She had all the bases covered.
A star shining on each hip,
red hearts on each lip,
a tear under one eye,
rings on her toes
& a half moon
under each nip,
hardened
as I sipped
from her cup.

BOY #1
his eyes were as blue
as the deepest sea
his touch
exciting
his voice
as beautiful as Beethoven's symphony 5
the things he said could make any girl
believe that he loved them
only thing is
he didn't give a ******* ****
about me

BOY #2
his hair was as puffy and soft
as a baby bunny's fur
his words touched me in ways
only hands should be able to
his lips fixed wounds I thought
only doctors can fix
a moment with him was never dull
the stories he told me made
me want him more
"i had to jump the wooden gate
the cops were after me"
I couldn't help but smile
I gave you me
and you gave me you
but did you give yourself
to me like how I gave myself
to you

BOY #3
the height of Mt Rushmore
the style of Skateboarder's new model
your jokes were funny
but the way you treated me
after you got what you wanted wasn't
we laid in your bed and you held my hand
I rested my head on your shoulders
I trusted you
but I wasn't anything important to you

BOY #4
skin
dark as night
innocence
like a child
you were different
I wasn't attracted to you
but you liked me
so I let you give yourself to me
and before I knew it
you told your mama I was "a mistake"
we were the talk of the school

BOY #5
his hair was as puffy and soft
as a baby bunny's fur
his words touched me in ways
only hands should be able to
his lips fixed wounds
I thought only doctors can fix
and by now you would assume I
would've learned already
but this boy like no other
this boy excites me
I cant help but want his attention
****** allure maybe
whatever it is
I need him

(not done)

make love to a poet and you will feel
everything
all at once
as if the earth’s core
has shattered
and all the planets have been stretched into
long ropes
and intertwined
along the milky way
make love to a poet and you will feel
as though each verse
is inside of each panting moan
and as though each rhythm
is within each twisting ******
and your body will become numb
as it contorts
to turn existentialism into a heart beat
make love to a poet and you will experience
every word ever created
by each mouth brought to life
grazing your bare flesh
with each centimeter of their fingertips
meeting the quivering abdomen
and although every word is with you in this moment
you will beg the universe
to let you speak them
because when you make love to a poet
you become one
with a language
one unspoken and one the vice
you will melt into song
when you make love to a poet
all the love that ever was
or ever will be
becomes trapped within a single drop of sweat
and all the fear
that was summoned for the world to share
becomes confined within each sharp gasp
make love to a poet and you will feel the
creation of a galaxy inside of you
the stars will cling to your veins
and they will dance in your blood
and the planets will be caught in the gravity
of your lungs
and so you will breathe in moons
and breathe out aries
and asteroids will blast through your throat
for the rest of your being
if you make love to a poet

it's in the appreciation of a fantastic tater tot
and a shared laugh after a missed rebound in trash can basketball.

it's in risk and fear and a crazy heart
in late night car rides and "I'm not letting go"

it's at Waffle House at 6AM on a Sunday
in the sheepish grins and sweetly sticky countertop.

it's in the raise of an eyebrow, a wink, a nod
in attention to detail. listening. feeling.

it's in perfect confessions (if shared)
and in a drive thru drink (but only if it tastes right)

it's in the smallest of gestures that mean "I'm sorry"
and the nod that says "you are forgiven"

it's in a car (blue, not black) with a broken console
and in the joyous laughter over squeaky leather seats.

it's in feeling different and wild and passionate
but in soft affection and the summer breeze.

it's in August, in between my toes like sand
natural, messy, persistent
but wonderful all the same.

he holds it for me.

Yesterday a question got me thinking
I never got an answer, I'm hoping I will by the end of this poem


" How do you explain color to a blind man "
How do you explain how red and blue makes purple?
How do you explain how red and yellow makes orange?
How do you explain that the sky is of different shades of turquoise, blue, purple, red, depending on it's mood?
How do you explain the clarity of the clouds on a hot day?
How do you explain the greyness on the clouds, on a gloomy Sunday?
How do you explain the transparent color of the raindrops?
How do you explain the glossy finish on the sea water?
How do you explain the greenness of a forest?
Or the deep red blood that flows in your veins?
How do you do it, to a person who sees nothing, but black;
In a world so cruel?


" How do you explain sound to a deaf man"
How will I explain the beauty of a piano piece?
How will I explain the serenity of the da capo in a violin piece?
How will I explain the stress releasing qualities of drums being slammed?
How will I explain the tears of a newborn baby?
How will I explain the laughter of a newly married woman?
How will I explain the swish of the droplets colliding like bullets on the surface of a waterfall?
How will I explain the glass-like water cascading down the lake?
How will I explain all this, to a man;
Who lives in utter silence.


Maybe that is why I read,
*Do not mock a pain you have not endured.

You see,
What does it mean to 'be yourself'?
I wonder,
'Set yourself apart from the others'
'Unleash your true colours'
'Be confident! love yourself for who you are'
Is what I've heard.

You see,
What does it really mean to 'be yourself'?
I wonder,
A conformist is what I've become,
Bound by the wall of mediocrity,
And then it struck,
When? Where? Why?
What exactly happened along the way?

You see,
When I was a kid,
I dream a lot,
The things I hate,
The things I love,
Clear as a day,
Showing it, is what I did,
Free as the wind,
I am,

Again,
What happened?
Life happened,
Is that it?
Do we not change?
Can we even change?

You see,
As we grow older,
Our dream,
The things we love,
The things we hate,
Changes,
And so do we,

So,
Embrace it,
Better late than never,
To start,
Being yourself.

-nuraishahazman-

i wrote about you so often that every time my ink pen scraped a piece of paper the pen bled your name