"Do you believe in global warming?"
they asked me
as though it was something you could choose to believe in
like santa
sitting on the melting polar ice caps

wondering how else he could tickle our fancies
for our momentary pleasure
one sizzling christmas eve

“but”, they said, “but its all circumstantial,
And”, they said,"all natural,
All part of a cycle,
all part of a plan-
And there’s no evidence anyways"
Is santa melting?
Do ice caps exist?
Who knows!

Who knows?

I am who I am,
                  I am!

                 ...am I?
        ...Who am I?

i brush my teeth and think of you,
i wish you’d go to hell.

perhaps to stop these sorts of thoughts
my soul i’d have to sell

Driving to work (and you), I hope
my tires pop in hell.

you see that bright green traffic light??
can go to hell as well.

I do not need these feels for you
i wish they'd go to hell.

i have them, though i pray to God
that you would never tell

a battle plan: all thoughts of love
to hell, to hell, to hell!

away with all soft feelings,
they can rot away in hell!

a category i’ll reserve
for online texts- in hell!

my smiles, hair-twirls, stupid laughs,
i’ll send them off to hell!

i’m ready: all my loving words,
safe stowed- my heart shan’t swell!

your footsteps round the corner-

so,
my logic goes to hell.

at first you were a flicker in the chasm of the skies
just one, amongst many thousands: sparkling, twinkling
but you drew closer and I saw, a curiousness in your eyes

the butterflies you made me feel at first soon flew away
Drowned by the vast earth-shattering waterfalls, that trickle down my spine,
and make our talks taste different every day.
I feel your universe, grows ever nearer mine...

And then: the galaxies collide. How bright we shine!
The stars- so nice together! the nebulae exchange
Their secrets in hushed melodies, you freely rearrange
My constellations. Paths never meant to intertwine,
And yet- your universe, grows ever nearer mine.

But you pass through, you leave my stars,
my constellations. No. Not even gravity would dare confine
Your galaxy, deserving life that’s free of any bars
And yet-where is that universe, that passed so close to mine?!

And I look up, and you’re a flicker in the chasm of the skies,
just one amongst the many thousands: sparkling, twinkling...
as you draw further, I recall infinity I once knew in your eyes.

(he seemed happier,
i swear,
when i wasn’t there)

and the wedge between our friendship
will never really leave
and the One Who Invited Himself
will tell his friends that i’m a *****
make a life lesson out of me
to his children
foolish boy

don’t you know your love is waiting for you
and that sometimes nothing can be said
or done
and that love can’t be forced
or, in a way that makes sense,
talked about ?

When you look in to my eyes,
Do you see windows,
Or do you see black paint,  mascara,  eyeliner?

And if you see mascara, can you tell how much it cost?
or how many times I put it on, and washed it off before deciding it was good enough?
and redrew the wing of my eyeliner so at least something would look sharp tonight?
and how long I spent debating whether you like girls who wear makeup or not,
and if you would make out my hesitations through the clumps?

And if you see windows, tell me, what do you see through them?
Do you see my thoughts and ideas?
Can you see the garden I planted for you through them?
or did the last person who looked through my windows leave too many mascara streaks?
Or maybe you just see the empty widow frames, and want to install your own glass in them?

Of course,  if you ever looked at my eyes you would know, but you only see in colour when you scroll though my Instagram page trying to decode whether my caption is about you or not, and whether that other girl looks better without makeup than me?
I’d have to agree with you. Mascara is easier to spot when the filter is on high saturation.

If only windows worked like that.

"a bright and bubbly personality"
is how i am described
but can’t you see thats all i am?
bubbles, they pop.
a bright flash- once it’s gone, there is darkness

You made me feel like I was something more
I went to bed with the taste of our conversations in my mouth

we talked about Tolkien and god,
The stars, and our purpose
you didn’t find my questions odd...
they usually scare people, disturbed inside, but laughing at the surface

we talked about that girl you like,
the guy i don’t,
I’m teasing you,
but I’m pretending that
the knife in my gut is hilarious

You leave-
your momentary absence seems eternal
emotional chaos, you
walk by-
don’t speak, but my eyes swivel in their sockets, skim your face in search of-
...in search of what? I’m never sure-
and my heart does a somersault.

the bubbles, the brightness, surge up,
like cheerful, coloured *****...

Cant you see I’m empty?
I’m nothing but these bubbles
these small emotions that run in and away,
are bright, but pop,
and leave the dark behind:
a-void.
theres nothing beyond them.

i love to hear your voice
inside my skull
while tears are rolling down my face, it lifts me up, shows me the bigger picture:
a reassuring strangers voice saying
“it's okay, I’m lonely too"

i love to hear your fingers hitting keys
and strings
of instruments made by people years ago,
melodies sprung from your head.

i love the sound thats heard when the air passed through your lungs erupts in brassy, airy tones-
emotions...
emotions, i never knew i had

i love to hear the songs you wove from notes and pitches,
long nights, feelings, people
all your life led up
to you
creating this

and i can hear it now.
echoing off my bones through a pair of plastic pieces to my heart

a scream of soul-
I DARE TO DREAM

encourage
discouraging
COURAGE.

my days gone by you do not know,
you do not know what i have seen!
so when i whisper in your ear
the truth about a moment

"i dare to dream, i dare to dream"-
i scream!
into the starless void.

then out of darkness there arises,
the iris star of past demises-
gone!
gone with the scream,

vibrations scare the dark away
so only real dreamers will stay-
for who are they,

but beacons of vibration,
of hope for realization?

Never share your poetry
With people who don’t care
Never talk with those
Whose minds are only halfway there.

Never cram assignments,
Never self-abhor,
Know that if you don’t stand up
Next week they’ll push you more.

Never trust your calculator,
Always have a pen;
That way you can vandalize,
And flee the class again

Do not trust the humans,
Never lie to love,
Listen when they talk to you
But keep your head above.

Why the hell was I happy
When you stood in my space
While searching for
Somebody else’s face?

Why was my mind
On what could have been
Instead of what was-
What do you think you’ve seen?

You say you can read people,
Can see their emotions
Like they’re open books,
Full of deepest devotions-

…-so why
Can’t you
Read

me?

It’s April, and I
have everyone fooled,

that my passion is gone,
the fire has cooled

that my eyes don’t expand,
when see you around

that my thoughts stay intact
when you’re there.

that my mouth says its words
not for you anymore,

and my heart as gone back
to its beat from before.

that I’m angry at you,
but i don’t know for what

that I’m more independent,
and happier,
but-

the new “him” in my poems
doesn’t shatter my ground

I’ve forgotten the meaning
of how to astound-

of how to surprise,
or be fearful of loss

of the things that are mine
and the things that you toss

but everything's fine
and you’re nothing divine

and it’s april,
and I am a fool

And I don't know if I miss the time when love songs' "you" didn't have a name,
Or if I like it when every "him" conjures up an image of your face.

“christina”
“teacher?”
“marina"
“anna”. twice.
i’ve only noticed your eyes today.
i’ve worn them for a year.
how interchangeable we are. how replaceable.
maybe if I began to wear
a purple hat or something
people would remember.

Of who you are
And what I am
And who we might become

You only tell the moon
When she is full
That she's herself again

but discard hope,
all ye who
fail to see the grace
In underfinished crescents

In half thought poems
In broken plates
in streets with shattered concrete,

in ashes after flames
in charcoaled cakes

In half built building cities
and teary tissues on the floor