I get all overwhelmed when there's too many people.
There's too many feelings, too many thoughts,
That I wish I could feel, I wish I could read.

Too much voices, forcing their way in my eardrums,
demanding me to listen.

This is why I hate crowds,
This is why I value solitude.

My heart can never contain too much of things,
It just doesn't know what to do with it.

My palms, aren't wide enough for something too monstrous.
My lungs aren't big enough for your tornado,
instead of filling me, you're actually suffocating me.

I'm not asking for everything,
But at least, give me **something.

When Greek mythology
conceived the god of love
without question
they did dream of you

MY EROS of pleasure
who's sweet nectar
causes me to be drunk
within her your *****

Your defining fragrance of
lotus blossoms and
African vanilla
inspires ****** notions

MY EROS is
sensuality personified
the alpha and omega
of loves ultimate high.

how do you write about someone you can’t describe? when i look at you i feel language leave me. you twirl me around and smile like you’ve never been hurt and i feel like thats the part that makes me cry the most. i’ve been wanting to die for 1 2 3 4 5 now. i swear you don't even love me, because how can you love someone you don’t know. i’m not one to talk though i’ve loved you since before i even knew i would. you see we come from the same star. the universe knew what it was doing when it threw us together. the first time we kissed, i realized, and you smiled at me, because you knew. i swear you knew.

it always happens like this, you meet a boy and his touch begins to burn holes in your skin and his kisses leave bruises. you begin to crave his stupid hand in yours. it starts to hurt when you look at him and it hurts when you don’t. it feels like someone cut you open with a jagged piece of glass until suddenly, you realized you always felt that way.

i used to be afraid of my bed. i slept on the floor till my parents bought me a new one. now i share that bed with you. it feels empty if you’re not there. if we broke up i don’t now if i could erase you and the fact that for almost 8 months my bed was half yours. but i was all yours much longer than that. i just always wonder what i’m doing wrong. why can’t love just be enough. but maybe you just never did love me. i’m sorry

not class nor context or easily explained,
not mother nurturing of the young but stifling
in her needs,
and deals with the hunger
by offering a ****
and trauma as indulgence,
and music as external landscape
while hearing the ****** cry of class,
of your birth an ear for the literate
as an undercurrent,
and trauma as indulgence,
sick of one's own
*******, never comfortable,
running fast as you can
not from anything in particular,
just everything.

My friend extends
her arm and in her
hand is a small bag
of Cool Ranch Doritos,

'Ere you go'

I say thanks,
as I pick and ****
at each chip carefully

'They ain't women
for chrissake'

she says,
annoyed at how
meticulous
I can be at such
ordinary things

I grab a large one,
perhaps, the largest one;
caked with red, green, black
sprinkles, like a flat
earth birthday cake
ready to be eaten

I take 3 bites,
slowly, as though
they were drags
from a cigarette
before the hanging

'Thank you'
I say, more grateful
than she could ever
imagine

'Aint no thing'
she says

And out of nowhere
I begin to think about
what I'd like to feed my children,
and what stories I'd like to read to them,
how I'd like to teach them
to dance my father's favorite dance,
and sing my mother's favorite
native songs, and on and
on these dreams
unravel before me

I am filled
with sprinkles of
hope, nothing too large,
nothing too small

but the kind of hope
I deserve to have,--

seasoned
on this fragile
heart of mine