MY CHILDHOOD ROOM
FEELS LIKE A MUSEUM
no matter how many times
I dust the shelves.
The trophies look more plastic than ever
and the cat collection is a little out of hand.
The books are still my pride and joy
but their covers haven’t been caressed in
years?

Has it really been
years?

I light a candle and cradle my thoughts in my cranium
tapping my toes in tandem with
THE TERRIBLE SQUEAK in my ceiling fan
I asked my mom to get that fixed
does she forget everything when I’m not home
do the doors go unlocked when I’m not home
do the cats go unfed
does the truth go unsaid
WHY DO I NO LONGER FIT MY CHILDHOOD BED.

In the silence I can hear her.
I hear the little girl with the long braided hair
ask her mom for a book
For Christmas.
I envy her.

This Christmas  my list consisted of things
I know my mom can’t buy.
This year I asked for peace, for a stable career after college,
for a meaningful relationship that doesn’t
breed in the dark cracks of insecurity and small talk.
I asked for love, I asked for bathroom mirrors to stop insulting me,
and for people at grocery stores to smile more.
I asked for patience, I asked for the sun to show her face a little longer
so  I could finish everything I promised I would do.
I asked for joy, I asked for rainfall I could dance in, for a snowstorm where I can make snow angels and not care about the ice
that slides down my sleeve
I asked for knowledge, I asked for the stories of the unheard to be shouted from the skyscrapers
and for politicians TO STOP SCREAMING.
I asked for trust, I asked for lying to be illegal
and for people to feel safe when they hold out their hearts
in front of them.

I asked for someone to listen.
Because I know I can’t do this by myself.
It’s okay that we don’t fit out childhood beds
and growing up means growing out
of our once-favorite things.

We can stop asking
for books for Christmas–
as long as we write a new one
together.

Indeed
Our actions
must be the mirror
of our words.

You only listen to clouds once they’ve rumbled,
And once they strike you wonder
How you could’ve possibly missed the warnings.
Lightning strikes so fast, it takes everyone aback,
But didn’t you see them shift?
Two dark bodies slamming into each other:
Colliding with rage and silent fear,
Conducting something sporadic and deadly,
Only to leave nothing but an echo and a reminiscing glow in the dark sky.
Sometimes it starts a fire, or takes a life,
But I love to watch it dance across the sky:
I shouldn’t.
Something so tragic and deadly should not fill me with awe,
Shouldn’t make me study and wonder --
Should make me cower and weep and mourn.
Lighting strikes so fast, it takes everyone aback.
It is the action to the voice the clouds whisper at night,
It is the last cry of rage or loneliness or fear,
It is sudden, but not without warning or precursor
You just have to be aware enough:
Watch as they dance.
See them cry and shake,
Listen to the rumble of their voice,
Feel the electricity dancing on the soft hairs of your arms,
Smell the damp city sidewalks,
Taste the copper on their tongue,
Watch as they dance across the sky:
Lightning struck so fast, it took everyone aback.

I've been sifting through
the scrawls and scribbles
written on some whim

passed by, not followed up
like lights that shine too dim

anyone can write a poem
it seems innate somehow
anyone can write a poem
except for me right now

I do have lot of questions. But, none of them got answers. Survival is what my heart says. Survive from the negatives and share the positives.

Following these lines I came across another question

how come A charge transfer happens in a battery with only positive charges

So, we do need a night to take rest and a dawn to finish our tasks

you should be strong enough to balance your positives and negatives

When you said hello,
I said goodbye to every other person
I had ever met

When you said goodbye,
I heard goodbye from every other person
All in one moment