I hadn't a chance to know you while you existed, in fact, I hadn't known you existed until you drifted away, far away from this earth.  So delicate, so ever longing to be at one with yourself, this world run on electronic gossip and urban dictionaries; You left a wolf to this world of sheep.  To hold your head in my palm would have resulted in the forever shutting of your eyes; The forever shutting out the standards set by those whom have yet to figure out that their mouths don't really have legs, that they can't run forever on a tongue that can be cut out and fed to a group of lost bears or boys.  To hold your head in my palm would have resulted in the reassurance that the birth of you was the birth of a universe because what's this world to you.  The insight that we are born with all of our origins intact and as we grow, we lose sight of where or heart lies.  In the process of trying to find it's home, we end up failing other parts of ourselves.  The cycle of recycle and rebirth.  And if ever your mouth would have opened up to my ears, I would have listened to a story spoken by the wise.  There once was a wolf who strayed from his pack to go live with man because to him, staying alive was all he gave a **** about.  He ran and scurried far enough to allow himself to be caught and after so many years of being caught, he'd forgotten he ever once lived as a wolf.  One day when the wolf was out hunting with his owner, he went to retrieve his prey, come to find, his prey was the leader of his pack.  While the now called "dog" whimpered and said his "I'm sorry's" the leader spoke "your hunger and will to stay alive will come and go but my dignity is here to stay, I am a woman of many, of free will and this life has yet to take that from me."  The knowing of your every day, waking up as if when you were asleep, somebody disembodied you, being quick to clean up their mess when your breathing fastened, leaving pieces out and bolts unscrewed in the rush.  A story told by all the flys that take off backwards, a fact that people cannot live unconformed due to the simple sense of stumbling while not walking forward.  I beg you to create a fire in ones bones being hugged by bed sheets tonight.  I beg you to crawl in through my sternum, rest your head on my heart, drape yourself across my ribcage; Let yourself be felt as you wait out this storm.  And maybe someday you'll come back to us, missing the city you grew up in or maybe someday you'll send us a postcard letting us in on your journey, letting us know that you made it home safely.  Stating, to this earth, you are never returning because again, a world to a universe is nothing more than a pen to paper and my darling, you left, a wolf in this world of sheep.
                        
                         -S. Mia
                 December 31 2014

Inhaling;  We can't help but wonder when we ache from the hurt, roll over in bed, feel the knot in your chest, in your head, from the hurt.  When you get dizzy in the shower and shed tears all over your collar, from the hurt.  Falling into the arms, resting your chin upon the shoulder belonging to the one who's supposed to separate the black from the white and love you amongst the grey.  But what happens when they become the ones that were wrong because they turned their backs to what they once knew to be right.  What happens when they become the main source.  
     They find ways to compare us to every other heart beating but something about your heart beating, the way your lungs continue breathing.  The way I was bound to forgive because for once, I felt the weight, the same weight that was put upon her.  A weight that collapsed my knees, cut off all air supply;  A weight that shattered all clocks.  We were frozen in time, time where infinite didn't exist, infinite didn't mean a ******* thing.
     And it's just that, the knowing we don't last forever that makes you take a step back, a step out of your own body.  Let your silhouette be placed on the outside, let it look inside and let it absorb the world your own doings have created.  Notice that the being standing to the left of you with his hands in a fist as if they were latched onto something as valuable as a trophy, opening them only to find that inside is your heart.  The only ***** that keeps you alive, gives you the ability to live, allowing you to feel and understand that, in those hands, that heart of yours is going to be safe and sound.  Viewing the eyes of the being to the left of you, looking into you, up at you, seeing you as if you were golden; Looking at you the way some die looking for a set of eyes to see them in such a way.
     Climbing into the skin that you founded at birth, gently letting go of the anger, jealousy, realizing the hurt that came upon you was never inflicted by anybody but yourself.  
     Posted at the edge of the pier, with the one by your side, making a fist and reaching out over the water, vowing to protect the heart you're holding onto for dear life, until kingdom come.  Pulling in the body to your left, mouths open wide.  On this cold fall day, I will exhale the love I have for you so you can see it in my breath, just what I'd be losing, what I do lose every time you take my breath away.  
     Eyes peering out at the earth surrounding us;  Palm to palm, they put their hearts together, forming one.  And into the sea, they were engulfed.  Allowing themselves to sink to a depth, unexplored because maybe there, maybe that's where their full captivity lies.  
     You are a model of my love.  And my love, you have the most beautiful eyes.
                     - S. Mia
                August 24, 2014

Almost seventy million people are enabled in some way to speak in sign.  Nearly half of the entire human race, while speaking, uses hand motions to fulfill the full meaning of the point they are trying to get across.  My whole life, I have never known where to put my hands.  My whole life, I've been told I need to open my mouth and speak but it was always after the fight when my pen hit the paper that I could find the words to say.  It's always taken me until it was too late to come up with a solution to mend what's been broken.  
    We hadn't spoken in nearly three weeks but, when she called to tell me about the run in she had with you, I knew you shed tears and it made me cry too.  We hadn't spoken in nearly three weeks but, I hear the shakiness in your voice.  How?  Because I hear it I'm my own.  I answered the phone a day ago and over my breath, you spoke and over your voice, I listened.  It wasn't until after you'd hung up that I told you if ever we should say goodbye, it will only be with words because words are something you can say and I can write but, together, there is an "us" in everything we see.  Making it clear to each other that this is goodbye would mean nothing when the whole world is one to the other.  
    It'll be years before we realize that we are all universes within ourselves.  And that the sky above us, the ground below us, those are the walls that imprison us, only allowing our embers to shine for a matter of hours.  But it's kind of beautiful, isn't it?  The way that our stars seem to be the brightest objects in the world when all the rest of the earth goes black, when the sun is shut out for the night.  We are all walking solar panels.  Years before I realize that you are a universe and I should have appreciated how lucky I was to have landed you.
    It'll be years and we will still have hands, whether they are chained behind your back, it'll be years and we will still have thoughts and some will still go unsaid.  It's beautiful and it's blue, the way we all carry this soul clenching hope that things will eventually get better in order to be so scared of missing them so much.
    For years, I had been meaning to ask if you'd look back on me fondly even though my lines were never straight, even though my image was never a reflection and my complexion is plain.  Would you still look up to me even though  I am a mess?  A mess made from a head of hair that ends up in handfuls in the bathroom garbage because age, that's what it does to you.  A mess made from love because loving yourself a little less because you're loving someone else a lot more, does a wonder.  A mess made from the **** your mother never told you or something your father said right before he left but, the truth is, each heart is just a trash can and our hands pull everything we love, hate, yearn for or cry over, in for a kiss.  A kiss that eventually opens up, swallowing down spoonfuls of feelings that were wonderful when felt, not choked on.  
    It's simple you see, we are all something simple.  We are all made from a mess, a mess that only one other can clean, a mess that one just as lost, just as found, just as ***** as you; A mess that only "The" one, can add to.
    It had been years now, from the day I dove off the edge of the earth with nothing but the end to catch me.  And for years to come, I will be in love with the idea that I will be falling for a lifetime.
                           -S. Mia
                     August 18,2014

Today someone asked me if I'd ever been in love. When I replied "yes", they asked "with who?" And I told them not who but what. I'd been in love with the idea of being very far away from here.
     I stayed and trouble found me. I stayed knowing I could leave but I was physically bound to something. I left because people around here are chained to the past but I, I am bound to meet tomorrow.
     I'm so mentally exhausted by the way life is living that I can't help but stay up and wonder what's next to fall and after the fall, will there be a broom I can use to sweep up the rubble or will it taunt me forever?
     I am not sorry for the pain that I caused you to fight when you crawl into your bed and curl up for the night.
     Oxygen never tasted so good, stepping back from the ledge never felt so easy, the tips of my toes never felt so relaxed and un-walked on. And the worry in my throat, hell; There wasn't one.
                     -S. Mia
                August 13, 2014

For if we were to build a relationship on quicksand, we would still question why it was so quick to slip away.
      Pacing through a field of daisies, running over a trail of glass, taking a leap off the high dive, landing just short of cracking your head open on the cement, laying down in a twin size bed; alone.  
     Pacing leads to heavy, uneven breathing due to all the bee stings you've acquired , the trail of glass turns into shards of broken material impaling the limbs that were made to carry you.  That leap escalates to you finally hitting the water, face first, sinking slowly to the bottom of a 12 foot pool. Yet, when the clock strikes 10 pm, you're not laying down in bed alone, you're laying down with 17 million other people that decided to end their day at the same time.    
     For when the clock strikes midnight and darkness floods in through your bedroom windows, eliminating every sign of tomorrow, silencing the sounds of the world, leaving you to battle the thoughts that won't start until half past three.  That is when alone begins.  
     All things bad are the exact motions that follow with intentions of teaching a lesson we are bound to learn but you were supposed to be a father and father, you didn't follow.  In fact, you never even tried to lead; You fled.  You ran away to the military, the coward you were, the coward you always will be, you thought that you could save millions. You were wrong, you murdered, stole, buried so many innocent lives and right before you left, you tried to part of me along.  
     It was for nine years my mother had be convinced my dad was Prince.  It was nine years before death invited itself to your dining room table.  It took you nine years to impregnate, run, marry, birth, raise, sign up, destroy.  It's been 17 years and a father is what you haven't been.  
     Ignorant sons of ******* like you are what have left 15 million of us children alone, hollow and unloved. You all open your doors wide enough for us to get a glimpse if the lives you chose to carry on, then slam the doors, leaving us to continue searching for that guiding light.  You leave us in a situation where we can't truly be mad a you for leaving because you were never there to begin with.  You left me searching for that light so I said, "to hell with you" and became it.  
     It's been 17 years and I still sit and wonder what it would have been like if I could have gotten you to stay.  17 years and a part of me still remains cold and vacant. You make me feel as if I've conformed to a life or mourning and pity as I still try to figure out if you ever had a brain or if you lost it like I've lost myself many times trying to let I'm men that would have treated me like one of their own but I couldn't because when you fled, so did my image of being held by the hands of a man that would one day walk me down the isle at my wedding. You took my image and replaced it with the un comforting thought of never being able to rest in peace because if ever, I allowed myself to get close enough, I'd slam my forehead against yours and look you dead in the eyes just long enough for you to silently absorb everything you've missed, just long enough for you to understand that you have not and never will be missed.
     Instead, the part of me that went missing in 1997 will be missed and I hope whoever finds it, takes care of it and grows to know it because I never will. And instead of walking away from you, I'll walk past you because I am a creature of transformation, I am becoming what I'm meant to be. I'll walk past you because in my past is where you deserve to be.
     I will no longer hold the grudge of wonder and jealousy against you, I will no longer try to hurt you back because hatred is just another form of caring and I fell short of caring when I was born; The daughter with a father, a father who couldn't care at all.  
                          - S. Mia
                         July 21, 2014

I wasn’t born to write
With every bent petal,
and every fallen leaf,
my ma’s sweet kisses
And papa’s gentle smile
I learned to write

A five year old me was once fascinated
by the loop of an ‘e’
and the playful swing of an ‘m’,
The wide smile of a ‘d’ delighted me
Words were powerful and mesmerising,
now they lie discarded and ignored
in broken stanzas of self proclaimed irrelevance

I watch the black ugly marks
That taints countless sheets of paper
They surround me in a sea of ink
That once flowed carefully and slowly
A thousand thoughts with each single word
Drained lies my mind, my breath’s not a whisper but a plea
My heart pumps blood not ink, I’m not a poet, it says
Incoherent scribblings mock me with their existence

As a child, confined spaces scared me
But now, a confined mind petrifies me with just a glimpse
A pen stays gripped in my hand
I wonder what it fears more
My inability to let the ink flow coherently
Or my arrogant ramblings, regardless
And fearless of consequences
While I stumble on disjointed verses

A paper aeroplane is my best accomplishment
In my two hour search for freedom and thought
Who cares for pretty words and mystifying couplets?
When the idea of a paper boat seems much more exciting

-പ്രിയാന്ഷി ദാസ്‌

Death; the action or fact of dying or being murdered. 56 million deaths per year, 153,000 per day, 106 per minuet, 1.78 per second. We were alive, the moment was living within us, to my left, to your right.
All day it rained on and off. The sky poured down upon us, eyes open wide, we could see the ground below our feet, we could feel the puddles underneath the car tires, aware that we were going to endure a splash, unaware that as soon as the earth rotated from dawn to dusk, darkness would engage every source of knowledge we were built to hold, erasing street lights, taking away the ability to see what was ahead of us before it was places behind us.
Switching from daylight to midnight nation. Bound by nothing but latitude and longitude, existing side by side but falling short of knowing each other.
There is an ongoing myth that beeping the horn of your car while driving through a tunnel is supposed to bring you good luck. There is an ongoing thought of witnessing every relationship that makes up your social life, ending at the exact same time. Everyone says that when they are faced with what seems to be the end, the only thing they can think of is "what's the last thing I said to mom and dad?"
But my mind told me to look over at the man sitting to my left. My mind told me to put my hands on his thigh and watch in amazement as his hands held onto not me but, the wheel that would eventually steer us into a cement wall or wrap us around a light post. And when our eyes met, my mind reminded me of the first time I looked into those beautiful sockets of wonder and how I knew from that second on, you would always be on my left because the world didn't think we were right but you never left and I always stayed right, for you.
As the puddle overtook us as the deadliest tsunami in history overtook japan in 2004, I wasn't scared. I looked to you and I didn't shake with fear because I knew my mother wouldn't be upset that how much I'd miss her when I'm gone, wasn't the last thing to cross my mind because at heart, she'd know that when I left, I left in love, I left sitting right next to my conscious, my hope, desire, my object of affection. I left being adorn by the eyes of the only person she knew could ever love me more than herself. She would give a sigh of relief at the sight of the crash, looking up, knowing that I left her world and became completely indulged in yours, knowing that if I ever lost myself, I could lose you too.
And you are like lab coat; to the outside world, so mysterious but to me, I know every part of you, I can stick my hand in every pocket and each button tells a different story. You keep me warm and cool me down. You protect me when I drape you over my body and I protect you when I take you off inside of my house; you are home.
In those thirteen seconds, we were welcomed with the opportunity to witness the destruction, the permanent end of something. We were greeted by death, the end of life, the beginning of living.
                       -S. Mia
                   July 16, 2014