the garden of everything beautiful

napowrimo, april 30: the garden of everything beautiful in the garden of everything beautiful, i see lovers whispering among themselves, talking about the regularities of their day as the sisters of coincidences plan out their next twisting of fate. there are flowers that smell like the ocean, brushing against the wind as the waves do…

questionable love

you
place love at a pedestal
and then wonder why it
is always out of reach
/ love does not make you
change how love
began.

emotions

i am
terrified of getting to an
age when jumping on
beds and blowing raspberries
becomes unacceptable. my
excitement is my strongest
emotion & i will trap it in a
jar the way movies do
with fireflies & i will not let
it go, even when i’m 24.
my fear is my weakness,
and between
excitement and fear
rests my guilt.

nothingness

i wonder how much
you have given while
looking for something
within me / i see you
trying but i don’t know
what i’m supposed to
do / guilt is not an
emotion i know how
to feel / i do not
understand it / i do
not feel what you
wish for i to feel /

reasons to wake up

there is always something
to give to someone. a paper,
a message, a poem, a flower.
some early mornings, you can
stand in the balcony and
smell the earth as the space
between your bones meets
the sky and you can almost count
all the birds right before they
disappear into the sky.
there is always warm coffee
dribbled in cinnamon to start
your day with. there are still
eleven seasons left, and then
six and then one. there is
always the cold to look forward
to and you might just find a
ladybug resting beside
your bed tomorrow.

what finals-week feels like

i have gotten used to
structuring myself the
way i do my papers, in
ignorance and slight
carefulness about no
three commas and always
staying concise and precise,
aligned just as expected,
paraphrasing just enough so
no meaning is lost and is
understood with all thats been
said, with fullstops being
followed with capitals,
with less and less taking
from others, making sure
my own voice does not
get lost so you can’t tell
that i spent the whole
night watching joel and
clementine fight,

four truths & two lies

napowrimo, april 24: four truths & two lies wednesdays wake me up with a hunger so dark, my bones feel heavy within my own skin / thursday make this body feel like the stranger you see year-round at the station, never making conversation about how you sigh in unison when the sky falls apart /…

a white secret

on the nights we have
thai soup for dinner, 
i swallow down my
excitement as all
the trains leave the
station for wrong 
destinations but atleast
their freedom rests
in the wheels and they
switch tracks the way
they see fit. i wrap
my arms around myself 
trying to hold on to the
middle before it breaks
apart the beginning, the
back of my knees carry
ant-bites that refuse to
let me stay in one place, 

things for the other side

g | a dictionary
so words never get lost and
silence never feels like a burden

h | poetry and cameras
for they will know how to trap
memories when the walls
beg to crumble

i | photo albums
as keepsakes of the past

the perfect death

my mother has taught me
that to give up anger in return
for peace is better than
to stay rooted in a locked
room whose doormat is
enough of a warning to
not enter. she does not see
what anger has taught me. 
to whisper out apologies so
softly that your voice breaks
and normalcy returns home
— belonging less and less
to me, anger has taught 
me to keep it hidden behind 
doors, love is easier [to give]
when disguised as silence, and
the fire eventually melts into
the floor.