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.

What fine weather we’re experiencing today;
Let’s go outside, let’s not delay.
We’ll chase the birds and climb a tree,
The door’s before us and we’ve got the key.
And while we’re feasting on the warmth of summer,
I’ll ask you, won’t you be my lover?
What fine weather we’re experiencing today.
But with you, it’s always a good day.

the sky sprawled out across the atmosphere
the sun melted into a rich, bursting orange
and then into a deep, mellow lavender
clouds like sharp strokes on a canvas
drifted so slowly they
seemed to be suspended onto that artwork

from my vantage point,
having exhausted myself in study and in loneliness,
that sky seemed to knock on my heart's door
and leak into what cracks i had sustained
yesterday's despair seemed so far away in that moment
for once i admired the present for
what a gift that sight had been

for such an array of beauty
i had no words to describe
but after giving it some thought
i feel your name would fit it best

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.

As we fight for freedom
We become the American Dream

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.

the clock ticks past twelve.
a new day comes across the horizon,
and with bags hanging from my eyes,
i laugh and continue working

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

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

She’s drilled holes into her temples
And tried to pull out memories with her bitten fingernails
She’s recited everything she’s said and heard
Into a ***** toilet bowl every night on the hour
She’s weeped a million times over
From her eyes and from her wrists,
But the thing about remembering is that you don’t forget--

And now the scars left over can’t scab
The phrases are written in morse code on her body
Her will has been evicted along with her soul
And she’s become zombified, a living piece of parchment
From which she’s tried so hard to erase the words
But the thing about remembering is that you don’t forget--

The sound of a voice tears hers apart every day
And the words they form she’s come to despise
So she’s taken up book burning,
Making every letter ever aimed at her head run for their lives
She’s even made her own name take off, and now she’s
Desperately pleading for eternal silence to be her savior
But the thing about remembering is that you don’t forget--

So when you see her in the hallways, she pretends she’s invisible,
Pretending that her presence won’t have any meaning to it,
Pretending that she’s not important enough to be noticed,
Because her motto is fake it
Until you make it.
But the thing about remembering is that you don’t forget--

And the ones that have told her she’s not good enough,
That she’s better off dead and no one will care,
They laugh at her and then they forget.
They come back around the next day to laugh at the same joke.
She looks in the mirror and tries to laugh like them,
Laughing so much, she begins to cry,
But the thing about remembering is that you don’t forget--

So when you hug her and tell her it’s alright,
That you love her and tell her she’s worth more than life itself,
Sing it to her, so she won’t forget.

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.

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 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

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.

For lack of the sun
The yellow flowers became
The light of today

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.

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?

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.

life isnt always the frosting on the cupcake
sometimes its the wrapper and
belongs in the trash

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.

what is it you think about that
makes you as special as the full moon,
and just as ethereal?
even after all this time,
i linger on the ends of words you wrote,
on stanzas you seamlessly weaved into poetry;
i remember the rich green ends of your hair
like chlorophyll saturating new leaves;
i see you in every shade of yellow
and in the soft soil of this Earth you love so much.
you said that i changed your life
but i cannot begin to explain how
your smile rivals the dazzling, celestial beauty of sunrise,
your laugh blooms as a sweet rose in spring,
and the thoughts you think are absolutely captivating.
you're somebody special

even after all this time...
we have graduated from who we were then
and stride in opposite directions.
perhaps i don't love you quite the same
as time is a funny phenomenon
but i am always wishing the best for you,
and that transcends time.
i wonder if sometimes,
you turn back and look for me in your memories?

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

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.

you are a universe, love
let me be just one star
in your infinite galaxies

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.

i blink.
days spent in the library
gnawing at the bone of academia
howling on nights spent in essays
and finally lying down to rest
when the barking is all done
it passes in an instant.
i blink.
the incessant fluttering
the chirps and songs dissonant but
after a long day's work
the birdhouse still is so comforting
how the days have gone by
and so soon it will just be a memory.
i blink.
poem upon poem
upon day upon day
from birth to cocoon it grew
some poems later it took flight
there are more gardens elsewhere
its been ages now but perhaps
it will find heart to come again.
i blink.
the paws have learned
not to crawl on the piano keys
but to strut on them
the chords don't sound so accidental
rather they purr warmly
and echo even now.
i blink
and prepare for the world again.

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

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

the whirlpool churns,
beginning to turn frothy and treacherous
i reach my arms towards anything
but i clutch my own shirt,
and i spin.
the whirlpool turns me around
my eyes cross and i suspect i may
drown
drown
drown
i want to ground myself
but in a whirlpool
where is up and where is down
i am churning
my nails dig deeper into the fabric
this brain of mine tosses itself
into havoc

i am holding onto words
i struggle to remember
the whirlpool churns
and in turn those words are lost to me

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

because i've been in my own hell,
because i'm still there and
can't bear to see even
a single tear of yours
fall into your own hell,
don't ever doubt for a
single moment
that you are evolving,
that you are a work in progress,
that you deserve each breath
you take from this planet.
because,
honey,
the world should bow down to you.
the world revolves around you
in your own life,
so don't listen to your
inner demons, they aren't of this world.
they aren't of your world.
*become the sun.

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

every song sounds the same to me
somehow they bring me to you
i want to imagine you here,
humming along with every tune
every color looks the same to me
each hue of the rainbow i remember
in shades of you; all the leaves
melt into the same shade of november
every aroma smells the same to me
flowers and memories are just as sweet
if i could i would send you a million,
if it could make you think of me

every thought i have is the same, too
it all reminds me of you, you, you

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?

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!