my mother
does not love me in poems
in songs
(the way i know how)
but she loved me in phone calls
and breakfast
and new clothes in december
she loves me in doctor's appointments
and orange juice
and prayer
(the way she knows how)
and i will love you like this too
i will love you like my mother
and i will love you like me
i will love you in poetry
in words
in forehead kisses and long hugs
i will braid the words 'you are loved' in your hair
and i will kindle the fires inside you
i will wish upon the stars in your soul
i will love you in dreams
i will love you in ways i cannot tell
but i will love you

i used to tell myself the same thing.
that maybe something was wrong with me.
that maybe love was enough for me but i was not.
i have imagined kisses a thousand times
i have dreamt of arms around my own
and i have written enough love stories for the entire world
and poems to fill books
and i questioned so much-
my beauty, my worth, my skin, my bones
and i traveled and walked away
from fear and self-doubt
towards bravery and courage,
towards knowing what i want and what i deserve
and i know love is something i cannot earn,
something that belongs to me as much as air,
that love is enough for me
and i am enough for it
and i am enough with or without it.

this is a poem dedicated to distance.
to every time i have wanted to kiss you, but couldn't.
to every time i looked at my empty hands and thought of yours.
to every time i was in a crowded room and secretly hoped that i'd find your face.
to every happy couple we see that inadvertently mocks our inability to be near each other.
to every time i've played your laughter over and over in my head to drown out the silence.
to every time you just wanted to hear my voice, but i was busy.
to every missed call and every undelivered text and every time your internet was down.
to every miscommunicated statement and every typo.
to every time that one of us was asleep when the other needed them.
to every time you wept and i wasn't there to hold you.
to every self-destructive tendency we share.
to every pill your mother has hidden and every razor blade i have flushed.
to every worry that plagues my consciousness whenever you take long to reply.
to every night we have been together through a screen, but alone in our beds.
to every, "i miss you" and "i wish you were here".
to every broken-record apology that never makes it better.
to every makeup stain that mars the sweater you sent me so that i could
feel like i was sleeping with you (and to the fact that it doesn't smell like you anymore).
to every hour, every minute, every second of difference in the time between us.
to every dollar i don't have, and every time i wished for your chest against my back.
to every, "why are you even with me?" and "you could do better".
to every spectator and cynic that has told us we'd fail.
to every doubt of mine and to all your jealousy.
to every ounce of water in the pacific ocean.
to every ******* mile between my head and your chest (i checked, and there are 9,752).

you will not win.

- m.f.

**** me platonically.
Measure the distance between your fingers and the synapse in my brain.
Check the amplitude across my breastplate and The absence of love marks semblance covering it.
Detach your hips from mine and run away from Me faster.
Look along the purlieu of my heart and shake me Harder with subliminal messages between Glances.
Touch my versification to your mouth and do not Stop your flickering eyes from studying the genial Eulogies between every line.
Sir, you cannot touch antique pieces of marrow And bone.
This blood is obsolete.
How anachronistic to have a heart pumping Inside of a dead soul.
Please tell me a story, the side I could never see.

i'm taking a class on persian poetry
i don't speak persian-
my taste in poetry has always been
more bukowski than rumi
a little too western, a little too crude

but then there's you
with poetry flowing
at the tips of your fingers
and the edges of your heart
you read poetry
as if it were the bible
making every word
sound holy and every
sentence more scripture
than art
and when you recite
it's like thunder
and ice
it's fire with
just enough passion
to burn for centuries

you're the hafiz
to my plath
and i never quite understood
your language but
i loved it any way
and i tried to speak
it but my words were
always
too western, too crude
and yours

yours like a burning candle
in the middle of winter
it's a small light
but enough to keep me warm
and the darker the night
the cooler the weather
the warmer the flame
that burns bright

you were my ferdowsi
and khyyam
and i was still somewhere
between woolf and
dickinson
their worlds made sense
to me more than
persian passions
that i always wanted
could almost taste
but never swallow
but you feasted

i'm taking a class on persian poetry
i don't speak persian-
*but it brings me one step
closer
to you.

did you think you could just take
the most vulnerable parts of me
and then leave without saying a word,
like i wouldn't rage a storm on you?
like it hasn't happened to me before?
did you think you would be so special
that i would let you ruin me?
because you got the one girl that your teammates couldn't stop talking about.
because you used her.
because she told you about the things
that made her bones ache?
and then you left,
without saying one word.
did it make you feel good?
and now you can't even pick up
the phone and answer when she asks
why.
because you are that weak.
honey, let's be real here:
you could never handle this storm
and we both knew that.

call me when you miss me -

you said

- call me when you miss me -

tell me
how do i tell you
that i do not miss you
i do not need you
i am happier without you

but

the comfort and the
heart of someone who
loves you
really was gold
and i miss the way
i had someone to hold
and the sound of your laugh
(the real laugh, not
the fake one you did
in public)
is sweeter than the
sound of my favorite song
and my favorite song
is always going to be
the one that sounds too good
to be true
because the last time i listened to
it
i was with you

so tell me
how do i tell you
that there's just
this longing for having
someone
who
loves you?
and it's selfish and cruel
but it would
be really nice to just
say hello
and hear the familiarity
in your voice
when everything here
is so **** foreign
and i can't speak the
language of love to them
or the language
of home.

winter break of 2016 was
the best time of my entire life
and the 9th of june
is still a wonderland in my mind
and the rest of the days
are like shattered glass and
broken minds but
it's okay sometimes because
right now
as sick as i am
as broken
as torn
it would just be nice
to say hello

- call me when you miss me -

you said

- call me when you miss me -

i don't know what that's supposed to mean
i don't know if "missing you" entails
romance part II
or starting something new
but between me and you
that's just not something i want to do
would it be too good to be true
to have someone
who didn't always feel so new
i want something old and torn
something frayed and worn
something made of the same
skin that is mine
something that
doesn't make me lose my mind
something
a lot
like
home.

- call me when you miss me -

you said

- call me when you miss me -

1) When her boyfriend sticks his tongue down your throat, do not kiss back. Push him away, then swallow down the bile that's threatening to spill out of your soft lips. Take off, run, and never look back. Some boys like to play dangerous games; but darling, you are not a toy.

2) The boy next door with the tanned skin and earthy brown eyes will whisper beautiful things to you. Sad things, loving things, things that will make the blood rush to your cheeks in raging streams. Don't believe the words that tumble out of his mouth baby; most people never really mean what they say. But that's life, and it'll be okay.

3) Be strong, be bold, be unafraid of the world and all the people in it. Always, always speak your mind and pounce to action when injustice creeps up on you. Challenge him when he questions you, hurl facts and opinions like darts until he recedes with shame. Whenever you feel rage and anger spreading like wildfire through your heart, speak up. Your words matter. You matter.

4) You are beautiful. You have always been beautiful, and you need to believe that you are. Even if the magazines don't appreciate your wide hips or your glowing brown skin; dark and soft like honey, learn how to love yourself. This body is the only home you'll have in this lifetime, so my darling, learn how to embrace every scar, freckle and mole. You are made out of the same atoms that formed Frida Kahlo and Picasso. You are art and you need to have faith in that.

5) It's okay to eat dinner on your own. Or lunch. Or breakfast for that matter. There is no shame in solitude. Go to a quaint cafe; and observe the sights and sounds around you. Take note of the smell of fresh coffee hanging hot and heavy in the air. You are by yourself and free to be who you really are.  It is a lovely feeling. Revel in it, my love. When you finally leave, you will realize that you've just learned how to be okay on your own.

6) If someday you wake up and start to see the world in greys, please, please come to me first. I will hold you and we'll take a long drive to nowhere with your favourite mix-tape playing in the car. I will remind you that the only way out is through, and that the demons in your mind are most definitely not stronger than you. I will tell you how much this world needs you so it can heal, how staying alive is a much better deal. I will tell you that I love you, then kiss your forehead, and promise to do everything I can, until your universe stops playing out in shades of blue.

When men cheat, it's below the belt. When women cheat, it's above the neck.

01:52 am
have you ever asked yourself like why you so lonely?*

01:53 am
or empty?

that maybe you give too much of your essence to people and never leave any of you for yourself

01:55 am
i know i do

02:05 am
and like that's maybe why i get so attached to humans

because in them,
i find myself

02:07 am
i need to change, because things shouldn't be this way

02:10 am
but it's hard sometimes you know, when most days you don't leave the house because you feel unworthy of the space you take up

02:16 am
so you'd much rather disintegrate into soil because you've become all too familiar with people stepping over you and admiring the outcome of your beauty but never the roots of your pain

02:19 am
i spend so much effort watering people in order for them to grow and hardly get enough sun shine to feed my own soul

02:25 am*
because i don't know how to do anything else but care for everyone but myself