i do not see the glass
half full or half empty
i see the lipstick stain
on the side
and wish
your mouth
was on mine
instead

i refuse to
wear red
but
i let my
wrists drain
the color
because
i like the way
it contrasts
against
the marble
bathroom
sink

i'm the
thorn on the
rose

I'll never admit
how i
dance
at 3am
when the world
sleeps
my clothes
on the floor
except
the black lace
around
my hips
wishing
instead
they were
your
lips

i won't
gloss my lips
and
wish for
yours
to do the job
for me

i taste
like
a
sad
50's
blues
song
you can't
stop
listening
to;
try for yourself

but buried are
these thoughts
and hidden
are the desires

lock & key
return to reality

awaken
9-5
sleep
die

i will die
with
a petal
hidden
where
no one
can find it
to signify
all
the love
which
never
came
my way

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.

i always knew i tempted your desires
your hungry eyes on my fair thighs
i saw the way you looked at me
when i bent over to pick up a flower from the ground
to tuck behind my ear; my curls laughing in the wind
i was warm and gentle with a fire in my eyes and a taste for danger
you couldn't place me: whether i was a ****** or a *****
the curve of my back told you stories about hands sliding in my pants
but the freckle on my cheeks told you i'd never touched a man in my life
you weren't sure what excited you more
thinking i was a **** for free,
a school girl without a history,
or knowing that you'd never know which one i was.
i knew that the length of my neck
gave you ideas about your teeth staining the skin
that my pink parted mouth
was built for you to crawl inside it
baby girl or ***** *****
you never could decide which
only that i played out your ******-***** fantasies
untouchable, waiting for you.
innocent outside, ***** to the core.

i always knew i tempted your desires
by my mere existence and the shape of a woman
i saw the way you looked at me
but i never thought you'd pin me to the wall
while i screamed for freedom into your hand
my muffled cries tempted your desires and you couldn't help but enjoy it
when the blood ran down my thighs
your dilemma was solved
and you realized that no one had touched me
the way you had
that tempted your desires
so you did it
again
and
again
and
again
until
i no longer
bled
or
cried
the fire
in
my
eyes
died
and
you
were
no
longer
tempted
by
my
******
in-betweens
or
the
dimples
in
my cheeks.

you
walked
away
free.

young love is too often undermined and discredited
labeled as “silly” or seen as a waste of time
we pay it no heed; calling it a temporary foolishness
they say we cannot fall in love when we are 16
for we have not yet seen the world or faced its worries
and our heart knows nothing of love or of loss
we are too young, they say over and over again,
we are too young to understand what love is and what love brings
we are too young to know what love stands for
or fathom the pain of lost love and a broken heart
we are too young

no

for centuries now, youthful hearts have been termed incapable of truly comprehending the essence of love
more so, they have been termed inept to ever facing true heartbreak
when the tears of mascara flow down their pink, girlish cheeks
they say
you are too young and this is not real
you do not know what love is and you will grow to understand
one day when you face real heartbreak you will think of all this as silly
you will not remember and you will laugh
cry not; for you have not truly loved nor lost

but

how many of us forget the first sleepless night we stayed up waiting for the call that wasn’t coming
how many of us forget the first time we saw them in someone else’s arms
how many of us forget the first time our heart shattered because of the utterance of a single word
“goodbye”
how many of us forget the silence which was all too loud
the tears
or the cold nights
the feeling of having your world crash and burn before your very own eyes
the vulnerability, the helplessness, knowing your heart is in another’s hands
and you can do nothing about it
tell me; how many of us forget?

cradled in your mother’s arms crying the night away
tearing at your skin, wishing his touch had not stained you
your father pacing up and down the hallway
what has happened to my little girl?
on the phone for hours
crying, yelling, whispering; losing your mind
piece by piece everything falling apart
why does it hurt so much
why does it not end?
have you forgotten? have you forgotten your first heartbreak?

no

young love may be amateur
but it is not false
so vulnerable and so ready to jump into a new life
so willing to give up everything and try to make it work
rushing into it so fast and falling into his arms
ready to give her your heart, your soul, your life
our hearts still untouched by barb wires and guard towers

our first kisses are the most memorable
we can still hear the first song we danced to in our heads
memories of us pop in to say hello every now and then
your first is always your most significant
your first is the one that never leaves you alone
you can forgive, you can accept, you can move on
you cannot disremember

young love-
the very purest
young heartbreak-
the very worst

genuine
vulnerable
& true

everything's breaking
and i'm running
to the only place
i've ever known
to the only place
i've ever called home

i'm running to you-

i've had a flu for the last week and a half i can't sleep at nights anymore because i can't breathe but i haven't taken any medicine because i want to fight it myself i want to fight this myself i am stronger than these pills and i will fight with my own body my own strength i will go down fighting i cannot rely on external substances i cannot rely on something or someone to save me i have to save myself i HAVE to save myself i have to save myself save myself save myself it's my mantra: I HAVE TO SAVE MYSELF and i'm thinking of the time my luggage was wrecked and my purple lamp was in there and that lamp was a memory because i remember you turned it on while you lay on top of me so that you could see me just a little better (i wanted it dark so that i didn't have to see myself) you wanted to see the curves on my body because you loved me and i can see you infront of me right now while i type this there in those black jeans with your broad shoulders and your mouth just a little softer than my own and just like that lamp my love was wrecked and it came back in more than two pieces the ocean just wasn't kind enough wasn't soft enough it didn't care enough to transport my love with the care it needed and tell me do you remember the time i screamed save me no wait get away from me save me love me get away from me and you touched me then moved back because you didn't know what i needed you didn't know how to save me but you knew how to love me. that was enough. it was enough. you were enough. enough. enough.
and just like the pills i refuse to take you were that drug i was too scared to need and that dependency broke me and that fear is breaking me and i love you enough for the both of us but like that purple lamp i'm just a little broken and i'm fighting to light up the room and see things just a little clearer and on my way back from school today i saw the electric boxes with warning signs and i opened the car door and walked to them and i tried pulling the 440 volt wires to touch them and fry myself; maybe i'd light up then but someone saw me and i ran and i ran to my house and my mom doesn't know that i'm suicidal but that's okay because i don't have the guts to **** myself anyway *(but i tried today).

When I think of man
I think strength
Power

Indestructibility

The boy that I love
He walks so mean
His arms
The veins bulge
And his eyes
Are so sharp

I wonder
Do men get sick?

I am the female
Days of illness
Wrapped in bed and
Hot water bottles
Aspirin and morphine
Are my best friends

I am frail
Small
Fragile, possibly

But man
Man does not hurt
Does not cry
Does not crumble
Man stands strong
Man does not fall
Man cannot fall

Man is power.

i suppose i knew you no longer loved me
when you stopped saying "goodnight"
& began saying "*goodbye"

it's raining and
the sky is cracking and
the clouds are growling and
all i can hear
with my ill ear
are the gentle drops of rain

the rain has broken
all the telephone wires
there is static when i try
to reach out to you
the internet died
sometime last night
and there's no way i can
speak to you

the cable was taken away and
the lights are flickering and
my phone short-circuted and
my laptop overheated and

i'm disconnected

i'm thinking back
to our last few days
and thinking of
the words i never heard
the words you never heard
when the calls dropped and
the line went numb
did you ever even hear me
when i whispered
"stay"

and i wonder now
maybe that was the problem all along
maybe we were always on the verge
of making our always into forever
and maybe our love just got stuck in

bad connection.

i am trapped in a body that is not mine

they say: what do you mean
they say: this body is yours

forgive me, for i do not know how to explain

how do you tell someone that there is a child inside your ribs
how do you tell someone that there are scars under your skin but you do not know where they came from
or how the morning sun hits your eyelids but you cannot see the light

i try to explain
and i say:
i was touched and claimed before i knew what it was to be claimed
i was his before i was mine
i was yours before i knew what that meant
i was public property before i learnt that humans are allowed to be private

i say:
there is a bird trapped in my throat and it chirps
there is a snake in my esophagus that is trying to escape
there is an elephant on my heart that longs for home
there is a burn on my arm from a forest fire, but i'm not quite sure how that happened
or which forest i was in
or who took me there
or when

i say:
he wolf-whistled me
or maybe i eve-teased him
or maybe he should have just ******* left me alone because i didn't ******* know what those words meant because i was ******* 5 years old

i say:
my ***** broke before i knew what a ***** was

i say:
my mother told me i was a woman and i cried

i say:
there is an itch in my mind that makes me want to pull out my hair

i say:
i am inside
this body
it is not mine
i am inside
this body

**it
is
not
mine.

where do you think he is right now?
somewhere across the sky
writing love letters to a girl
who doesn't have a tint of green in her eyes
(he always said that was my most beautiful feature)
where do you think he is right now?
somewhere between the seas
sketching her undressed body
one free of bruised thighs
(he loved the purple against the white of my skin)
where do you think he is right now?
somewhere where the clouds run wild
watching the sunset, holding her hand
her nails aren't short and manicured
(he loved how mine were always neat)
where do you think he is?
somewhere where the memory of me floats
lying next to a girl with a birthmark on her neck
*(but he was still in love with the girl with a birthmark next to her mouth)

i see you in her
the way she just loves to argue
drives me insane, she does
but all i can feel for her is love
i see you in her
that mischievous smile
the little spark in her eyes
reflecting the light in her soul
i see you in her
the jump in her step
the snort in her laugh
the odd little things she finds funny
i see you in her
the determination
the strength
she refuses to let anyone push her down
and always stands tall again

she may have my speckled eyes
my curls and my toes
but in the end its your spirit in her
and she also has your nose
its miraculous to see
how she's like you and me
and at the same time
a personality all in herself
she's a wonder, she is
just like you
i've lived loving one of you
**and now i've got two!

everyone speaks of going to heaven
"may his soul rest in peace"
acting as if they don't realize
he chose this for himself
conciously decided to take his life
he did not grow wings and fly away
his coffin is not empty
it has a body
and that body has rope marks
around the neck
his hands are cold
his eyes are shut
his organs are slowly rotting away
it is not beautiful
he is not an angel
he is the dead remains
of what once was
and all those saying
"he is in a better place"
have absolutely no proof of their statement
and neither did he,
all he knew was
that no matter what awaited him in the afterlife,
it could be no worse than the life he was living right now
it was not an accident
he did not fall,
he jumped
he chose to die
he chose to die this way
because the pain of death
& the pain of the dead
was nothing in comparison to the pain of life & the living
because it was easier
to hang himself from the hook on the ceiling
than to wake up the next morning
and look at himself in the mirror
he could not run from life
unless he was running towards death
so he chose
to win the race
first place
*once and for all

i like my mouth when its with yours
the way my lips seem so soft and alive
& how i smile when your mouth presses against mine

i like my hands when they're with yours
intertwined as if they belong there
& how my stubby fingers don't seem all that stubby when they're locked with yours

i like my legs when they're with yours
when we're lying in bed, i can drape mine over yours
& not for a second feel as if they're too heavy or too large

i like my freckles when they're with yours
when our faces are pressed together, they match
& its like a map which leads from my cheeks to yours

i like my nose when its with yours
the way our noses bump ever so lightly
making me smile everytime they do

i like my toes when they're with yours
the way i have to get on my tiptoes to reach you
& the struggle to reach your lips makes them all the more desirable

i like my voice when its with yours
its a sweet melody, the two of us laughing together
makes me wish we'd never stop talking

i like who i am
when i'm with you
because you make me feel
as if i am loved
as if i belong
as if i am cared for
as if i am significant
you make me feel
as if i am someone
in this world
where everyone feels
like a no one

hemmingway was right to say:
*"i like my body when it is with your body"

-to be human is to sin

you tell me that good people are everywhere
but where are all these good people
when the facts are screaming
"emergency, emergency"
"alert, alert"
when the facts say
that almost every ******* this planet
has at least once in her life
been touched in a way she didn't consent to
the facts say that most ****** predators
are known to the children
fathers;
fathers have ***** their daughters
while mothers cry silently
because the world does not want to hear
the stories under the blanket
the guilt and the shame
the pain.
the pain.

you say there are good people
show me
show me
that boy who gives to charity
his hand rode up my skirt last week
that girl who prays five times a day
she watched as her boyfriend called me a *****

my five year old cousin knows what it's like to be penetrated

i lost my virginity before i got my period

my best friend doesn't want to be touched because she sees her ******'s face in every man

i was blackmailed by a boy who said he wanted to marry me

my mom;
my mom and i have bonded over
what it feels like
to have
a man inside you
who doesn't
doesn't
belong there

what kind of god wants an empty heaven?
because the kind of people on this earth
the filthy **** who carved their names between my thighs
there are too many
there are too many
men who have done
women who have watched
silent observers
silent thieves
murderers
no one says anything
then they pray to god
but their sins
their sins are on my skin
see me
see me as i burn
see me as i burn
because if these repenters
who have lived their lives
hurting others
who say their grace
then stuff their ***** in my face
if these repenters
are who i will find in heaven
then i do not want to go
i do not want to go
to a heaven with them
i do not want to go
to a paradise
that looks a whole lot like hell

but if god
chooses to not forgive these repenters
then heaven will be empty
because we are sinners
we are all sinners
we ask for forgiveness
then do it again

i have lied
i have cheated
i have wished ill upon another

tell me; am i good person?
was he a good person?
when he ***** me then apologized
when he ***** me then prayed
when he ***** me then cried
and said he made a mistake

when he ***** me
said sorry
and did it again.

if he makes it to heaven
i'll take the other train
if he does not
then none of us will
because our devils are too clean
and our angels too *****

i'm not quite sure if i'm looking for repentance or for revenge
i have done wrong and i have been wronged
is there a place for me in heaven?

what kind of god wants an empty heaven?
what kind of god wants a heaven full of sinners?

where is the god that will love me?

where is the god that will forgive me?

his
nails
slid down
her
thighs
as he
kissed
her
goodbye

he called
it
love
but
there was
something
corrupt

his hands
didn't
belong
there
and
neither
did
his words

they
left her
broken
they
left her
burnt

he's
miles
away
and
she
cries
in bed

repeating
all the
words
she
never
said

maybe
she
deserved it
maybe
she
still does

but
something
about this
doesn't
feel
like love

his
hazel
eyes
and
voice
so
raw

his
fingertips
felt
so wrong

did
she love
him
or did
she love
the
pain?

the torture
of being
forced
to scream
his name

little
girl
gone
too
soon

her
broken
dreams
rest
in
the
tomb

her
desire
to
be
loved
left
in
the womb

while he
lives
his life
dancing
to
his
own
tune.

you keep hoping someone will reach out
and lightly touch you;
a reminder that you are not alone,
but you remain uncomfortably numb
in your lonely halo of sorrow-
*untouched, unspoken to.

it's not your baby
in the womb i carry
i need your forgiveness

we made no commitments
you do not claim me as yours
but i need your forgiveness

this is what i dream of
on an unsuspecting night
the child of my husband
in the womb in my body
and my mouth forming the words
'i'm sorry'

i have never touched your skin
and i do not think you ever loved me
but betrayal comes in shades
and i feel ashamed to let myself
be without your company

there is a sense of destruction
buried inside my veins
from the absence of you

there are things greater than love

which bind us together and i fear
such binding

it makes my ground shake when i catch
a ray of color which matches your eyes
flushed in the green of the grass
or the blue of the sky

i don't know when it happened, but it did
you found a little home for yourself
within the confines of my mind and
i miss when you were around

it hurts to see you and i don't want to feel you

because the distance and the rain
the deep guilt and the pain
the fact that you feel nothing
you will feel nothing
i fear

my love for you finds itself
manifesting in instances extra-ordinary
my ache for you is buried within knowing that there is another inside the womb of me
and can't get rid of the voice saying;
this isn't how it was supposed to be.

in your head, you can still hear her screaming
in mine, i still hear the sound of his feet leaving
you can still picture the rage in her eyes
i can still remember the way his lips curved when he lied
late at night, you can still feel her touch
midday, i recall conversations where he said too much
you hear her in the way you talk
i see him in the way i walk

we’re just two broken people
with our history defining us
coming together, trying to regain
our ability to love and to trust

or maybe this is just a way
to numb the pain
maybe, just maybe
nothing’s changed
maybe, just maybe
it’s always going to be the same
we’ll fall to our graves
without ever learning the definition of sane
maybe, just maybe
this is all a game
*oh, this is all just a game

for truly,
who would ever want to kiss a girl
with cut lips
and scarred wrists?

homepage flooded
with poetry written
on topics such as
suicide,
hate,
harm,
loss,
pain
&
death;
we like it
and scroll down
we repost it
keep scrolling
we add it to our collection
and just like that
moments later
words forgotten
moved on
"next poem, please"
as if the poem
existed without
a person in pain
backing it up
as if behind the words
there was no soul
cracking at the seams
as if the poem itself
held more significance
than the (wo)man behind the pen

the least we could do
is acknowledge the existence
of the broken poet
behind the beautifully saddening poem

maybe it’s music
maybe it’s art
maybe it’s poetry
maybe it’s a joint
maybe it’s the color of your eyes
or maybe it’s the taste of your lips
which act as a frivolous distraction
an attempt to fill the void
to give me the sense of fulfillment I so desperately crave
I will continue to indulge myself in intoxicating heedlessness
until I have found what I am looking for
or fall to my grave in the process

but it wasn't just losing you

it was losing out on all the memories to-be
like your mother's fortieth birthday
your baby cousin's first day at school
your uncle's wedding *(i'd already picked out my clothes)

it meant missing you at my graduation
and you never seeing my little sister grow
never tasted the fresh morning brew my dad makes
or listening to my mom recite

losing you wasn't just losing you
it was losing everything around you
and in a way,
*it meant losing myself too.

i have dreams. i have a lot of dreams. i have things i want to achieve and goals i've worked my whole life towards. and i've done a pretty okay job of achieving a lot of things i put my mind to and my heart in. but when i'm standing up there on stage i look out into a crowd of strangers. i search for familiarity but i'm met with faces that i don't recognize, hands that come together to clap for me but hearts that are cold. there is no joy when there is no joy shared. there is no success if there is no success shared. i search the crowds and peer down from the mountain but you are not there. i traveled years to reach here but lost my companions on the way. they say it is lonely on the top, they forget to tell you that it is lonelier on the way down. there is no going back.

going back in time
revisiting the past
memory after memory
if someone were to
appear on my timeline
so often
i'm glad
that someone
is you

he tells me he'll buy me a white house
with a picket fence and i laugh because
it sounds so absurd to me
why would anyone want to live in
this plastic world of despair
i mean, maybe i'm judging it too hard
but i just can't see myself
driving a mini-van with two kids
crying in the backseat complaining
and calling me "mom" as if they their
mother-tongue was not Urdu
i can't do soccer games and ballet lessons
or wait every night at 8PM to have a
family dinner
i am not anyone's wife in an apron
and there is nothing wrong with choosing
the american dream
just that its a nightmare for me
i want to finger paint the house a
million shades of rainbow
i want to tie a braid in my hair
and lie under the sun
let it kiss me until i'm brown
and free.
i want my children to blast
bollywood and dance with me
no choreography, just love
i want a husband who falls in love
with my henna covered hands and
the way i smell of the sea
i can't see myself settling to a world
where everything looks just the same
or a man who loves me in a clean,
innocent way
i know this sounds stupid and i'm not
one for crazy romance but
laughing during *** and screaming during fights
is something that feels more than alright
i like the edge and the stability in knowing
that you're not going anywhere, we're going
everywhere
i want my children to climb on their father's back
and tickle him until he cries
i want them to paint his nails
and tie his hair in little ponytails
i want them to go to the beach and not worry
about getting sand in between their toes
i want them to wake up in the morning
with their messy hair and lopsided smiles
i want them to run around the house
the way their parents did
chasing each other only to fall
into each other's arms.