Not hear my words but read my eyes
For words can fail eyes can’t disguise
That in my heart in silence speaks
Love’s fantasies and magic tricks!

Not hear my words but read my eyes
For words are stale holds no surprise
Can’t show the streams of love that flow
Sparkly diamonds in secret glow!

Not hear my words but read my eyes
Words are vain and crudely wise
Can’t paint the sun that shines for you
Rolls down as tears with the morning dew!

Not hear my words but read my eyes
Words can’t ever make it truly nice
Just waste the years leaving it overdue
To let you know how much I love you!

When I find a place that invites me in like I'm a long lost relative,
I would do anything for them
and that's a weakness because when I let myself be pushed around,
these strangers I call family
will treat me exactly like how my family did.

Here is where I find myself conflicted
running away just to find another home that ended up to be
the exact home I barely got out of;
like escaping from a lion's mouth straight into a crocodile's.

Why am I always fooled by gold-painted stones
why do I always fall right into the wrong book
I've come across these type of characters so many times
why stay and taint their existence that even they wouldn't claim.

I try to fix the broken but my hands did anything but
and left inked-fingerprints on shattered glass
it's only about time until they discover whose it is-
I hope maybe I'll be gone by then.

I try to pull away from the hook that's been tied to my spine
realising it too late that it's slowly ruining me
reeling me back to a home I desperately want to get rid of
but I know these ghosts won't find peace if I keep falling back to them
and that's the curse of leaving a mark.

if you think about it,
clouds are just like people —

they move around slowly,
carrying all of this weight on
their shoulders until finally,
they get sad and turn grey and
drench us with the feelings
they've been holding back.

sometimes, however, i think
that i would rather be a cloud
than a person because clouds
aren't afraid to show people
their emotions —

they cry;
for minutes, for hours,
sometimes for days,
but they are not scared
or embarrassed. they are not
afraid to tell others exactly
how they are feeling —

maybe that is why there
is always sun after the storm.

if you tell me that you love me, i will not say it back

instead, i will tell you that your voice reminds me of indian chai tea and that your lips taste the way i thought cherry blossoms would and that i'd much rather sleep pressed up against your skin than under a sheet — i will tell you that i plug in my headphones to listen to your heartbeat and that you make me want to scream and cry and buy a one-way ticket to the other side of the world just to get away from you and i will tell you that i feel like i am skydiving without a parachute because i have never fallen so hard or so fast and that's scary and yet i have never felt more alive than when i am with you

Why are all my flowers dead?
I water them every day.
Feed my sweat and blood to them,
But still they decay.
Why are all my flowers dead?
I'll water them again.
I'll hook an I.V. up to them,
Until they thrive again.
Why are all my flowers dead?
They've decayed just like my heart.
Why are all my flowers dead?
They've been dead from the start.

And their feet move
rhythmically, as tender
feet of Cretan girls
danced once around an

altar of love, crushing
a circle in the soft
smooth flowering grass