Bombs brought entire cities
down to their knees today
refugees boarded boats knowing
their feet may never touch land again
police shot people dead for the color of their skin
last month i visited an orphanage of
abandoned babies left on the curbside like waste
later at the hospital i watched a mother
lose both her child and her mind
somewhere a lover died
how can i refuse to believe
my life is anything short of a miracle
if amidst all this chaos
i was given this life

I stand
on the sacrifices
of a million women before me  thinking
what can i do
to make this mountain taller
so the women after me
can see farther.

When I think about you
My mind turns to white noise
The butterflies in my stomach
Multiply
The thump of my heart is so strong
I feel like my heart's a prisoner in a cage waiting to break out
I'll hit my head to get it working again
Breathe in to release the butterflies
Command the beat of my heart to slow down
The art of control
To not spread my legs at the sound of your voice
Waiting for you to paint the canvas
To not turn brain dead
When you press your lips into me
To not jump around like I’m on crack
When we make plans to meet
To not have a heart attack
Every time you tell me you miss me
Like I miss you
It’s an art
To teach my body not to give out when you are around me
To not leak of honey
Crave you in sinful ways

To not turn to fuzz
When I hear your voice
To not explode
when I feel your kiss

Contemporaneously
I would not call u difficult or obscure;
two monikers poets like to take upon
themselves to reject; BBC, ABC & Nickelodeon
are places where u will be accepted not molested;
praised for ur emptiness---
**** Cavett introducing Rod McKuen
as "the most understood poet in the world"
says nothing of ur toilet-paper accuracy
at showing the world what a period-stain
looks like; it's understood---u speak
the language of Emma who will do anything
for attention, literally,
what Picasso said of Pollack
is worth repeating
here, as he just threw
a glass of water & said: "that is Pollack"---

I tremble at the thought of

falling in love with a

tiny part of someone

and mistaking it

for the whole

-rupi kaur

rupi kaur writes that loving with the knowledge that you are not good enough is selfish,
and to that i say let me be selfish,
just this once.
i have suffocated my joy and buried my despair for too many men.
please let me try to show this one
how much he means to me.