If I should have a daughter, instead of Mom, she's gonna call me Point B,
because that way she knows that no matter what happens,
at least she can always find her way to me.
And I'm going to paint solar systems on the backs of her hands,
so she has to learn the entire universe before she can say,
"Oh, I know that like the back of my hand."
And she's going to learn that this life will hit you hard in the face,
wait for you to get back up just so it can kick you in the stomach.
But getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air.
There is hurt here that cannot be fixed by Band-Aids or poetry.
So the first time she realizes that Wonder Woman isn't coming,
I'll make sure she knows she doesn't have to wear the cape all by herself.
Because no matter how wide you stretch your fingers,
your hands will always be too small to catch all the pain you want to heal. Believe me, I've tried.
"And, baby," I'll tell her, "don't keep your nose up in the air like that.
I know that trick; I've done it a million times.
You're just smelling for smoke so you can follow the trail back to a burning house,
so you can find the boy who lost everything in the fire to see if you can save him.
Or else find the boy who lit the fire in the first place,
to see if you can change him."
But I know she will anyway, so instead I'll always keep an extra supply of chocolate and rain boots nearby,
because there is no heartbreak that chocolate can't fix.
Okay, there's a few heartbreaks that chocolate can't fix.
But that's what the rain boots are for.
Because rain will wash away everything, if you let it.
I want her to look at the world through the underside of a glass-bottom boat, to look through a microscope at the galaxies that exist on the pinpoint of a human mind, because that's the way my mom taught me.
That there'll be days like this.
♫ There'll be days like this, my momma said. ♫
When you open your hands to catch and wind up with only blisters and bruises;
when you step out of the phone booth and try to fly and the very people you want to save are the ones standing on your cape;
when your boots will fill with rain,
and you'll be up to your knees in disappointment.
And those are the very days you have all the more reason to say thank you.
Because there's nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline, no matter how many times it's sent away.
You will put the wind in winsome, lose some.
You will put the star in starting over, and over.
And no matter how many land mines erupt in a minute, be sure your mind lands on the beauty of this funny place called life.
And yes, on a scale from one to over-trusting, I am pretty **** naive.
But I want her to know that this world is made out of sugar.
It can crumble so easily,
but don't be afraid to stick your tongue out and taste it.
"Baby," I'll tell her, "remember, your momma is a worrier, and your poppa is a warrior, and you are the girl with small hands and big eyes who never stops asking for more."
Remember that good things come in threes and so do bad things.
And always apologize when you've done something wrong.
But don't you ever apologize for the way your eyes refuse to stop shining.
Your voice is small, but don't ever stop singing.
And when they finally hand you heartache,
when they slip war and hatred under your door and offer you handouts on street-corners of cynicism and defeat,
you tell them that they really ought to meet your mother.

-Sarah Kay

The grass looks more green
After thinking about my dead brother.
I miss him more than usual today.
The wind feels more serene
After thinking about my dead mother.
I know she's better off today.

I am a hurricane of extremes
I love with all that I am capable of
And fear with all I know.
I trust humans with a knife to my back
But death is dishonest, death is the undertow.

I rubbed my mother's ashes on my forehead
Like the ashes from palm branches.
"Remember that you are dust,
And to dust you shall return."

How like my father
To turn to religion
Like an heirloom
One of the two things he left me
Faith, and
Cologne

Love is a dangerous weapon
Overcoming hate, it creates
Vain attempts, broken hearts
Eternal medicine for peace

You influenced me the most
On every occasions I lost myself
Unveiled the honest essence

Mourning for the lost ones
One day, I’ll realize with pain
To take out my soul and breathe
Haven’t you cried as I stormed out
Even the gains set flames in me
Remembering your warmth

Found pieces of your shattered heart
Over and over, I’ll regret to tell you
Reasons that don’t matter anymore
Every time to see that smile faded
Verifying that it exists on that face
Enabling my heart to pound hope
Reassembling, love you mother forever

If my dad had lived, he would be the big 7-0.
On this day, Dad was born seventy years ago.
Seven decades is how long he would've been alive.
But leukemia killed him, Dad did not survive.
He lost his life in 2013 on the 13th of July.
Dad would be the big 7-0 if he hadn't died.

The cold morning air
Buffeting off the tombstones
Stinging...tearing eyes

I went back
But, my mind wandered
Off to seek a haven
Where this pieces would fit

Those were the only days
Where I was a statue
And not a godforsaken flesh
In a straitjacket

Parents,
Are the place where you go
As a storm coming in
Heading your way
Wreaking you over,
Bashing your reality,
Being an acid in your little lemon life,
They are the white limbo
You heart wants to go
Are not they?

I am at the place
Where I gauge the years to empty
Where it is dark
Where it is white
Where no roses grow
Where no crows caw
Where my heart vacant,
A kenopsia
(Turning the page)
(I turn the page)

What is home?