Maybe that's why
I prefer dogs;
animals probably have
more culture than you.

the way you take
quick glances at my trembling self
by the roadside,
with ear-piercing whistling—
does that excite you
as much as it scares me?

you made me look at
my long-sleeved dress
and ankle-hidden boots;
yet I question,
are my outfits deemed ******
till it entices your manhood?

I grip my bags firmly
and wallow in self-grief
for temporary relief,
as I fear more than just
compliments threw by
preys on the streets.

should you disagree,
of my brother,
whistling and signalling
your blood-sister,

should you disagree,
of my father,
oversexualising your mother,
then don't be a disgrace
to the ladies watching.

Rivers of people
crowded the alleys of my mind.
Every thought of mine
had to go through them.
And they were relentless.
By the time it made through them,
it was not the same.
That beautiful new born thought
had turned into a old stranger.
I learned one thing
that I can never have a thought
or an action
that is truly my own.
And even when the building and the skies
of my mind decay,
the people in those alleys will live on.

Years went by and a single dream
Intoxicated me like none other.

Willow leaves whispered silent lullabies
And the sunlight's rays poured into my haze
I stared longingly at the possibility.............

Yet these lustful diaries
so forbidden,
so drunk with rich fantasies,
the smell of each thought
fumed with tempestuous spirits
dragged me under into the lonely abyss.

And the fantasized romance became torture
and freedom -
limitation and liberation all at once.
This dream was a playground.
A sanctuary, a church to let my spirit soar.
Glorious joy I could feel, but only for a second

Then, the truth sank in
like a sinking ship  

The shackles of a single question still haunts me
-- what if?
And I wonder.

The pain is dull, haunting, yet hangs over me constantly
I am reminded that I remained in my dream world.
Unable to speak up,
From the wisdom of the pure heart

Unable to see the dream was always on this earthly plain
In plain sight.

In frustation, rage, and pain
Silent pain

I flip through my poetry account


-- God damm it. I have done this before

I, am the action
What you see, right here and now
Is only my words.

It is in that moment,
mid-city, with people
everywhere there is to be,
that you seek an outlet
for catharsis.

Not the alley though,
because alleys are
still open to these
passersbys.

We found ourselves
in a parking garage,
not for our cars
as he takes the P12
while I'm a red-liner,
but because we
found that outlet.

We entered the elevator
on floor 1,
and we clicked floor 7.
For 15 seconds,
70 feet was heaven.

And then on floor 7,
we clicked for floor 1.

And  you can guess
what happened at floor 1.

And you can guess
what I meant by heaven.

Again. Again. Again.