I didn’t forget you, baby—
I’ve just been a little absent.
You see... it’s a boy.

He says sweet things,
Likes my smile,
Says my voice is heaven,
Notices my earrings.

I didn’t forget you, baby—
It’s just that I don’t want to cry.
You’ve held my pain,
Every word etched with blood.

His family seems nice,
The kind from the movies.
He wants to ride a horse.
He makes me blush.

I didn’t forget you, baby—
You seem far away.
I can’t run this fast.
We’ll meet again...
Maybe tomorrow.

Who am I in this vast, open earth of different species
A species of the human race created from a clot of blood in the womb of a woman
One of a billion or more humans all created in the same way
But why was I created, what is my purpose on this vast earth
For surely nothing was created without purpose, otherwise why create at all?

So I was born in a hospital somewhere and there was happiness all around upon my arrival.
A new addition to the family someone to carry on the family name
I came into this world crying and all around me people were laughing with joy
If my arrival brought happiness why was I crying so much?
And so begs the question who am I and why was I created?

Like all humans, I was given a name to identify and make me unique.
Different cultures have different ways and different ceremonies to name their newborns.
But how come of all the species on this earth only human beings have names
Why don't animals, birds, insects who also produce offspring don't give names

So why was I created and what is my purpose on this earth?
I am still trying to find that out, just like a billion other human beings
After all, it cannot be that we were just put here on this earth
Everything that is here was put here for a purpose, a reason

I am sitting at a roadside café relishing the taste of freshly brewed coffee.
The waiter who brings me my coffee and croissants knows why he is there
To ensure the food and drinks I have ordered get to me on time
The right things are delivered to the right people at the right time

I also know why I am at the roadside café sipping hot coffee and enjoying hot delicious croissants.
I am searching for the answer to my lifelong question
Who am I?
I gaze deeply into my coffee, hoping to find the answer there
But all I see is a hot brown liquid with a fresh sensory smell

Can you make a friend— like a craft project?
I know, I hear this parental voice, “just be yourself.”

All of my classes this semester will be in one building, but I’m a control freak, I wanted to walk my schedule, go class to class, like I will on my first day. I have a locker too—this is so high school—but I wanted to find it, try the combination and plan what I’ll carry. I have questions too, like how’s the wi-fi, are there charging outlets, and where can I get coffee?

Orientation is Tuesday—but who can wait until Tuesday? Classes start Wednesday.  I’d never sleep this weekend with so many questions. I’m already having dreams where I’m lost, late and embarrassed.

So there I was, this morning, dressed for class with my green messenger bag—doing it—schedule in hand. I went into a small auditorium with cushioned, crimson, theater seating—where my first class will be—and there’s this other girl, dressed for class, schedule in hand.

We were like twins, except she’s tall and black and I’m not. Right off she commanded me, handing me her phone, no preamble, no “How do you do,” to “Take my picture.”
Of course, I obeyed, I’m not from outer space. I burst 50 quick frames, as she slightly varied her pose and she did likewise for me.

Her name is Chella and she graduated from Yale last week too, with a ‘Bachelor of Science in Global Affairs.’ I think I saw her on campus once or twice but our paths had never directly crossed.
“But IS "Global Affairs" a science degree?” I asked skeptically.
“Probably not,” she answered, “but some of us can live with ambiguity.”
Her first direct, commanding phrase limns her personality perfectly.
Yeah, we hit it right off.
.
.
Songs for this:
Cruel To Be Kind by Letters to Cleo
Perfect Day by Povo
Are You Trying to Be Funny? by Everything But the Girl

In another life, my world would be different.

I would live in one house, with two parents that love each other, and my one dog that deserved to live.

I would be caught up on school, have perfect teeth, and feel like the things i say would want to be heard.

I would have friends that lived nearby, and we would hang out almost every night till it was time to go to bed, and then wake up the next morning and do it all again.

The moral of the story is that if i could choose, my life would be different, but that’s not in this life, only in another.

its May and the flowers are starting to smile
the little creatures are flying out and about
the breeze lets out heaps of warm sighs
the sky looks excited to witness the shenanigans

for so long i prayed for happiness
i never stopped;
and along the way i collected hope and faith

now it feels like every single thing is telling me
that I won , I finally won
I only know how to laugh in the places i cried

There’s so many poems I want to share..

But something within me says to save them

Save a piece of myself away from the world

Away from the souls of others

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as the hours tick by

1..2..3 am

I can’t sleep.

I toss and turn trying to find comfort, but its impossible

I can’t sleep.

I count to 126 trying to find fatigue, but its impossible

By 3:30 i manage to rest.

I wake at 11:00, almost noon..

Half my day is gone..

I crave physical touch.

I want to be wrapped in someone’s arms as i listen to the musical drum of their heart and the reverberation of their voice as they speak to another

I want to hold hands with the people i love and never let go in hopes that they’ll stay forever

Here i sit in the back watching you two interact

I don’t want to feel this way but i do

You’re both carefree and happy as I’m just a spectator waiting for love

We’re sitting here talking about my future

I’m dazing off into space

I’m not sure what i am

Or who i want to be..