I wasn’t born a poet,
but your silence turned into verses
in the pauses between your laughter
I never meant to memorize your face—
yet it lives behind every closed eyelid
tender as the hush before a kiss.

You wore the rain like a sari of stars
and when you looked back that one time
I forgot my name.
Your anklets were verses
my heart dared not write—
too sacred, too soft
too much like something I'd ruin
by touching.

I never knew love
until it sat beside me
on a red bicycle
hair flying
as if time could be outpaced
by innocence.

I never wrote a line before you
But now I write in the rhythm of your leaving
And every rhyme I never learned
now aches in the shape of you.

I wasn't a poet—
not until you looked at me
like I was worth remembering

And now when they ask me
why the moon feels closer
when I speak your name
I only smile and whisper—
"I am not a poet
But oh beautiful one
Ever since I saw you
I have started writing poetry."


Erennwrites

8 years since you moved on
It's still so hard to believe, you're gone
I want to know how you're doing,
I want to believe you're somehow around me

The child inside me, often bangs on my heart
She always thought someday we'd restart.
Fate is such a strange thing
I don't know what you were here to teach me, if anything

Maybe it was to hold onto love even, if it's scary
Or to fall into change, I should be more daring?
I could ponder for longer, but I'll leave it at that for now.
I'll never forget you Ossie.

When the storm is upon us,
We have no fair-weather friends.

The number grows but
I still can't tell if I am whole.
Every day is nearly the same
until it's simply not.

Even family changes or moves on.
No one is safe in the long run,
Not the encountered stranger,
the acquaintance or friends...

Nobody knows when they'll meet their end,
and it scares me.
I don't like the YOLO philosophy,
but here I am again, pondering.

I'm trying to make sense of everything
I'm wondering what exactly I need...
What can help me be happy?
I wouldn't say I'm ashamed but my past is embarrassing?

I guess I'll continue and just keep going
I'll keep trying my best,
For as long as I can,
I'll try to get through this

I hear her new hit and my past hits me like a mack truck.
I'm always falling into these ruts,
looking, searching, almost begging for reasons
Universe? Soul? God? Trauma?
Who made me like this?
I'm sick of this problem
Remembrance, rain dance, tears, karma
You're so embarrassing
"Go cry where no one's watching"
He said that to me and I stayed around him-
*****.
I isolated so hard, I tried to be forgotten
but deep down I just want to feel understood
like any other person
I want love and care,
Hurt me, choke me, leave marks where no one sees but me.
Just say you love me after;
I won't care if it aches.
I've already been in pain, irritated or feeling worthless
I haven't cared while caring so much
I'm sick of this problem
I want to blossom but it seems I'm a bud

Once upon a time, there was this country called America.
It was a place of dreams and imaginations.
Where anyone in the world could go.
Anyone could be an American.
You can't become Indian, or Italian, French, Irish, Russian, Chinese,
Japanese, etc., etc., etc. by moving there and assimilating.
You'll never be one of them.
But, once upon a time, America was the Golden Ring.
That ring is out of reach now. It's rusted and broken.
And the merry-go-round keeps spinning.
And the occupants keep flying off in all directions.