Your words rival the rain that washes the dust of yesterday off the streets,
They pull flocks of birds towards your speech,
And like maps of the largest cities
I dwell on them for days hoping to uncover every corner,
Even the petals of blooming flowers
Fly away prematurely to follow the words that rest on your tongue,
Because when you speak you pierce the atmosphere
With paper planes folded by your wisdom.
Your words are pungent, like mosaics of foreign colour,
They rest upon the palette of a dreamy painter,
Wistful in colour, even when you haven’t spoken at all.

that dark black coffee
bitter on my tongue
it twists my mouth up
like you used too

with subtle flavors
sharp hazelnut undertones
like your soft curls
use to smell in the morning

I wake up to one cup
or maybe three or four
to fill up space that you left
now in my empty quiet bed

Hello future friend how are you?
I'm sorry our plans to meet up fell through
but I hope you've been taking care of yourself.

How is your family, how are your friends?
I know... asking these questions won't make amends
for my absence in your life recently.

And so I want to dedicate this poem to you
you who makes me reminisce
you whose company brought me bliss
you whose laugh, whose smile I dearly miss
you, my dear friend, who I shamefully dismissed.

I want you to know that you're stronger than you think
and even if you're down, depressed, and your heart would sink
you've made it this far in life and I am so proud of you.
Proud of your small daily victories- yes I noticed how you pull through
all the dark times, all the blurry lines, all the tough and rough
you are beautiful. You are loved. You are enough.

I know it may not seem like I care since it's been a while...
but for what it's worth, I hope I could make you smile

i. I was told that there are 7 words to make a woman love you but what about the seven words: “A soulmate that wasn’t meant to be”?

ii. Falling in love and maintaining a relationship are two different things. Love can be unconditional, the relationship is not.

iii. Attraction happens by seeing, Love happens by observing. There’s a fine, fine line between feelings and understanding.

iv. When you fall in love, it’s what everyone tells you it is. The world brightens up. You feel all warm and fuzzy. Time freezes, and… it hurts. A lot. It’s confusing. It’s messy. But it’s also one of the best things that can ever happen to you.

There I stood,
Or wait was I sitting?
It doesn’t matter details aren’t important.

She said she wanted to be my friend,
Or wait was it that we were no longer lovers?
I don’t remember details aren’t important.

I said I knew what you did,
Or did she tell me?
Wait, I think she told me, but I didn’t care about the details.

I was looking for something more,
Or wait, did we turn into something less?
It didn’t matter it was a small detail.

I looked for God when there was no one else,
Or were the eyes I saw in the clouds just imaginary.
It doesn’t matter, the devil was in the details and I ate too much of his lettuce.

I am surrounded by desert sand,
The blistering heat made me giddy and delirious,
I gave into the sun’s rays feeling invincible and invulnerable against my leather skin,
I looked at the sand as an object to stand upon,
I kicked it and manipulated the dunes much like the raging wind,
I was the raging wind,
Silent and destructive,
I was a raging god not interfering with the matter of which I stood upon,
Only to kick up dust during my fiery dances,
The night came and a rush of warm dread filled the sensations of my sentient skin,
It realized the moon has its own dance and the night has a different sounding breeze,
I now looked at the sand and fell to my knees,
I looked to bury myself to feel the warmth I had felt seemingly moments ago,
The weight of the sand became unbearable,
It seeped into my pores and my body felt as broken as each individual piece of my foundation,
Both under my feet and the core of me,
As I sunk into my new dismay I saw a tigress,
My eyes played tricks on me for the summer sun had a way of changing my view,
For the first time since the moon came up I stood and began approaching,
It started to walk away and I started to follow,
It was comfort,
It was serene,
It was ethereal,
I stumbled for my legs were shaky and weak,
I didn’t know I’d walk so long,
Where were you going?
And why couldn’t I stop following?
I missed you my whole life,
And I just met you today.

I open my most special notebook among the hundreds
Plagued with memories that degrade over time
With knowledge that only paper may preserve my thoughts

I have my list of Wisdoms in my mind
Knowing the first must be the most impactful to all our lives
And thus I write, forever to be known as Wisdom number One
The cause of all my pain

In our lives we encounter gems
Our most precious of valuables
Our most cherished of moments
Which make life truly worth it
Which pull us through another painful day
Just for the chance to experience it once more

But

Our gems, revisited, never shine quite as bright
We search endlessly to reclaim our joy from these moments
But all that is left, is sadness, for moments lost

But all that is right, is wisdom, for we know that those moments are lost

We know the past brightness of our most cherished gems
But even in memory, every passing day
Makes our gems look a little duller
Losing our happiest times in favor of a painful world
All the while, we would rather trade reality for fantasy at any price

All the never, would we trade our faded gems for happiness

And thus we willingly keep our pain
These faded gems being the only remaining mementos of our joy
Preferring the sadness
Knowing somehow, losing our faded gems would make us worse off
Even if joy results

All gems fade.
You can only see each gem for the first time once.
Each passing moment takes a little more from you, never to be experienced or remembered again.

However
There are some who trade their gems for happiness
Some who reject their happiest memories
Some who stop trying to reclaim those moments
Some who are truly broken

For we know that somehow, our pain has more value.

your gunpowder steel
on my sycamore blues
haunted by vanity
on a string just out of reach
escape the perpetual debt
we have to our makers
captive in sun strewn streaks of shade
never to feel the warmth of its gaze
willingly judged by sunburnt noses
for being less than
I just want to sparkle
in the ultraviolence.