Shout when you are angry
When you are mad
or confused

Shout because of poverty
for those who are sick and weak
Shout for those who cannot

Shout when you are happy
When things go right
Or you are filled with joy

Shout because of peace
For freedom for the enslaved
Shout because you can

Shout for those who cannot
Shout because you can
Raise your voice.

I am afraid of the dark,
and no not the kind that fills the night sky,
or any kind that can be illuminated,
For I am afraid of the darkness inside me,
the darkness that threats to break free,
any day now I fear it shall be released,  
with each passing day it grows larger and larger,
soon the cage I have built it will burst,
and I will be left to fight it.

You say doctors will
make the best poets.
They will search your emotions
by the skin; cutting open to reveal
and revel
with surgical precison.
They will play with
heavy drugs and blades--
nothing shall hide beneath
the armors of bone and muscle.
They know the anatomy
of the heart too well.
They will find the things
you have hidden in your chest.

I say
doctors will never be poets.
They are too mechanical,
too fast with their edges
and ridges.
They cannot see the pain
as pain but merely as an anomaly.
That sadness is black bile
not melancholia.
They cannot sing to you
but only clammer in medical jargon.

Poets will use their imperfect words,
and perfect rhymes
to find the secrets of your rib cage
with ease.
They will find every flaw
of your broken body
and make it the best story
you've never heard.

Doctors,
they will put love to define as
a momentary rush of adrenaline,
an arrythmia for another human
caused due to an imbalance of the heart rhythm.

Poets will tell you
that love is the first jolt
of life for them.
They will say love is a state of euphoria
that takes those irregular rhythms to perfect symphonies.

Doctors say that
veins carry blood
devout of oxygen.
I say that they carry your broken emotions
to their feelings factory
to mend it within its beautiful catacombs.

All those doctors
will find and fix you
with perfect solutions.

And these poets
will do their best
to be your perfect solution.

Today if you had asked me
what love still meant to me
I would look at you,
diving in the abyss
of your brown eyes
and look at you look at me.

I'll tell you that I loved you
before the first spark
ever hit your armoured heart
to light an everlasting fire.

That the words which escaped you
cascaded down on me
like a million rivers unfolding
to reveal their anger they kept
hidden long enough
to allow the heat to die down on their own.

That the truth in things
didn't exist in the ways,
in people like we wanted to.

If love was an inferno
to walk through
you know I would.
That with every burning touch of the coal
beneath my feet
would be another step closer to victory,
closer to you.
That this was the painful esctasy of love,
and every ember was like the ones
that burnt in me for you.

And I would tell you
that you were worth it.
You were worth it all.

I lose you
like I lose my mind-

effortlessly.

I cannot find
my peace of mind,
the weight of which crushes me
and I know not where I am again.

Like being so far away from home,
the smell of clothes
takes me back to the
last time I was in them.

I trace these thoughts
as I trace the curve of your spine-
immaculate ridges like the ride of
the cobblestones on your porch.

I find my solace
in the perfect arches of your shoulders
like the hold of the hearth
that keeps me warm.

I stow my secrets
into the unbreakable weave of your ribs,
safe and sound into the vault
of your tireless heart.

And dreams I dream
to the lullaby
of your ebb and flow
heartbeat.