It is the color of love
The calmness of her hand in yours
It is the quietness
Of your empty house
It is the feeling of peace
when you down the pink Moscato
hoping it fixes your problems
Because the heat is gone
And you’re alone
It is the feeling of
Your alarm going off
Never shutting up
Always happening daily
It is a lapse in time
When you think time has stopped
When you wished
Time had stopped
And you wish you could sit there smelling the lavender flowers
And the heat making you feel
Just tired
But time continues and burst of slow
Calm winds hit you peacefully
It is the color of sadness
Because her hand is no longer there
Your bed, empty
Your pillow the endless clouds
The lavender fragment gone
Because you’ve stopped trying to imagine sunsets and how your life would be like with sight
You’ve given in
It is the color of darkness
The color of your life
But don’t fret
Because when your head hits the clouds
Our worlds are the same
For when you close your eyes
And they close theirs
Our worlds are the same
As the sunsets

What is the shape of this thing painted in clouds

we see the edges
chia'scuroed in pinks in the 25K

orange shaded in purple at 10 K

Altitudes
Layers of flowing aire we breathe

so subtle,
these non living beatifical, beautiful
quotidian
settlings
into night.

I sat there like a museum of moments,
a mosaic of emotions
as she dissected my personas
and did an autopsy of my past.

Memories climbed my spine
from the forgotten attics in my heart
with every question, she asked.

But my tongue was a drought
and my voice box was a rust box,
as the child in me
was bullied into quietude.

My edgy, messy and raw memories
molded my perception,
rewrote my interpretation
and deepened my experience.

There was underlying vengeance
as the layers of fabricated scabs were scrapped
to disclose the deeply entrenched, tender emotional scars.

As the present, struck a cord
my limbs would turn into cement
as the echo would bring me back
to the endless street of time
and I would be dragged
through open wounds within me.

The pain would seep in the nooks
and crannies of my soul.
At every jibe and remark
one more part of my flesh
would be chiseled away.

The sky would join in my sorrow
as the clouds gathered like sheep
summoned by a shepherd
and then we would begin to weep
our unresolved issues
onto tissues.

I revisited the bathrooms
that became sanctuary in high school
with its gossip soaked walls
and tear-stained countertops.

I dream of the people
that have lost their way in my memory;
a fabrication of nostalgia.
But the tranquility of waves,
can’t even erase the memories of their wrongdoings.

My past engraved itself
into my muscle memory
ingrained its teachings
and matured my sensibility.

The dim shadows that would creep
And the blues that I would pour
are becoming budding flowers in my chest.

Weaving from the same web
I was entangled in
building from the same sorrows
I was drowning in.

I began connecting,
understanding its stem
stitching my memories.

I write for my younger self
who felt silenced and erased by the world.

I shape all the tainted pieces of memories
into art and paint shades of my past
as each is soaked in a memory.

I craft subconscious relief,
breathing memories
into 6 alphabets
that were strung into paragraphs,
beginnings and end.

I reached out to corners
to bring out
sunrises and sunsets
and reignite dying embers
as I de-spell the damage that silently reverterbrates through generation.

I find home in my skin
and love myself, whole;
Shadows, crevice and all.

I want my love to remind you of the first stars you see during the nightfall, of the movie soundtracks you sing under the shower, of the words from a book you can’t put down, of the scenes you remember from a half-forgotten dream.

I want my love to remind of you the first sunrise we saw together from my bed, of the coffee blend that made you realize you loved coffee, and of riding buses during sunsets, and of the first flowers that came right from your soul.

I want my love to remind you that despite its harshness and sadness, there is something kind and soft and gentle in this world, darling — and that you can call it home.