I walk into the thrift store yelling at my mother,
which is terrible because
1) I’m yelling at my mother in public and
2) I’ve always hated people who yell at their mothers in public.
But she just won’t stop
Dissecting every part of me that I hate,
Every part that is stripped bare for all the world to see
But is still somehow secret.

Somewhere between 12 year old me
With her short blunt black curls and bruised knees
And 15 year old me
With her blood shot eyes and broken back trauma
I’ve developed a habit of stuttering my words,
Of letting anxiety snake through me like
Early on set rigor mortis.
Somewhere things got seriously ****** up.

How do you tell your mother,
Who birthed you who raised you who loved you,
That you can’t talk to strangers
Because you once got too friendly with a boy
Holding garden sheers,
A boy who clipped your wings and left you
On a bedroom floor?
How do you tell her
Your poems aren’t just statements,
They’re stories?
How do you tell her
You’re like Sisyphus with the boulder,
Like Prometheus with the eagle?
How do you tell the truth?

I walk out of the thrift store quiet.
My mother doesn’t say a thing.
On the way home
She takes sharp turns and hits the brakes.
Hard.
My stomach churns.
This is my punishment and I deserve this
For yelling at my mother.

When you get
right down to it,
everybody wants something
from somebody.

And who can give me the feeling
one gets when the sun rises,
cracking the sky
with fiery colors
& making the birds
sing with such joy
like they do?
Pray tell
me,
who?

If someone could bring
me that much joy
then surely,
surely
together,
we would be blessed.

I live in the twilight,
a purgatory-place,
in between
brilliant luminescence
& sheer darkness.
And I can't say
I find total comfort here,
but is there anything that complete?
I mean,
I could be out on the street.
So certainly things
could be
so much worse
than this limbo...
I love this place.

they call me: gypsy, runner, thief
be you my gold, my feet, my greed

meet me on streets
we have not seen
unwarrant wants, deep breaths, relief

I will not front;
give you my teeth

we're breaking rules, my dear
we're weak

I am not yours

o b v i o u s l y

claim me
this own
without defeat

I'm chasing dreams
but i don't sleep

my pillow smells like you
like need

so lost behind
what I can't seek

f i n d i n g that time holds no belief

that I was freed
c u r i o u s l y

I watched you leave my street
quickly

that I should wait
so p a t i e n t l y

to bring your body back to me

I will not beg
I wouldn't plead

but I would have you still believe
you'd still have me if you should leave

should you come back I would agree

for you i'd gather everything
not rings, but things that you might need

I'd love you deeper than the sea

in love with you , i am
*a l r e a d y

I wholeheartedly insist,
I do not claim to be a saint,
only an angel,
a dark one,
like you,
fallen from above,
sent here to ravish
your own soul
with twisted
genuine love.

To be sure,
we've all got hard luck stories.
Some are rather gory,
others
some serious allegory,
but what,
but what makes mine
better,
or even worse,
than yours.
I haven't a license on more *******
than all the others,
yet I have been given a ton of it,
and I don't,
I don't want
to feed you
more
than you've already
been given.
That ain't cool
& I tend to think,
I'm seriously frozen.

I stay up late & float,
haunt the evening airways.
My skin is white
(nearly porcelain)
& my blood is warm
(practically boiling).
But I swear,
I swear
I'm not a vampire.
I have no intentions
of cursing,
frightening anybody,
or biting any necks.
I just want to find
other kindred spirits
seeking answers
for their own
restless nights.

~~~
When the wooden door leads a little,
To a force is put
In the erst of the body fleece wells,  
Sweet sweating as the dew is deposited

The clamor of the known birds,
Uttering,
Be filled,
North wind changes direction,
Comes through my southern window

When harmonic air,
Passed over the yellow paddy fields,
Farmers perches hope's aroma
Into the hearts  

At the mid of the noon,
Cowboys keep exhaustion on flute
Swelling of the new message,
Leaves
Flowers
Fruits

After a Long waiting,
Pied crested Cuckoo singing
Mating songs
The peacock repeatedly whispering peahen

My beloved,
Your one "April" desires
bought us,
Cuddly child as the light purple rose

And they say you
Sing your song of arrival
O' April O' come!
Once Again!

Show Your Cyclone form
Engross your soul
Bring the rain,
Chill the Nature
Add to birth New Child for the unscathed time
~~~
@Musfiq us shaleheen