The wounds are still rivers
The wolves consumed the moon
The wisdom has not bubbled up
The window is still fogged
The well is covered in slugs
The walls are hemorrhaging
My hands are in the air
The isn’t the dream I dreamed of
Browsing category: Poetry
Empty Suitcase
I left a space
Dripping in lace
Red straps
I wanted a kiss
But I got slapped
I was hoping to get replaced
With regret
Not with an empty set
Of ghost chasing
In my chest
I didn’t think it was a race
But for the first time I tasted my strength
This pain has length
It’s long and large
My empty suitcase
I locked myself in a hotel room
My heart has imprints of the cage
I slipped and slung in the slum
While my grief recalled rage
A forest set on fire
It won’t rain for 9 more winters
Paint to a painter
It won’t dry for 9 more summers
The account is in my name
I should have never acted like a scavenger
And started the game
I was just a passenger
I held the flag
Then I became the rag
Engraved
Sometimes the road just ends. The comfort becomes poison. The structure becomes rotten. I started to think that love isn’t enough. Love is plenty enough, it’s just that that wasn’t love.
Dreamweaver
I have ideas
About the chapters in my book
And sometimes I make plans
But the best storyteller I know
The skilled dream weaver
Artist of life
Veil of secrets
Is the universe
The ultimate creator
And destroyer
That force you feel mixing in the air
Wondering which way
The magic will blow
Long Distance
Our bodies split
By the vastness of the world
While our souls
Hold hands
Completion
She waits for it
Like a child in a deep sleep
Aware that morning will come
Tucked quietly in the darkness
Dreaming
Certain of the sun
Premonition
As I wrote his name, the pen shook. Like the words knew they weren’t true before they were splotched onto the paper. I was so good at writing how I felt. Writing about pain. But when I tried to write something nice about our future, the pen laughed.
A Sequel
Falling in love again makes me wonder what I even felt before. I know that I was there, but I feel as if my soul had walked off. I look back and it’s just smoke. I lost track of my heart. And just as it found its way back to me, appeared a gift. Arriving much faster than I was ready for. Wide enough to block the road. Unavoidable and sparkling. My chest is overflowing like a pool with the hose running all day. Water-filled spaces that were once empty cracks. My body has been wiped clean. A fresh pulse. A step forward on my path. I’ve been opened up like a book. And not a sentence skipped.
Heartfruit
There is something special about cutting open a passion fruit with a sharp knife. A sour and crunchy slurp that nourishes the cells behind my forehead. Sometimes when I’m thirsty I choose fruit instead of water. Maybe I am addicted to the sweetness just as much as the power behind its tart. A small crack on my dry lips lets in a sting. But I allow it because everything heals eventually. And I won’t stop loving these fruits even when I know it comes with a little pain.
Rebirth
Honey got in through the trap door again. It was so sticky this time that nothing could be let in or out. It was either winter or a wild fire. Nothing was breathing. Just ash floating in the sky like snow. Like bits of broken butterfly wings.
So nature made it rain. Cleared the air. Watered the foundations. And surprisingly enough, there were seeds burrowed in the dirt. Forgotten little things waiting to burst through. In no time wild flowers and ferns bubbled up. And the sun and stars breathed out in relief.