What shall I call you?
Should I call you my friend? Despite my heavy weight you still catch me every time.
Should I call you my enemy? I do hate you. I hate that I can never hate you.
Should I call you my sibling? Sounds incestuous.
Should I call you my lover? I don't wish to only have you in between my bed sheets at three in the morning.
Should I call you my partner? Let's hold hands and use the buddy-buddy system forever.
Should I call you mine? Yet all I want to be is yours.
Should I call you by your own name? It's the sweetest thing that has ever left my lips.

I'd like to feel your love.
I told myself once in a while would be enough,
But I keep craving it, now that I know that you're mine.

Are you truly mine? I ask over and over again.
It feels like I am yours. Just yours.
And you gave nothing else for me.

I wandered. I ran.
I got lost, and it was silly of me to think you'd come and find me.
I always knew you'd let me slip off your hands when you had the chance

I'd like to feel your love.
I said to you once or twice.
You told me that you already do, with all the physical objects, sweet messages and the apologies you gave me for everything.
Is that not love? You ask me
I agreed because the way you said it made me crumble onto your arms once more

Such foolishness that I always fall for your flowery words
Maybe it's because I'd like to think of them as comforting kisses and embraces when you're not there to calm me down in the late hours.

It's strange that we do anything to be there for a person who's usually not going to move an inch to wipe away your tears.

I love you, I truly do.
I even wished that you did too.
But will you ever make that come true?

There she was,
All bright and fair.
It was unworthy of me to stare,
At the woman that sat across me right there.

We exchanged glances,
And soon exchanged hearts.
You may think that was fast
But isn’t that the start of a love that lasts?

I used to think that she only saw me,
For my masculine aura and physique
Yet I saw that she held me during at my weakest
And celebrated with me at my strongest.

We were happy at the least.
Being together by each day.
The days of gloom and wrath were not fully gone.
But at least she was there to help me counter it with ease.

She is my woman.
And I loved her dearly.
I soon stained her with ink from my words
And she became my poetry

I humbly offer her this poem of mine.
It may not be as grand as Shakespeare and Keats
Or any other person in poetry,
But I know it was only hers to keep for a lifetime.

She read it soon enough
A kiss lands on my cheek and I knew,
That she loved me through and through,
Even though I was a woman too.

A roof for me for the weather till it gets better,
A table to dine in,
A bed to soothe my aching bones.
A house this is.
A house, only a house greets me when I return.

There are people inside this house,
They **** me, slowly. Engraving it deep into my mind and soul
I never leave this house without scars from their sharp tongues.

A home.
Defines as something that is filled with love.
I am filled with hate, instead.
I don't have a home,
Maybe I'll never will with them.

I'd like to commit a hit and run
Wherein I get hit by any moving vehicle,
A truck? A minivan? A tricycle? It wouldn't matter what kind
As long as it's movement heads straight to me.
Seeking to crush my entire body with it's great weight
And as it collides with me, I'd run.
In the end I am the one who runs.
Run away and be set free from the weight of living.

Professor, professor
I'll be a professor.
I do my homework as I proclaim
That education is the fundamental need yet has become a want in our society today.

Professor, I'll be a professor.
I will fail the students who aimlessly only does things for average numbers to show to make their parents squeal
For It is useless for one to pay such a high amount for school
And aim only for a passing grades and compliments without learning any useful tool.

Professor, I'll be a professor.
I'll give the answers yet leave them with questions.
I'll engrave the lessons into their souls for they need to pass it on in their lifetime as thry carry on.
I'll be fun and exciting for them to welcome me but I'd want then eager to leave knowing that the information I have given is not enough so they set out to find more.

Professor, I'll be a professor.
But for now I am a student,
With the privilege to learn, and the need to educate the world.

I can hear them scream.
Not through their mouths or tongues,
Through their minds, filled with thoughts seeking to come to life.
The voices trapped in a void, the escape that they long for.

I can hear these in the subtlest moments.
In their words during conversations filled with insights
In the professors who teach with conviction.
In the depths of my own mind, brought out by these said people.

I see their struggle,
Their tears forming from the injustices and unfairness they see in the world,
The pain they have that are written in their essays, thesis and books that were barely touched by anyone else.
The blood that rushes out from their foreheads over the anger in their society.

Nobody wants to listen to them.
They try to wipe us out
With the words of “useless’, “underestimated” and "underneath"
They burn us with less job opportunities and ignorance

We still rise, despite all these ashes.
These scars make us stronger,
They can’t hear us. Louder we must show them.
Together, we cry.

It explodes, slowly it reveals itself.
The mess I hid to make myself look neat,
And appear to society as untouched, unharmed, it’s what they want.
To say I have never heard or seen anything mean.

It’s overwhelming, the explosion.
It spread in every corner of my tiny space.
Taking it all and up almost swallowing me whole as it invades.
I must do something to escape.

Yet, I stay.
I linger in this filth of ***** launder of slurs and disgust.
The others told me to stay calm, no I can not.
I no longer need to be.

I need to explode.