it has become
the daily accessory
hated and loved alike
sign of bad times
and limited mobility

by some
   equanimously accepted
   as yet another fashion piece
for others
   a threatening symbol
   of prescribed orders from above
for many
   just a necessary nuisance
    that will go away in time

we certainly need to change
our reflexes upon the sight
of persons masked

    before Corona
         at least in our latitudes
    masks were a sign of robbers and bandits

    now it’s the good guys who wear them
    the bad guys who don’t
    and … how can we be sure of that?

a real challenge to find out
just from the movement of the eyebrows
whether you face a friend
or not

i write erratically now
        if my poems had heartbeats
                                                    they’d murmur

           they’d whisper to me
tell me to stop looking around so much
                       and focus on a something or

            a someone
                  to create with my words
      but I can’t help it

                        there are too many beautiful
                   and terrible things
    this world holds too many metaphors

    i am afraid i will never find them all before i go
                                         so i cannot stay still
                        i write erratically now

We were a country that lived near the equator;
I was the land and you were my infinite sky.
We have lived and witnessed our aeons together.
Each moment fleeting, and passing by.  

The wind whispers, and the creatures rumble
weeping for me the unfair weather I hold
Only the dry seasons and the rainy seasons come by
and the sky, he's always done what he's always told.

When he cries, he creates floods and storms
or peaceful drizzles and ditz so plain
and when's angered, he takes right up
the moistened land and then grants me pain.

At night, he's terribly beautiful and quiet
the stars twinkle like stickers on my attic
The silent love, and the prolonged memories
and what he holds, goes far beyond semantics.

I sung, "Precious sky, I am your earth
the land you watch with clouds and dew."
And he replied, "Pretty land, you are my purpose
and there's nothing to take me from you."

When I stare at mirrors
My eyes disrobe the lies
And shadows of my mind
Til I'm left with emotions
Creaking on worn floorboards
Stepping into a noose
Kicking the insecurity out
And waiting to find out
If I died
Or was set free

She sees the ocean
In your beady eyes,
And she wonders
What you see in her.

She wonders if you know
How deep the sadness goes,
And how she carries it
Just beneath her skin.

She fears you'll walk away
When she leaves you with nothing,
But the bitterness and broken
Shattered pieces of her soul.

She is trying so hard to hold tight,
Just to keep herself sane and whole.

But then the time came
When you started,
Seeing all the things
She sees in herself.

And that was the most
Terrible thing for her,
Because she was aware
That you won't s t a y.

And she was right.

You l e f t her.

My parents warned me about the bullies the responsibilities, drugs and terrible things, but they never warned me about beautiful tan skinned boys with hazel eyes that could make you forget how to breathe, eyes that cut deeper than a knife ever could, whose smile could unwittingly **** and make you forget how to think. And whose hands could steal your suffering soul and shatter your heart into millions of pieces. Whose gentle lips could make you stupidly forget all the bad things he’s done and keep you begging for more. Whose touch sent shivers down your spine and paralyzed you.

Oh god.

They forgot to tell me how he’d make me feel.

And how much agonizing pain I'd be in

When he left.

My mother says that when she was was younger, she was scared of the lord.

More scared of the lord then her own parents and  I, I am desperate for my mother’s approval and I am scared of her truth.

More scared of her truth then slowly slipping away into a dark place in which I may never return.

I am terrified.

Terrified of the chaos buried beneath back of my terrible brain.

I am terrified.

Terrified of admiring my own shame and maybe I blame this shame on my mother for never telling me that *** was ok, but it’s still shame and that’s all that matters.

For years, I never thought that I mattered. That maybe, the world would be a little less violent, people would be filled with a little less silence if only I was gone. Disappearing into space like I never truly existed.  

But I have never truly existed, have I?

I walk around with terrible secrets strapped to my chest like they belong there.

If only I could say, “ mom, I like girls. I like the way they look sometimes even more then I like boys.”  

And if only I could speak. If only I had a voice to preach and It’s a shame that young girls feel the same!  

My mother says that when she was was younger, she was scared of the lord.

And I, I am scared of something that can actually be seen. Of something that you don’t need to look in a book and read. Of something that doesn’t seem that far away.

Me