home
is your
midnight lullaby
dripping like honey
from the back of your throat
and your
anxious tears
dripping like sand
from the top of an hourglass

home
is the
perfume of orange blossoms
passing through my lungs
as we run through the orchard
and the
rotting smell of garbage
passing through the streets
as we climb onto the school bus

home
is the
sweet taste of dates
mixed with sugary syrup
kneaded into perfect pastries
and the
metallic taste in your mouth
mixed with the guilt in my stomach
kneaded into a sticky dough

home
is the
falling of ocean waves
over our heads
as we scream-laugh through the water
and the
falling of bombs
over our city
as we sit together in silence

oh
how I wish
I could simply return
home
but
home
no longer exists
because home is
you

The vibrant dreams
of a young girl
And the elegent drapery
Of frivolous royalty
The colors of rage-
-and sadness
Of power-
-and compromise
Immersed into one
And spit out
Onto lavender fields
And violet sunsets
And all sorts
Of delicate little pretty things
Telling stories of burning love
Mixed with icy lonliness
On the writer's palette
Like the violet buds of affection
Nipped in their juvenile buds
But also the wilting leaves of a lilac
Left to rot past its prime

Bronze to purple to red to greenish-yellow to bronze again
Your kisses wilt into my skin
And- for one final time-
The poison seeps into my veins;
Intoxicated, entranced, and utterly alone
I lay paralyzed
A slow upward climb before inescapable decline.
I watch the rotations of the stone-
I could have sworn it was a boulder-
Rolling from the top of the hill,
Farther and farther and farther still,
Kiss me.
With your antivenom,
Let me be free
To chase it and drag it and push it back up.
But before I lean in and resign
To claw back through the mudslide,
To let each falling tear drop be dried,
To stand tall in white, the blushing bride,
And swallow 3 ounces of unbottled pride (every two to four hours, of course),
I hear my mother whisper.
I catch a glimpse of it in my periphery,
Rolling hills and tranquility,
There it is–
The other side.

Soft rains drift on winds of change
Pitter-patter on my window pane
Enchanting the Earth with life renewed
By playing an old, nostalgic tune
That brings back melodies
The years had erased
Immersing me in
Your forgotten embrace
And for a moment,
My darling,
I see your delicate gleam
Rising from the asphalt
In small bouts of steam
Dancing along the empty lane
Tormenting me in my lonely disdain
For I know
Our separation will be long
But until we meet once more:
Soft rains drift on winds of change
Pitter-patter on my window pane
Playing you my love song.
Can you hear it,
My darling?

Oh moon,
Will you tell me
With your pearly eyes

Why is it
That those who have felt the kiss of tragedy
Can make joy for themselves
Can live their lives in peace
But those who live on the highest hill
So close to your paradise
Must create suffering for themselves?

What secrets do you whisper
So delicately, that they pass by our ears
And flutter to the lowest parts of the Earth
To be picked up
By the hopeless
The broken
The empty

That makes them shine so radiantly
With the light
Of a smile?

The evergreen tree grows
The winds come and go
Raging fire turns to glow
Yet I still miss you so

Gray, the only color in sight
A burnt out star, no longer bright
An old batch of snow, once so white
The mysterious vanishing of the light

A tainted sliver of perfection
The uncertainty of my reflection
Numbing thoughts of your affection
New shades of gray in my collection

Ours is something
To be explained away;
I love you
But– I think to myself.
I love you
But– there will be a day I do not.
I love you
But– I do not know what love means.
I love you
But–

You gifted me a vase
Rose, iris, baby’s breath, chrysanthemum
In purples and pinks and whites
They wither quickly
Alongside the spider webs in my closet,
They crack and brown
Buried in the darkness of thick winter blankets,
Hidden within the folds
Of that green dress I wore
They rot.

I stay awake until
The old clock ticks in silence,
Sound bouncing off empty corners and into the abyss,
I unsheathe the vase from my closet and hold it up
To the yellow-orange ceiling light,
Blinds drawn tightly,
Damage control;
“Live, please, live. Just a little longer.”
I press my nose into it,
And baby’s breath becomes hemlock,
Iris into nightshade,
Chrysanthemums now oleander,
And the roses–
Stay roses,

I press my nose into it,
Tears replenish dried water,
Feeding the poison,
Dying, slowly, in darkness.

I love you
But– this cannot be love.
I love you
But– I have not sacrificed,
Have not pained or labored or suffered,
I love you
But– If this is love
Then what have I known?

Ours was something
Of swimming pools and summer air,
White boy indie guitar,
Art museums and coffee,
Flowers, book stores, paint drops on your cheek,
It was leather car seats and upstairs lofts,
The frantic finding of fabric
As doors creaked open.

I bury my face into purple roses,
I swear they smell of you,
“I love you, I love you, I love you,”
A million times,
“I love you, I love you, I love you,”
Until the words melt
Into a meaningless sludge,
No one to hear them,
Sound bouncing off empty corners and into the abyss,
I love you
And–
I am leaving you.

The sun seemed in distress this morning,
With burdens it could not express this morning.

The fields are black and burned by dawn
As dove’s wings melt and regress this morning.

The Earth has paused in its rotation,
Though none shall truly confess this morning.

Where have you gone my love, oh where?
I search for you nevertheless this morning.

A love I no longer possess this morning
Has returned- the last time- to bless this morning.

He lurks in the darkness
Never far away
Follows my every step
Fills my world with dismay
Pieces of myself he has kept
Terrified no one would stay

Stay with me,
I plead
As I feel us decay
Yet cling to you with my greed
You, who has led me astray

I met you in the depths of November
Do you remember that day?
My heart, a dying ember
Set ablaze with every word you would say

Your words have become twisted
Our memories black and blue
Unharmed, you persisted
Knowing now what I need to do
Instead grasping onto you
Living with someone I thought I knew, because, don’t you know?
Loneliness kills.

The sun once rose to bless our mornings
By the pond and olive grove
Breakfast cooked to feed the masses
Boiling over on the stove
And on the grapevine there did grow
Amethyst clusters, picked in light
Heavy gems that hung so low
I stood to marvel at the sight

And in the noon,
The earth would swell
With jasmines scented sweet as honey
And of troubles, one could tell
But never were they quite too many
Birds would open their beaks to chirp
Without much compelling reason
For in the open countryside
It was grape picking season

Or, at least, it was supposed to be
Yet for some reason, unannounced to me,
This year, the grapes, they will not grow.

In that moment, They said to us,
As though it were the word of God
Through biting mouths lined with silver:
“You reap whatever it is you sow”,
But the vine still hangs wilted and yellow
And the grapes are shriveled
And will not grow