Sitting in a darkened room,
Hacking at your wrists,
It seemed you thought to slice them,
Would also sever your connection to reality.
But little did you know,
The pain was mine.
My heartbeat got fainter,
With every new scar,
I began to hate myself,
For not being able to help.
And as you got lower and lower,
It felt as though I was trying,
To lift you from below.
And as I fought,
To give you more time above water,
I drowned.

spring cleaning: to some, it may be about
donating the shirt you haven’t worn since
7th grade and since 9th has been worn out
or rinsing the floors of any footprints.
Or scrubbing the tile of any grout
or dusting every single picture frame--
that’s not my spring cleaning. mine is about
changing who i am despite my same name.
it’s about changing the way i’ve been since
7th grade, it is about showering
and scrubbing off all the shame i can rinse
off of me like filth. it’s me worrying
that i will never again find healing
again and again. that’s my spring cleaning.

Her eyes were wider than usual,
As they piercingly studied mine.
They gave me a strong urge,
To hide my soul from her.
"What troubles you child?"
"Mam, where will i find a husband?"
With a concern of a thirty years old,
Asked my nine years old.
Oh! My jaw dropped.