She sees you as this strong guy
You see yourself as a weakling
She believes that you can do anything
You think everything is impossible
She makes sure to make you laugh at least once a day
You wish you had a better laugh
So she tells you that you are the most handsome guy in the world
You think she’s lying
She says all of this for you to make you happy
You stay in your bubble

She stopped smiling
You try to make her smile
She loses her concentration faster
You keep her focused on you long enough to see what’s wrong
So she stops caring about everyone
You ask everyone to help her like they helped them
She gave up
You give her reasons to not give not
She is silent more
You are trying to get her to speak out again

Sometimes helping someone else in their time of need can be draining
But if you know that this person has helped you
Try and do the same
You don’t know what is going on in their head,
In their lives, and many more
Be nice to everyone
Life isn’t always butterflies and rainbows
For those that think it is,
Congratulations to you.
For the people going through tough times
I believe you can get through this
You are stronger than you

Monsters never find peace in the bed
but in your head.
-Ikigai Poet

she just shakes her head

she meets me on the street-corner, me from work, she from dance,
in the grayling dusk of a thank god it’s a freedom Friday night,
I greet her with words semi-adventurous -

“come with me, few errands to run, keep me in good company”

to the candy store we go for to purchase my weekend eve
lottery tickets and blow-pop lollipops, just in case some
kids appear, a surprise omen as they come
trick-or-treating just before Thanksgiving


the Bangladeshi candyman calls out a long prayer
in his native Bangla

she asks “what’s that he’s saying?”

“Oh, just wishing us a pleasant Sabbath and
may his gods smile upon our good lottery fortune”

she just shakes her head, from side to side

emerging from the store, walking home in the
now doubly ***** darkly dusk,
a set of white teeth from a passing shadow-man says to me
“you’re home late and have a great weekend,”

she asks, “who is that?”

“why,” I reply, “that is our very own personal postal carrier’

she says:
“he delivers mail to ten thousand people all in buildings tall,
yet knows your name, your face,
where you buy your lottery tickets,
your coming and going hours,
how came that to be”

but waits not for an answer
she just shakes her head, from side to side

I show her my secret entrance to our apartment house,
the fast route to collect our mail, dry cleaning in one fell swoop
a secret door, secret elevator taking us directly to our apartment

a secret elevator which is under the direction of
Bimal from Nepal,
who I greet in Nepalese, (my tutor)
I, asking after Brian and Bryce, his 100% American boys

now she says nothing, but before our door, as I go key digging,
she just shakes her head, from side to side

later she says:

“let’s order in, apprise me of  your expertise,
some exotic fare from Manhattans First Avenue,
known for its aphrodisiacal powers
afterwards,
you must tell me each dishes name,
in its tongue’s nativity,
but much, much later,”

and as she speaks, grinning,
she sticks out her tongue,
while she just shakes her head,
but this time,

up
and
down