**** studying.
to hell with it.
this isn't a haiku.

**** it.

you are lying down.
somewhere in east India.
you are on a soft mat,
under a door less roof.
the soft music of tablas
and the sitar
fill your ears.
you know you are at peace.
petals gently fall from the sky.
it is a warm fiery orange
evening.
the smell of curry
and roasting goat
fills your nose.
you
drift away,
into a deep sleep.

i just had a fit of rage.
i have to work with a bull *******.
i have to make a presentation.
i broke my phone.


****.

i dont know why
why you dont talk to me anymore.
i wish you would.
all i want is a conversation.
with you
nobody else.

i dont know why
why when im sad i listen to soft sitar music.
it warms my heart.

i dont know why.

high school is ruining my life
its preventing me from seeing people i like.
going places i like
its weight of stress is so heavy
but break is coming.
so that's nice.

im sitting here "doing" homework
thinking about the one.
the one that got away.
i met her at a party.
she likes doctor who.
i like doctor who.
i think she liked me.
i liked her.
but i may never get to see her.
she has no phone to call her on.
and im too embarrassed to tell the only person i know that has her contact info.



what do i do?

love is like a rose
it is sharp,
it is dangerous.
it can hurt
or
it can heal.

*inspired by Bette Midler's the rose

you are more
than a test score.
you are more
than a number.
you are more
than your resume.
you are more
than that 78 or 60 you got last quarter.
you are more.

i thought i would see you this weekend.
you weren't there.
you didn't call back.
i thought you would be there
i thought you would call.


but you *didn't.