I condemn all these spiritualities
that claim to accept me
but I am not theirs
all these justified critics when
they will not shut their mouths
I condemn your faith
when I followed you
all I was and all I am became
close to whatever has been left on
your places
I condemn all your empty
disgusting and full of filthy tragic
words
they do not own me,
you do not own me.

I condemn all these stories
that you tell that it’s worth
all these sacrifices you talk about
are those who win
I condemn you all for telling me what
is not to do
for all my dings are the wrong things
for me to even think about
I condemn everything you have been painting my brain
you needed me not
and I do not
all I do is make your mistakes
for you to feel all high and
built

but I condemn you for condemning me
for stealing from me
from what I was
for wrecking what I thought was me
I cannot bring them back
but I swear to all your gods
that I will be more than what you told me I cannot be
all my words will be written in more than
what you have written
and you will see me
in every direction
for when you have condemned me
you did not own me
I owned you

We were once tide -
An anticipated push and pull,
Rushes into the shores, and withdraws of the seas.
Written in squares of today and tomorrow,
The way, today is low
And tonight is high.

There were no uncertainties
Or questions – we always
Know, what to move
And when to go.
Stringed by orbits of
The Sun, The Moon, The Earth.

May it be Sunday but
The waves will praise only sand
Touching, like a morning greeting,
And a kiss of illusion – and these?
Were memories, of how you and I
Were only once tide.

You twist my hands, and my mouth
kept still. Again and again.
Turning blue and purple, they are dying.
And I thought: Is this the way
holding hands feel?
Suffocating, and miserable,
I don't think this is right.

We stayed statuesque, out of sight
of crazed eyes, and my mouth kept still.
Vibrations stuck between the walls
of my throat. Under my mind, above my chest.
And your hands are still on my hands.
And now they're turning
into the early night.

This is how we die, you say.
Even nothing has been forged
into my memory. Your hands had killed mine.
Over and over, i cling to the possibilities.
And you let go when my hands are gray
walked back into your skin.
You are nothing but a murderer.

And this is how
I cannot go back to you. You are smart
I applaud you. That's the thing
anger is an impasse. As you are.
And now, i wonder
why I didn't think this before
**You were killing the very thing that i could hold you to keep you mine.

Heaved in the spoon of sugar,
your grains fall off and on
to the greasy kitchen table top.
And people never bother to ask
why you’ve been unreachable
when all of you crawls at the nothingness
of the unseen.

Love me because I am glass,
thick but fragile. Too strong
of your grip, I'm shattered. Too loose
I'll slip between your tiny bones.

Love me because I am glass,
thick but fragile. A diamond
laying by your side, I shine
and you reflect.

So love me because I am glass.
Always cautious not to break me,
or even scratch a little crack on me.
Even a little.

And I will love you because I am glass,
steady and fragile. I will keep certain
if I break, you won't be hurt.
And I will never cause you pain.

Not now, not ever.
Even if I am glass, I will
love you as you, as you love me
because I am glass, thick and fragile.

She fell in love with an astronaut,
their distance lightyears away.
She believes that he fell in love with her, too.
“For the galaxies are beside me, and a vast of possibilities laying
outside the metal surrounding me,
i kept falling back into your pull of gravity.”
And she still does, when she grows old every day, waiting
he stays the same, feels the same, thinks the same.

But she fell in love with an astronaut,
their distance lightyears away.
Everything under her feet moves faster,
And in space - time slows down, Relativity kicks in.
And every day she wishes, that the Earth would stop revolving
the years stop counting, and
she would stay the same, feel the same, think the same.
She hoped, she dreamed, she failed.

She fell in love with an astronaut.
Her nights linger on tinkering on stars
and planets, and space. She wanted to wait,
she grows old, he slows it down, she couldn’t.
He is lightyears away, and time is running out.
She was in love with an astronaut,
and he was meant to be there, not with her,
not ever.

Hell, I would write a poem about you
and not talk about your eyes
the way they don't even see me now
or your mouth, the way
they don't seem to recognize my name
or your hair, which reminded me of summer
the way they flaunt and dance with the wind
back when you haven't cut it
or your hugs, one arm up my neck
the other holds my arm
or your scent that is beyond aesthetic
of an artwork placed behind your ears
or laugh, the way it makes me
think of the future,
or your name
which is always be
precious

I guess I failed, about not talking about them
all of them, all of you
I guess I am not yet tired
I guess want to be reminded
I guess I still can write about you
even if it's Sunday, and I've missed a thousand masses
I am not sacrilegious, you are

"when I fell in love with your long brown hair,
you decided to cut them off..."

But I didn't fell off
I stayed here
Hell, writing another for you
always