Pantone noir skies
but a thousand buildings glow
not with light, but life
people working, watching, waiting, living

through the rear window I see thousands of lives
lives unaffected by my presence, unaware
thousands of realities, stories, perspectives even more

humanity reflected in each pane of glass
i yearn to have a human life too

a life of possibility and not restraint
to do, rather than watch

i am a poet in the way i am human
by nature and birth
an intrinsic responsibility to life
to write, to tell, to be heard
but even if i write and share not a single word I am yet a poet
the way a human could live a hundred years in isolation and still be just that

how much longer can I lie
and say I like it alone
because what started off as truth
has grown into a big blackhole
I’ve been burying myself in the sand
and hiding from the sun

they say to be loved by a poet
is to be immortal

paper containing a lifetime
a museum of memories
both lived and unlived
what was
and what had the potential to be

features equated to celestial bodies
moments and emotions in detail
each laugh memorialized

when your touch is golden sunlight
and your gaze blooming daisies
it’s hard to act normal
hard to think straight

when your laugh is a chord that rings
and your movements a choreography
the sound of your voice dewy and familiar
it’s difficult to pretend
but I’m used to it

I ignore how the sun turns your eyes to honey, soft and saccharine
how my heart responds when you look up at me through foggy glasses
I ignore the way you light up when you tell your convoluted stories
how the world is brighter when you’re beside me

because in the end it’s meaningless
amounting to nothing more
I never win
I’ll just keep dreaming of being yours

it hurts
when you can feel an ocean inside
waves crashing into the boundaries of your mind
begging for release
to reach the shore
denying them, holding them back like a well-built dam
not a single drop gets through this facade

I’m an actor
in a role I never auditioned for
one I never wanted
one thrown upon me by the cruel hands of society
family
is this life better than none?
three months
I whisper to the face in the mirror
one I have never recognized
one that is not my own

i hope one day to look
and find myself looking back
a true reflection
real and not imagined
but for now I do my best
with whispers
the tears I cannot release
sweaters in the biggest size
corners to curl into
alone when I can imagine
how I’ll look when I’m me
not you

be friendly
personable
but always know your place
only speak when spoken to
perhaps if you behave you will find a nice husband
be a good wife

raising me in her image
it’s a facade
I’m fractured
a picture from long ago
broken and never properly repaired
the shards put back wrong

a smiling photo of a girl i don’t know
darling daughter
know your place
smile but not too long

dark red rose
crumbles under the weight of darkness
falls apart into thousands of pieces
each one morphing into small black spiders as they hit the cement floor
scattering
running to hide from the impending moon’s glow
into the safety of the dark