they say
he must be lucky
the guy who gets to have me
and i just look in your eyes
and see the hell i have put you through
they fell in love w my words
but i wonder do they know
that this is not beautiful
all these words may make depression look pretty
but it is not
it is not easy to be w a girl
who wants to crawl into the tiniest space of you
and make her home there
it is not easy to be with a girl
who makes you her air
it is not easy to see her
cringe at her own reflection
it is not easy to love her
when all she has is hatred for her self
it is not easy to look at her
when you read her poems about how she wants to peel off her skin
till nothing of her remains
it is easy to say
he must be a lucky guy
lemme assure you
he is not
im not blushing cheeks and perfect smiles
Im not about classy looks and vintage dresses
im like the storm and the only way i know how to show my love is to destroy
it is not easy to talk to her
when she replies in proses and riddles
it is not easy to hold her
when one moment she is warm and cuddlable
and the next she is spitting fire
it is not easy to tolerate her
when one small mistake and
it has already been
carved as a poem
it is not easy to survive her intense gaze
it is not easy to look back into her eyes
when she is looking at you w too much emotions contained in her eyes
too strong for you to take
she is everything
or nothing
or both
at the same time
she is every shade of every color
simulataneously
Ill overwhelm you
or i can make you question your own existence
cause i dont know any other way
to love
than to make you my all
and to be your all
ill love you w a passion
you have never seen before
but can your feeble heart
take it?
do you think
your calculated actions and diplomatic decisions
will help you then?
you may be fooled by my smile
and my gentle voice in which i talk to you
but there is a lot to me
than what meets your eyes
there will always be more to me
than you ll know
and you may think it is easy to love me
but it is not
you are a dreamer, you are in love with the idea of me
while you remain oblivious of
all the stories behind the words i have not yet written
and the words you ll never see.
It is effortless to fall in love with a poem
but being with a poet is a totally different thing
don't you now agree?

I’ve exhausted to excess
the language
of the social construction
of whiteness
which is simulataneously
sugarcoating
the goodness of blackness
with the evil of pure white
the missionary of evil
*** death triangle reruns
on West Indies news
origin of criminality
putrid impunity
dissociative disorder
and the villain
to a great great hero
called the blackness
of humanity
which is inexhaustible
strength
laughter
and kindness
oceans
mercy
severity
beauty
love
***
origins
stability
shores
and sustainability

You know your breaking me

So why wouldnt you let me heal?

Instead you apply the daily dose of salt to my wounds

Your lies contantly chipping away at the walls keeping me safe

Safe from the old pain the wall was built to keep away

You are the cage
The border
The fence

The love, which you used to simulataneously ensnare me and keep me with you, its poison

The kind of poison that doesnt **** you
It affects you permanently
Becomes a part of you
And then in the end
You will die with the poison sitting stationary in your veins

fading, slipping away
you
missing, craving still only you
smiling secretly to myself,
with the one you love
the memories
still sweet like ice cream
the amber glow on the ceiling
still fresh in my mind
your lips damp like the air that day
still tickle down my spine
rushing my exisitence,
and in the depths of my soul
days now go by
Head still above water
I sit here and wonder why i am
stuck hopelessly in this wave
i am entwined
the way your limbs wrapped around mine
empty bags, once packed stare me down
the smell of the sea fades away with time
take away this melancholy,
Make it easy to breathe
holding on and letting go simulataneously
Hoping to land on soft ground
carving new paths
Your presence still with me
In glimpses of deja vus
THis city so full of people
But remains empty of you

"too many consonants":
that's how you end up,
with the basic quotient
of the english speak "world"...
"too many consonants"...

     mind you:

   shchoor...
                  which is equivalent
to
                        szczur:

   but you can tell apart
               a shovel
                               from a chart...
so you can combine the two
simulataneously
                       to fathom the basic
exchange of language
     within the "focus" of nouns, yes?

no?
          no wonder i've been given
a chance to nibble at something,
quasi-living,
             lived out gangrene.