lately ive been lost
looking at others
hoping that there is
a life beyond and
bigger but reality
gets and stays bigger
with age; bills are
no longer in hand
they are just like
everything else-
numbers on screens
too bright to see
through the glare

They stand next to a kitchen island.
One clutches an orange peeling its layers,
her sweater casual and her hair tied back.
The other, with a tight smile,
gazing down at reflections on a bottle,
her hair loose and hands clutching the counter.
This is not our home but we break bread and
drink wine
on a night meant for blood relations;
we silently wish the world flat
so if we climbed high enough,
we could see them tonight.
I stand here soaking in the moment,
trying to capture the smells of cardamom
and cinnamon, sounds of the tv nearby,
Christmas lights strung up,
light-hearted laughter from
soon-friends soon-strangers.
We are perpendicular lines, meeting
at this house for a brief pause.
Our strange family of strangers
done up in monochrome-- our colors
brightened by laughter lines.

Dreamt of forcing politeness and eating
human flesh served at a dinner party.
We sat at tables looking our finest,
eating slow, my stomach and the knowledge
Taught to me in my crib fighting each bite.
That flesh continued haunting the inside
of my eyelids-- this was not my war; this
was not my struggle; this should never have
been my battle. Yet I see it in my
news, my tables, my tabloids, my back-alleys
and I-- I'm helpless, unable to move.

girl, when did you let
your love leave you?
did you think that there
was nothing you could do
about your sweet imperfections
the focus of your obsessions
that make you wish to be born anew?
girl, why do you shrink
from your mother’s touch?
have you lost your faith,
think it won’t do much
good on you, her sweet child,
too broken for prayer
she’d tried to raise a witch
but you only see failure
girl, open your eyes
and clear your head
why not give yourself
some warmth instead.
use ginger, mint and cardamom,
honey and a stick of cinnamon,
to concoct a sweet brew
that will return to you
the love which you are due.

going through motions
doing what i must
or have been told
i should waking up
eating working
working sleeping
day in day out
is it april
is it november

is there really
any difference?

take pills talk
about scars bring
up hurts from my
past that might
have been better
forgotten take
pills increase
dosage wake up
brush teeth eat
food take medicine
work sleep work work
eat **** is this april
is this november

**there is really
no difference...

if they knew all they would become to were
some scars i regretted and did my best to forget
i wonder if i had known would i have changed my experiences
would i have tried to be colder stand straighter more upright
chin jutting out, daring the world to try one more time to put me
down, defiant and confident in my struggle that it was for me alone
but then the thought strikes me is that if even now all i gather are scars
instead of the cooling aloe that i need to heal past burns, some ice to cool
the heat under my skin from the betrayals and hurt i had felt once upon a time
a heat that still burns my insides today, the sharp tears of which left scars on
insides of my eyelids, a movie on repeat whenever i close my eyes to sleep or blink
in the middle of a good conversation with a new person standing in my casual self wishing
i could be somewhere else the moment i remember the slashes, the quiet shattering of my insides