply.
my cousin laughs with my mother
and i can't help but wonder
if she wishes i’d laugh, too.
and i worry that the words
will refuse my american accent.
i worry i do not
eat enough spiced curry,
pray enough to the right gods,
or even act
indian enough.

i don't talk to people.
i’m not sure how.

through the naked trees
the winter wind blows into
the depths of my heart

Nnedi Okorafor,
Your magic has kissed the trees and turned their leaves
Into beige pages, empty deserts
And your pen has created a world out of that sand
That show proof of your magic.

The story you’ve conveyed in these pages
Is impossibly valuable
I’ve only read one of your stories,
But the Akata Witch has shined on my heart

And if I could have another chance,
I would touch the pages of your thoughts once again.
And if I could have a miracle right now,
I would keep those thoughts to watch over me from my shelf
As I sleep at night.

its times like these i get
so sentimental that i regress a bit
to days that i seriously wished
i was dead.
though, more than anything,
i want to just wish for you.
i went to your instagram
and i saw some of your prom photos.
you are so beautiful.
i wanted to cry and laugh at the same time.
i want to tell you about
my fear of staying in one place and
my fear of moving away,
how i still love the same person i told you about,
the voice in my head telling me i should quit my passions,
and about how
in times like these i grip onto the syllables of your name
and pray that everything will be okay.

i miss you a lot.

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

i wrote your name in pencil
i would erase it before you passed me by
but, watching your back distance from me,
i rewrote those letters like i
could not wear down that pencil enough

and i wrote your name in pen
that day you saw it, it was embedded in ink
no eraser could hide those feelings
but truly no pen could encompass the answer
written in your twinkling eyes

then i tried to draw your name.
but what color could possibly rival
the love your heart contains? and
how do i put on this paper what
the sound of your laugh does to me?
every time i wrote every way i love you
i just wrote your name again and again

even now
it's all i can do anymore

apple lingers on my fingertips
autumn leaves and christmas gifts surround me
the echo of a song overlapping another
brings sleepiness' song to my voice,
the prison of rest onto my legs,
but a small hum of discontent is all i can say
and i say it excitedly

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.

regrettably,
i layed in bed
before i got myself dinner.
when i had gotten up again,
only a single cold plate remained
on that table for two.
my only company were
the memories that dined with me.
they laughed with me as i ate,
chased me back to my blankets,
wrapped their arms around me,
and slept with me.
and i couldn't breathe.

no matter how much i tell myself
you're gone,
i see you in everything

i hear
chewing, chewing, chewing
i think it's my
lingering negativity
feasting on leftover feelings.
chewing, chewing, chewing
feast, i say.
eat till you're filled,
then eat me entirely too.
chewing, chewing, chewing
don't
leave
a
single
crumb
of
memory.

the sunset melting from
a light, lively blue to lovely lavender hues;
soft, romantic piano melodies and
sopranos harmonizing in the trees;
and quiet, happy mornings,
the sunlight tickling the leaves and then my window,
and then your eyelids, the outline of your profile,
softly rising and falling, dreaming
next to me.

if i had words for how i feel of these things;
the gentle waves of your voice like the ocean,
your arms washing over and enveloping me,
the happy crashing of your laughter with mine,
your lips like fragments of light on the water's surface;
i believe those words might be
i love you

in the dead of night
cruising past the streetlights
in a college student's car,
who am i?
i'm not american in these streets;
i'm not indian in this skin;
i am just another shadowed face
behind the windshield.
another pair of headlights reflecting off the asphalt.
another fleeting thought,
if even that.