Sitting on the oddly sweet-smelling seat
anxiously ******* my oily bangs
song lyrics playing in and out of my mind.
Out the window I see soft brown grasses
and signs for auto shops
and leaves blowing around.
Around me is the hum of younger kids talking about ipods and soccer games
humming half-songs by overrated boy bands and forgotten summer camps.
Drawing is no use, even if you find a pencil it will surely break
wobbling off the page as cracks and portholes pass underfoot.
And I never have any books to read.
So I observe inside and out of the bus,
The only one to see a lonesome deer by the side of the road
or stolen looks by kindergartners.
As graffiti and weeds zoom by outside the smeared glass
we creak and grumble to a stop.
I dig around for the non-existent bus card
and get off my imagination vessel, the school bus.

peace is when you feel at ease,
within your skin, in your own body,
peace is when, you close your eyes,
and exhale out, all your worries,
peace is when, you hold your love,
against the cold, of the winter nights,
peace is when, you hear the song,
of crickets, in the otherwise silent air,
peace is when, you could sleep,
without the occurrence, of nightmares,
peace is when, you see a flower,
and analyze, the vibrancy of its colors,
peace is when, someone thanks you,
for you have been good to them,
peace is when, you genuinely smile,
without a care, of those glaring eyes,
peace is when, you greet a friend,
even though, you have quarreled,
peace is when, you invoke your soul,
to shed away, the weights it carry,
peace is when, you cook a stew or curry,
and its aroma wafts, into your nostrils,
peace is when … whenever
you feel at peace

peace is when, I look into the mirror,
without sneering, at my own reflection,
peace is when, I could do something,
get a feel of activity, in these stationary days,
peace is when, I get to go outside,
and breathe the same air, as others,
peace is when, I find a song, long lost,
with the voice of which, I adjoin my voice,
peace is when, I realize something,
a solution, though temporary, but there,
peace is when, I receive a message,
from some one across the ocean,
peace is when, that some one asks me,
how I am, even though we have never met,
peace is when I find a piece of art,
beckoning me, to gape at it,
peace is when, I solve a puzzle,
for I see myself, in a positive light,
peace is when, I read someone’s writing,
and get caught into, the web of those words,
peace is when, I write few letters and punctuation,
dissolving my entirety into them,
peace is when… whenever I
forget about this life

I wish a piece of peace, for me,
and some more for you

Jesus is a liberal
This is a fact that can easily be proven,
If you look at God’s Son in the scripture,
You may reach the same conclusion
Could you believe
That the God who created us
Created abortion
Maybe he found his children’s cries too hard to bear
So He came up with a solution that was only fair
“Take your children
Give them to me
I’ll give you both a better life, you’ll see
Don’t listen to those people outside
Their shouting is a sin
Please don’t cry, just come in.”
This same God
Fights for gay marriage
And cries when He hears His children being disparaged
He created love above all things
For some He created an Adam
For others an Eve
He did not decided this on gender or ***
But on who would love His child the best
And on welfare benefits
Jesus is number one
Giving to the poor and those who have none
Getting drunk on communion wine,
Jesus always would've voted
You see Jesus’ ministry was entirely devoted
To serving those who no one else would serve
Making sure everyone receives even if they don't deserve
So when you look at the evidence it’s quite clear that
Jesus was a democrat

All the aces that hold me up
don't mean ****.

I can't fall back on a card
with no royal family.

I have no royal family
and A is the loneliest letter.

She was not satisfied with herself
thought she was not too skinny
not so smart
and was never good enough

But she did not know of how he saw her through his own eyes
he thought about her magnificent beauty
of how passionate she was when she talked about her favourite things
the sparks in her eyes when the littlest things could make her happy
he fell in love of how she could make others smile, when she was sad
how she doesn't sometimes try her best, but could still look so stunning
her giggly laugh
that song she would constantly repeat
about how she has the need to quote from her favourite books
having to re-watch a movie that explained her life
her bad habits, ****** expressions
he knows all of that like it's his favourite song
and has got it all memorized

So he told her about all that
and taught her
to love herself more
just like how much he loves her

In school they teach you about arithmetic, but they never taught me how to divide my attention between work and play,
to add up the number of times you took my breath away or the number of times you've made me cry,
To subtract the times I've thought of you or to multiply the times I've tried to be content with that.

While listening to the radio on the bus ride home, I've realized late in my life that love is not as simple as a verse chorus verse. It takes more than one than one person to write a song, and there are more parts to a song than the lyrics

And at night I wonder if the stars shine brighter for you now that I'm gone, or maybe they sparkle just like they always did, or if there's a girl you know who knows the story of a snail who loved a sunflower too much, but slowly inched away

Hands are wonderful but fragile, used to break and to mend and to hold and to push
Mine are constantly reaching for something but my fingertips always brush against you. I never know whether to pull you close or to push you away.

In school they teach you about geography and history, but all I've learned about was the places I wanted to travel with you, of the weather, and whether we'd brace the storm together or not.
Rather than a history, I wanted to know yours: I wanted to see your future, and what it would hold for you, and whether or not I was a part of it.

I was thinking about how you were something I've unearthed, and how you were some kind of treasure that had been left hidden for a long long time, but maybe you were, in a way, like Pandora's Box with a Pharaoh's curse and I've started to avoid mirrors for quite some time afterward because I knew I would hate what was looking back at me.

In school they teach you of science, but they never taught me of how unstable we were in our individual elements and when combined we could have been perfect, except when put under pressure.
When ignited, you stole my electrons which would make you more negative and I positively unable to talk.

I didn't think I'd think about you, years from now. How much have you changed? How much have I changed?

In school they teach you of English, of grammar, and I've learned that every word in the English language cannot even define what this is that I feel for you.
You could call it love, I could call it love.
But is it 'te amo' or 'te quiero' ?

The constructs and the boundaries we place on words, on feelings, reminds me of the walls I built when you left, with each memory of you to the number of bricks I stack a ration of 1:2; one to keep you out and one to keep me in.

What's the probability of my failure in trying?
Could I move somewhere new and uncharted? Where the weather is stable? Or even unstable?
Rewrite my own history book, but without you?
Would it burn me to try again? Would the chemistry work?
School has taught me many things, but it didn't prepare me for you.