I think I met you when I was seven,
but I can't be sure
it may have been a dream.

I ask my friends about you,
but they all have their own nicknames for you.
Allah,
            God,
                       and Mother
the three I hear most often.

for me, none of these names fit you.
they hang from your body, concealing what you truly are.

forgiveness and rage
                                        empathy and judgement
                                                     ­                                tenderness and hostility



my grandfather talks to you every night with his eyes clenched and fingers clasped

he tells me that you have saved him from his nightmares,
washed the blood from his hands.
he wants to introduce us,

he thinks that you can save me.

I want to thank you for cleansing my grandfather's hands.
for teaching him that a single bad act
(or a collection of many)
does not make you a bad person.
that Life is a game of unknown rules
and unwilling players.

and I don't know if it's my "rebellious nature"
(as my mother calls it)
but for me,
the unknown is a comfort blanket.

walking through life heel-to-toe
I take the time to lose myself.

I lose myself in books,
                                     shopping malls,
                                                              an­d other people.

I believe in little moments of Fate
and Love's cruel intentions.
the Power of silence
and the weight of Words.

but these days, I tend to lose myself within the four walls of my bedroom.
I lose myself.
I actually lose myself.

So, if you ever want to get a cup of coffee,
my number is at the bottom.

I would love to hear what you have to say.

You drank to escape and to ease
Instead your desires clouded your soul
The whimper shouts from the inside to stay still
To sleep alone another night
To stay good and do what's right
Is ignored as your demon is above my shoulder
And your whisper is in my ear
As you wait til silence marks my lips
That is when you make your slay and cause me to slip
Surrounded by darkness, defenselessness
You suffocate my pleads of no
As you trick yourself into illusions of my conscious consent
And you shame me down,
My mind absent as you expose my lifeless, bare body
And my blank stare
Did you see my eyes?
They were speaking to you,
Asking why,
If you saw that girl that used to hang around and laugh
Or did you see a piece of meat, incomprehensible of what you were capable of doing
So vulnerable, she'll never tell
Oh sly you, thinking it was okay
To let everyone see, leaving invitations for the unwanted
And me to break upon their touches
My flesh bruised with fingertips
My mind ****** with their urges
Blacked out from shame and guilt
Only Its my fault, I deserved this filth?
You took away the last of my innocence
Left me unwanted and broken,
Not knowing love but only to be used
I didn't chose this, you abused and created this

Left behind once thought friends
They turn into monsters I fear
We all so broken,
From the fairy tales of love we mourn
So we seek love in the bottom of the bottle
To feed the power of denial
As we justify our actions fueled by the beast
To hurt and destroy others
so we can share the pain and ruin of loneliness together
An illusion of unity as we slowly slaughter one another
To black out the last of our guilt
Only we turn into the thoughts of our filth

I've learned that happiness
cannot be found in the form of a little
purple capsule.
I've learned that Pisa will have to wait until next time.
I've learned that the third mushroom
held in my sweaty palm was not as
big a deal compared to the other two opening my mind.
I've learned that a part of me
died that night where we ****** in a
room with no furniture.
I've learned that life is work and that
the molotov cocktail of Dubrah and eay mac
that came spewing from me left an orange tang
upon the floor.
I've learned that pain is better than numbness
and that jabbing a sewing needle repeatedly in my arm
was an educated decision.
Most importantly I've learned that together we are better than alone.

It can be easy to lose hope
Sometimes in life when
Things get there heaviest
It can weigh you down
And you begin to lose
Hope inside of your
Heart but if you allow
Yourself to raise your
Hope and raising your
Faith and allowing yourself
To soar and raise above any
Challenges that might come
Your way I think you will
Find that after a while
When life gets tough
If you can raise
A little hope
You will
Be better
Off

What is a poet?

Is it a writer who rhymes
in perfect time

Or a person who captures a moment
like a sunset with a crisp breeze to calm the humidity
with streaks of a cool yellow, and a dimmed down orange
light pinks and wispy clouds
in the dimming light

But what is a poet?

Without a pen and paper to capture their words
or a mouth to speak them
or a mind to think them

What is a poet?

without a life
without a story
without love or misery
without pain
without smiles

Is it a tortured soul or a happy idiot?

No, a poet is a poet.
With a mind to think and a soul to speak.