Its not the big things that are hard to get over but the simple, seemingly detailed ones,
Like how you would miss ice cream in the winter,
The way coffee never touched your lips unless it was 2/3 milk,
How crossing your leg on my bed would make you look gawky from your sheer height,
The way your fingers tangled around the pen I gave you on your birthday,
And how you smiled,
Adoration lighting up your eyes when you received it,
The time we caught a terrible cold because you convinced me taking a stroll in our pajamas under heavy rain was a good idea,
How you titled yourself the worst cook and all those disastrous moments you proved yourself right,
The deep thoughts you shared that forced me to lose myself in my day dreams,
The day we tasted alcohol for the first time and how we chugged it down even though we despised the taste of it,
The way my thoughts opened up to you in a way they hadn't learned to do with me,
All those silly moments we spent, heads upside down on your bed, faces pink with the rush of blood,
The day I found you huddled up at the corner of your room, your long legs pulled up to your chest,
as you rocked back and forth, your face washed with silent tears,
How we stayed there for hours, huddled together in to a small ball until the screams outside the door died down,
The moment I experienced the very frist and seemingly last shattering of my heart as I saw you wave to me from the back of your moms car,
And the weeks that followed where our conversations died faster than they revived,
Until the day I stopped getting replies,

.... All the seemingly detailed moments you just can't forget.

Describe it to me; that perfect moment, when the sun peeked out of the horizon and you were standing there, up on the hill, waiting for her to emmerge.

Describe it to me; that dazzling day, when you held on to the very end of your sanity, rocking it in to the burial ground you had been digging for years.

Describe it to me; that cold winter day when the river was full and the tide strong, and you decide it was a good day for a swim.

Describe it to me; that quite evening, right after the sun set you sat through, you saw a cluster of fireflies and they glowed like the world was a good place.

Describe it to me; that fatal day when you went out to your garden and the flowers didn’t look pretty anymore so you took the gasoline and a match, and watched the inferno swallow your lives work.

Describe it to me; that hectic weekend when you fell in love twice in two days and you couldn’t believe your heart was big enough to accommodate such strong emotions. You felt dizzy and nauseated but also suspended far away from gravity like a rollercoaster ride on the moon.

Describe it to me; that never ending month where your only companies were the blanket you loved and the music that stacked your phone. You felt lost as if all roads were interminable maize’s that you were tired of going in circles in.

Describe it to me; that quite night, you first tasted the lips of a cigarette and you held it between your own squeezing ever so gently. You sighed sensing the choice in your hands, whether or not you decided to die from this magnificent sin were yours and yours alone and you smiled crookedly as the match found its peak.

Describe it to me; that well played afternoon where you were only twelve and you were with her, your first love even before you were acquainted with the very concept of love and she told you to close your eyes. You felt it, that first pressure against your lips and you never remembered why your eyes stayed close but you assume it was to preserve that instant for eternity.

Describe it to me; that wet morning as you stood away from the moderately assembled crowed and you watched as they slowly descended your heart in a casket with her still holding it and you could never forgot the deafening silence that followed the crash of sand atop her as if it was the instant you went deaf to the world. Tears never left your eyes because there was nothing left to cry for.


Describe it all to me as if I was never there to witness it.

Tonight
I'm wearing a black see-through dress
I looked in the mirror, I thought I will see myself
Brown skin
Short legs
Fat bellies
My insecurities
But I know this is not me, I know
I take a knife and peel myself
I started to my ring finger
Skin stretched to my elbow
I'm not crying
I'm hurting
Blood's dripping
Tears are not falling
I thought I have a fresh red flesh
But it is black
Blacker than black
And I'm laughing
Because this is me, the real me.
How did this happened?
Maybe I breathe the air I thought that was air
Or drink the water I thought that was water
Or eat the food I thought was food
Or maybe..
I was rottening in hell. Alive.
But this is me. The real me
And my skin covers more than what I know
And my dress cover more than my insecurities
And myself covers myself
Tomorrow
I will not wear my see-through dress again

I’m sorry.
My beautiful stanzas,
For not keeping in touch with you.
Somewhere along the way
I abandoned you.
And never wrote back.

I’m sorry.
My sweet verses
I have not forgotten you.
I have only forgotten the feelings in you.
And my heart can't bear to remember.

I’m sorry.
Meaningless Haikus.
I thought I could make some sense out of you.
But I will always be a few words away
from finishing you.

I’m sorry.
Untitled works.
You are amazing.
But I couldn’t give you what you deserved.
I left you raw.
Unpolished.
Unfinished.

I’m sorry.
That I scroll past you.
That I am to forgetful to finish you.
But to proud to erase you.

I’m sorry.
That while you remain
unfinished and unpublished.
I continue giving birth to
New works and
New ideas.

I will finish you one day.
Not today.
Not now.
But someday.
And until that day,

I’m so sorry.

I remember the evening
that we sat clinging
to paper cups
of coffee gone cold

over secrets spilled and memories told
two bodies cursed
with hearts grown old

behind your eyes
I found new worlds
A winding road stretched out for miles
to a small cafe at the end of the isle

Sweet pastries filled the mouths
of those who sat beside us
and stayed for a while.

How the hours went by,
people just passing through
The descending sun ending
a forever with you.

I had an unexpected surprise for lunch today,
With an old friend from my school years;
Such a smoothie, sweet and giving,
Like a thermos of hot chocolate on the rink;
Or one to accompany some night time tea,
Or milk warmed in the pan.
My old friend,
Peanut butter and jam,
On white sliced bread.
Spread it, spoon it,
Right to the crust,
Cut it in two, eat it uncut.
Feeds a family of eight,
And leaves a smile on your face.
A muscle builder,
A brain enhancer,
And a full belly before bed.

Isn't it easy to write during these times,
And difficult to write on these times,
Without ripping off figurative comparisons.

I want to use wasteland
But I'd be the one compared,
And that won't work. That's not my intent.
Besides, Townsend and T.S. worked it.

There are the platinum choices
Like Satan, Lucifer, or Legionnaire.
But Milton has his scent all over these,
And the Bible invented them.

Those times.
These times.

Apocalypse, or any version thereof,
Would surely bring Brando to mind,
And Kurtz's heart of darkness.

There are inspiring descriptors like,
Cataclysm, devastation and destruction.
Well-represented in cinema
Since Birth of a Nation.
Now there's irony.

As much as Holocaust would be perfect to plagiarize,
I, nor anyone else, should ever attempt,
(And it would be a vain glory attempt at best)
To use this singular word
In an analogy for anything, ever again.
Ever!
Unless absolutely necessary.
Unless someone we know gets stupid.
Then more stupid.
Then stupider.
Then most stupid.
And finally,
Not with a whimper, but a bang.
I falter.
Not exactly plagiarism is it?
Shouldn't be repeated either.