I'm a man who has a lot on his mind
Trying to live simply
Love does not allow such a thing
****** by mans needs to attain, achieve, and assimilate. Love provides the highest goal. A roller coaster of magnificent proportions. A soaring 90 degree drop that shoves g forces into a person. Just as elusive as gravity's hold and an astronauts fire to break free of it to fully explore the universes mysteries. I never swore myself to an easy life. I want a full elaborate being interlaced with another soul. I want to just to set the table with all that composes me and have it laughed upon just to see a smile, a crinkle in soft complexion; a curving imperfection with the oscillations that could reverberate above a symphony because you'd be seated next to me and I would take your hand and feel the basic life giving energy that keeps us alive and I would know we exist for each other and that after the orchestra has struck it's last chord we would leave together for another night and I could listen for another day's sigh of happy existence.

I don't know much about things and life. I'm not a business man who has ideas as to how to multiply a dollar into two. I think of value in time. And I may not have lived long enough to say I'm an expert. I claim none of that. I do know for the past decades of my consciousness I have been a human. I have had a steady pulse and oxygen flowing through my lungs. I can feel myself and know cogito ergo sum. My life has not led me to any absurd epiphanies. In fact, I only have one request of my cells so long as they thrive. I wish for them to resonate with the thump thump of another's vivacious metabolism; dissect my cardiac walls and place an individual cell of mine near yours and I would need no Buddhist teaching to tell me i have achieved nirvana when I see that molecular aspect of me sync with you. I could not ask of you to do the same; a point that would **** you to make but I trust in my blood enough to know we share the same vitality and that if I am one with you, you've accepted my aura into you.

You are refreshing
like the breeze on a hot day.

It is not in that you make me forget
the rough environment
and offer a moment of calm.

And not in the motion
that relieves the senses
through gust.

But rather, cleansing
in that you remind me of
juxtapositions in the world:

the arid and cool;
the stale and fleeting.

Just like the wind, you are brevity
that clearly shows
why contrasts highlight
and you are the
pleasant other underscored.

But how do I communicate
a word that lacks an English translation?
A feeling so essential to my well-being?
One that this
culture
denounces,
dejects,
despises
so easily,
Without changing what I look like in your eyes?
Hesitation of true affection

Amae, I want to share with you.
A home, not a house.
The mother's loving concern.
The safety of knowing that it is okay.
You'll be there and I
presume you will.
And this gives me shivers to imagine;
indulgence of security.

But that's codependent
Check the DSM-V.
I think the APA is wrong.
I challenge over 137,000 who seem to agree
that my need for people is
disorder,
disease,
debilitation.

Because I can see through a window in my heart,
that shows me a world coexisting;
once realized
we need each other
because we are human.
We want to live harmoniously, in unison.
I want to care of my fellow man.
I am celebrated for aspirations
of massaging the soul,
fixing the whole,
dedicated to them all.

Why is it so wrong that some days,
I'd like to be on that side of the spectrum?
Amae, Amae, *Amae

As I laid awake
I dreamt of
A morning scene

Where you would open your eyes
and see something impossible to believe
I’d have risen before you- we both now know
This is just imagination- I could not wake anything
resembling the word early.

But I did,
the bittersweet draft flowing through my home
curiosity walks you from the silver-grey linen wrapped around your legs
and the afternoon rays flood your sigh, and you will squint
the morning from your eyes
I will hope that I had gotten the eggs over easy
just right

I’ll see you and open the fridge, pouring you a glass of orange juice
“Omar, you actually did it” these words will flow out of your lips
And I will melt faster than the butter that’ll go on your pancakes.
Yet, I’ll remain cool and composed, give you my tightest smirk
And offer Florida’s best to you,
ushering you on to the beige couch I’ve been wanting to replace,
“Relax, it’s
only breakfast”
even though we both know this is unusual
I’ll throw something chill on to listen to:
Majestic Casual.

The playlist will go on shuffle and Imogen Heap will play
Something I know you know and
I’ll smile like I had known it was to start.

I’ll jump up quick,
reactive as I normally am
scurrying back alongside my kittens, meowing at my heels, to the kitchen
Two yellow pupils contrasted by a black face staring back at me
saying, “You had it right on the practice run; not when it counts”
I’ll grimace and
hunt from cabinet to cabinet looking for a plate
knowing each second,
the succulent gilded interior was hardening

and of course, the serving dish is in the last compartment I check
I’ll slide the golden eyes on to the white porcelain
and proclaim, “breakfast is ready.”
Bringing the array of food to the makeshift dining room in the center
of my apartment, you’ll stand and walk over
and my eyes will trail your after you.

We’ll each fill a plate and take a seat on the couch
I’ll stretch and yawn, reminded of the cup of coffee that woke me earlier in the kitchen.
You’ll try those eggs as I make my way there
and you will tell me,

“These are definitely over hard”
and I’ll only respond with “It’s that bad?
Not even over medium?”
thinking I had saved myself with a lame joke.
You’ll give me eyes that plainly state,
“Are you kidding me?”

“I’m sorry. Next time, I’ll make sure to under cook them.”
And you’ll toss back at me, “How do you know
there’ll be a next time?
You had your chance.”

and I’ll whine and you’ll stop me
by saying “I’m joking!”
and I’ll be so thankful to have shared my least
favorite of meals
with you
and I’ll offer to make it
up to you with dinner.

I know though
this is only a daydream
when I failed to sleep
these nights without you.

I wonder what I am to do with my life.
Then, I see meteors.

In a hammock
On the eve of final exams
There is a scent of caffeine coursed bodies pacing
the distances of Starbucks and the library,
an unusual sight at eleven at night

There is peace
In the fraternity- I think begins with a Sigma-
running around playing a vicious thirty person game of tag
Yeah, I witnessed that wipeout and it was hilarious

There is heat condensed around the height of brains
Struggling to realize dreams that require
Busy work man! It's just like six hours of nonstop busy work
The guy on the bench behind me whined out cooling breath of brown leaves

There is energy in the fractal jungle above
The towering umbrellas of Palm trees which grant me the magic of hovering
I see through waving leaves Orion's Belt.
The light pollution overpowers his body but
he reminds me that there is more in the astral world

Ibis scour the ground
Some would read the tea leaves
that bravest of birds has crossed my path
And I will survive the tests that I allow to define possibilities in life

There is closure to my left
Two girls in a hammock, bodies combined like a turtle in a shell
Only they know what goes on inside,
and all I witness is the harmony that the trials that students go through that unites