all my dad bought was tequila,
so i spent my evenings staring into it, plugging my nose
(orange is my least favorite color.)
drip drip drip, onto our sidewalks, like an iv in an inevitably diseased vein
its still coming down, slowly. you feel it if you dont move
swallow me, into tunnels made of clear plastic film,
dry me out until i am the dust left by summer

I hate helplessness
It's creates the kind of anger that you can't express until it makes you cry.
Frustrating
A gentle breeze nor a god can move the immovable object
your happiness matters not to the immovable object
Impossible obstacle
Helpless

small crevices filtering water from the rain,
all heedless, silence, when alleys utter shouts of pain,
all in motion, void devotion
hidden schemes, but caution
sleep,
even commercials, hide skill, despite it's toxin....

a vertical garden of concrete bliss,
lessons, points of times past, did we succeed or miss?
sleep well, each day another chance,
despite looks, money, truth appears, when self in stance

sleep, the city needs sleep,
not action, not movement, just self to keep,
sleep, sleep you'll have steps, leaps,
whether just or foul, an ad, or even truth in cowl,
sleep, city sleep, the city... the world, needs us
our minds are too busy, let the city, our minds sleep for once

deforestation; what is now occurring in the habitat I call home. Does my body dislike me? Does it have its secrets and tells the world. I want to be the penny that drops in the middle of a deadly quiet class. I want to be the  rat, who is so awfully hated, that they have now made traps. I want myself to pay attention to me. I think that is something in which we all believe. My friends are the world, along with me and my beautiful family. Sometimes I don't feel the support but I suppose I'm not made of spaghetti. Plastered in some kids bowl, tangling me up like he knows what he likes and being so helpless...but I'm so happy I have support.

I found myself rooting for the tiny ant
The spider was trying to trap in its webbed snare,
No thoughts did I spare before swiping a finger,
and helping it make a dramatic escape

As I looked at the spider, left food-less,
Rearrange itself in its meticulous net,
I wondered at the strangeness of this
Little world of ours, and also its pointlessness

We make it seem so rosy and pretty,
Embellish it with garlands of emotions,
But underneath lies the truth of its existence,
Made up of cruelty, chaos and commotion

The Designer painted it beautifully,
But gave it finer embroideries of pain,
He threw in an entire cosmos together,
And arranged it into a food chain

Compartments and more compartments,
Of colour and country and gender galore,
Hustle and bustle to stay put in a labile balance,
That is forever tipped at the cusp of war

We fool ourselves with the sham that our lives
Depend on friendships and love and such stunts,
When what we are, if we think about it,
Is a part, of one gigantic hunt

A hunt for alimentation,
And monetary satisfaction,
And physical satiation,
Does being conditional deserve glorification?

I wonder if I've turned into a permanent cynic,
It may very well be just a phase,
Though the spider would be cursing me for sure,
Not too romantic it is, sabotaging a prey!

She hasten soon left in a streak
and gravity seen hitherto will roar
that glistening  grease in a political chase
that she drove tirelessly across moonlit destination  

only bitten rolling along countryside her waterloo
and  a marvel uncanny as that in a dream
sheer adrenaline multiplied with a tear on her coverlet

You see I'm not entirely sure what home feels like,
but when we're sitting together, side by side in nothing but silence,
I begin to slowly understand.

Home is you. Home is a place that brings no judgement, only love.
Home makes you feel okay about being dumped or failing your math test, again.
You've been my home that allows me to live & a home that has managed to teach me about the entire universe.
You've been able to keep me alive by effortlessly loving me, despite my constant moping about.
Your existence alone has given me more reason than ever before & for once, I don't want to give up. Not on me & never on you.

I cannot think of anyone else who deserves to wear that pretty smile each day, carelessly, effortlessly.
& most importantly, I cannot think of anyone else who deserves to be loved,
who deserves to have their tea hot each morning & to have men write bad poetry because no words in the dictionary are worthy of describing your entire being.
You are the mid night poetry at 2am that everyone talks about.
You are the reason we should all have insomnia, because it's a little difficult to fall asleep when fragments of your face & the happiness you shed on us each passing day keeps replaying in our heads.
With a heart of gold, you make people believe in love & all the little things in between.
No,
this is not a poem,
but proof that when my heart beats,
it beats to find its way home.