Kicking dust
The colour of rust
Clouding air like anger clouds trust

Swirling in the air
Free as it may dare
Intoxicating in simplicity, like love and what is fair

I met a genius on the train
today
about 6 years old,
he sat beside me
and as the train
ran down along the coast
we came to the ocean
and then he looked at me
and said,
it's not pretty.

it was the first time I'd
realized
that.

little dark girl with
kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won't flinch and
i won't blame
you,
as I drive along the shore alone
as the palms wave,
the ugly heavy palms,
as the living does not arrive
as the dead do not leave,
i won't blame you,
instead
i will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
again.
little dark girl with kind eyes
you have no
knife. the knife is
mine and i won't use it
yet.

They say you are born
Naked, with no identity
No name
And no face
Like any other
You are born, crying
A brand new star
Another unknown amalgamation of all that gives life
A fresh start
But not to everyone

For some of us
Are born closer to the earth
A genetic result of a thousand generations
Manifesting its way into marks on my being
Unseen
Unknown
Unwanted
We have a name for us
By Birth

Wherein we are doomed to the fires of hell
If hell were on Earth
And it is here for us
A simple cage with no bars
The burden of a thousand years
And markings made by routine
Justified by the Great Souls
Deeming it but mere control

And even if I change
Resist and break
They say I was born this way
That my mother's womb has left indelible marks I can never erase
A curse that made me wonder
Should I have been born at all?
To feel as deserving as literal baloney
Never to be touched
Never to be felt
Never to be heard
Never to be seen
Dehumanized to an extent where I cannot even believe any more that the sky is blue
Or that there exists the air around me which I need to breathe, to live
I'm no more than a pollutant
Upon the back of whom this world works
But who never sees the light above
Who was supposed to be filtered away into oblivion
Who was always supposed to be the nonentity
The stubborn stain that will not go away

I can never erase
My name
My identity
Even if I pretend
Or literally rip the skin off my face and wear another
If I achieve anything in this world
I shall be put up on a wall to showcase
The marks my mother's womb left
The marks that I can never erase

For some of us were born to hug the earth
Make it our home and heart
The backbone of this whole wide world
The wombs that faced physical retribution and degradation
Of the cruelest kind possible
To be told you can never be better
Than irrelevant specks of dust
Swept beneath an apologetic herd

For some of us are born closer to the earth
I bear my marks with shame no more
I shall take what was mine
I shall bow no more

dating a writer
is like guessing the weather.
you think you know what you'll get,
but you never do.

you never know
because

she'll create a hero
from your weaknesses

and she'll write a great character,
from every last flaw.

she'll create a thousand plots  
from your worst nightmares.

she'll take every last thing you hate
and create something you'll love.

she'll turn your anger
into confessions of adoration,

and she'll make you,
everything you're not.

but worst of all,
she'll leave you wondering-
is it you she's in love with,
or things she's created from you?

but here's the beauty of it:

if you date a writer,
you'll never die.