may you never be satisfied with having the world;
i hope you find happiness
and continue to search for more.
this world, though beautiful, could never be reward enough
for you.
seek the stars.

Her tender skin sprouts
green shoots
a wreath,
at the foot of tree
she was buried.

On the trunk
her face appeared, a
morphed stump.

The bark, her coffin
split, where demons clawed.

A number, worms out
indelible scars, 452.

Frozen chambers of mortuary
await the next,
a child, a girl, a dalit, a musalman.
A cattle herder.
Or, the silent you, you and you.

(read forward, then backward, line by line)

I ran.
Not knowing what else to do
There was so much blood on my hands
It was mine
The kitchen knife
Caught in my chest
Guilt
Consumed by
Fear
I was heightened by
Adrenaline
But running on
Wasn’t enough
While trying to stay calm,
Losing control
It was me that would end up
Dead. Because
He was
In front of me
The whole time
It was too late
Trapped
I found myself
Locked in chains
My fate was
Death.

you asked if i wanted you to stay
i mumbled and rolled over
longing for sleep
that was all i wanted and you had no part in it
but you stayed
you turned me back over
told me you were taking off my pants,
then they were gone.

i lay there still, but you didn’t stop
now i didn’t want to fall under sleep’s healing spell
i needed to.
but you didn’t stop


hickeys
scratches
a theatrical moan and arch in my spine
all but an excruciating facade,
a wail for help and writhing agony
but you hadn’t heard me before
and you didn’t comprehend now
and that was enough for you to be satisfied

i returned my clothing to where it belonged
and sleep snatched me away, where i thought i belonged
but this time she didn’t heal
she pressed pause



and when the sun pressed play again
a new torment rose with me
i lost my trust in the light’s ability to light me
and the night’s ability to refresh

and perhaps the sun stopped trusting me too,
bestowing a dread each morning,
and reminding me of those questions
i knew it best not to ask

like what did i do wrong
what am i doing to make myself hurt so much now
what is enough
and what if i can’t escape the sun’s mistrust now

what is this life
but a vast collection of experiences
waiting to be taken from their shelves
and have their ribbons untied at will

art is my place
writing, my emotions
and both scramble
foolishly
to create a place for me
to gather my scattered being from the stars

but i must devote my strewn stars
so that they trace a glimmering path as i fall
and i must make the beauty that makes me