I grew up here,
Not just in this city or this state,
But this house,
With my parents’ room down the hall,
The bathroom I used to share with my brother next door.
I grew up on this street,
Right next to the convenience store I used to buy candy from,
Racing to get back before my mom got home from work,
The same yard I’d wait in for my dad every night,
The same neighbors.
So much of this place is as it is in my memory,
How it was when I was just a little girl.
I asked my mother once,
When I was small,
If I could live with her forever,
Scared of strangers,
The idea of not making it home by the time the sun set.
The thought that I wouldn’t just be older,
But actually old,
Was paralyzing.
I’d be responsible for myself,
For my life,
For everything that happened to me.
I wish I had grown up slower.
I wish I still wanted to be here,
Now that I’m stuck here.
Most of all I wish I had become what I used to be so afraid of,
Someone who was responsible,
Someone who could take care of themselves.
I wish my parents hadn’t flown me home,
Fearing for my life and wincing at how skinny I’d gotten while I was away.
I wish they hadn’t realized the damage they taught me when I was young,
I wish they didn’t look at me with that guilt or shame or sadness,
Like they took something from me,
Like they broke me.
I wish they wouldn’t keep reminding me that no matter where I go,
What I do,
Who I meet,
I’ll always be that person I was when I was small,
Fearful and clumsy and irresponsible,
Waiting for someone to come home,
Waiting for someone to take care of me.
I miss when my fears were irrational,
So far into the future they were laughed off.
People used to think it was endearing that I thought about the future,
Now it’s just depressing.
Maybe I was right to be afraid.
Maybe I’ve always known what kind of person I’d turn into.
Maybe this will haunt me for the rest of my life,
Falling asleep in the room I grew up in,
With my parents down the hall,
The ghost of my brother lingering next door.
Is that sad?
Is it sweet?
I guess I’ll never know.

we rode our bikes on autumn street
still not convinced it’s not a dream
wind swept hair and promises
that we'd never forget how it feels

you forgot about autumn street
as soon as the leaves fell from the trees
forgot all those promises
so ready to never look back

too eager to grow up and leave
but I think I'm stuck here
I'm still on autumn street
and you're state lines away

I'm stuck between growing up
and staying in my comforts
it seems too easy for you
to move on from autumn street

I ran through autumn street
and forgot to think about you
I think it's a sign
that I should leave too

Sitting outside in my grandpa’s veranda,
he passed away before I could appreciate his presence;
he wished for me to come see his art;
his garden, a green maze of trees and bushes,
from marigolds and periwinkle to mango trees and whatnot.

As I lay here on the mat,
close to my grandpa, I might gladly add;
seeing the ants crawl up on the periwinkle blooms
and wild butterflies dancing overhead;
with a bulbul on a mango tree branch
and crows chattering near food dumps;
with a sweet scent of marigold in the air
and crickets chirping in the background;
with a mongoose running on the broad fence
and a squirrel eating rice that my grandma kept;
with the sun rays hitting my face through the trees
and a couple of flies hovering beside my novel;
with a moment of pure serenity,
that brings a peaceful calm to this tranquil space;
my heart feels full and my soul at ease.

As a gentle breeze whispers by,
my hair seems to be afloat.
As the fresh air clears my mind,
I feel alive like never before.
As I hear children playing nearby,
memories of my childhood days come alive;
one of the best moments of my life;
in this veranda forever entwined.
As I feel a soft breath of crispness on my face,
I reminisce about the times I had lived with him;
the village isn't as bad as it seemed.

This is the land where my ancestors lived;
and where I feel his presence still,
he must be smiling sitting on the chair beside me;
finally, content that I appreciate his accomplishment.

The forest stood silent and still,
A melancholic hush over the hill,
The trees that once whispered to the breeze,
Now stood with a sense of unease.

The rivers that flowed once with glee,
Now ran dry and lost their spree,
The birds that once sang so sweet,
Now vanished from their retreat.

The flowers that bloomed with such grace,
Now withered and faded in their place,
The grass that once swayed with delight,
Now wilted, with no hope in sight.

The earth that once teemed with life,
Now barren, with nothing but strife,
The sky that once shone with stars,
Now dull and gray, without any bars.

The world that once pulsed with love,
Now drowned in tears and woes above,
Nature, once a bountiful gift,
Now a symbol of pain, a heartbroken rift.

On the seventh day he rested, but
Before he did, he selected a little
Piece called "Benton", and there's
Where he put heaven.

Thin skinned
Like I grew up in a childhood to recover from
Christ the savior
pinned against white walls
and if you're not careful they'll nail you up there too