Where are you from?
My answer is
Does it matter?
This question requires a five part answer

Where are you from?
When you say from?
Do you mean -
The road travel by me or my mom?

Where are you from?
If I say Somalia?
Will you leave it there?
Or ask me if I belong to the north, east or the south?  

Where you from, your accent is unfamiliar?
I know, language is imperative
when you're lost.

Where are you from?
The answer is nowhere
I am stranger to places
no matter where I call home.

The stillness feels like death
But movement isn't life either
I'm getting bored again
But moving around isn't the answer

I'd rather move inward
Make a temple in my heart
That only I can build or destroy

For I know why I move.
To feel home in places
Alien to humanity

works as medicine made good as laughter,
works in ever after, which
you began,
or seemed to,
whenever you noticed, this
is after whatever hapt before.

i hope you find your place
a dwelling of your safe and sound
be it-
a cafe,
a building,
a house,
some space confined by four walls,
the space between a pair of arms,
a library,
free gigs,
the seashore,
your bathroom,
a twenty four hour convenience store,
an empty parking lot,
a skate park,
your room,
someone else’s room,
a rooftop,
the spaces kept kindled by your lungs,
or your bones,
or every beat of your heart;
i hope you find your place

-a place to get lost only to be found; a home

The overflowing sadness,
that courses through thy vein.
Thy heavy mask,
that thou places upon thy face,
for thous never-ending show.
But thou always ask is it worth it?
for is it really worth it?.

You are the bright place for me
Who made me think there are thousands of capacities even if you're unaware

You've made me lovable and it's lovely to be loveble to the one I love

You've painted my life with full of colours more than in your own canvas .
You didn't take anything from me instead you've left intense emotions in me .

You've made me believe in uncertainty , because at the end of the day it is memories we cherish not dates .

You've made me notice small beautiful things
You've made me rational and emotional at the same time .

You've made me feel I'm not disappointing .

You've showed me i don't need to stand on a mountain to feel I'm at the top of the world , but I need someone to love who will stand beside me .

You've shuned my intuitions beyond i could've imagine.  

I am scared to be ordinary and you are interesting , wanderer , different and that's why I love you .

And in some moments i fear losing hold of your hand .
You know how much terrible i feel when I can't be there for you to make you put to in a peaceful sleep .

In the midst of imperfections , you've showed me there is such thing as a perfect day .

I have these feeling's as if I am waiting for something , and when I see you i realise it's you .

You are my escape , you are the bright place where I wander . A place uncountable things to notice and I have all the time in the world to look closely to them .

But One day you left , because you were bright place not with lights but with fire .

You we're buring brighten up other's lives .
But the difference is i am very close to you and you know when we get close to fire ..🖤🖤

deliciously ruined
poor little human
crying her eyes out in hurt

remnant from great things
image of great kings
kicked up by wind like the dirt

they say who you are is deep down within
but i’m right here, can’t you see
it’s disgusting
one can’t devise the nature of light
without all the ugly to shape and define
so please don’t blame me if my soul’s
a bit dusty

moonbeams are just dead skin glowing
who we are 's just dead skin going
on and on and on again
to a place where the night-lights never end

moonbeams are just dead skin gleaming
who we are 's just dead skin screaming
over and over and over again
why won't the night-lights ever end?

it's funny how the things that are odd
creepy and macabre
are the things we dare call the face of God

if we end up gone
for once just be wrong
seek beauty in horror you stumble upon
write them in poems
a lyric of song
and throw off the angels by singing along

moonbeams are just dead skin glowing
who we are 's just dead skin going
on and on and on again
to a place where the night-lights never end

moonbeams are just dead skin gleaming
who we are 's just dead skin screaming
over and over and over again
why won't the night-lights ever end?

it's funny how the things that are odd
creepy and macabre
are the things we dare call the face of God

and when all is said
everyone is dead
so why won’t they call me a moonbeam instead?

if i’m a moonbeam
and you’re a moonbeam
why can’t a moonbeam be the face of God?