it may be something as simple

as a tiny whisper in a crowded room

or the faint creaks long past the dark

my insides, they shudder-

for they feel touched. 

touched, memories awaken

the devil on my shoulders. 

first, i was scared of the dark

for along with it brought

demons and sharks,

but now I realize- it brings me. 

and nothing scares me more. 



ive been trying so hard,

searching for my privileges 

in the faces of the poor and the diseased and the alone

found my privileges, in places where there were none.

ive been trying so hard,

to feel happy

but my privileges dont matter

when i hear my dad slurring

and my mom crying.

a broken home, is all i ever knew

grew up, to sounds of tears and the rhythm of alcohol.

a ten year old waited, for her parents to kill each other.

ive been trying so hard,

to be ok to be myself,

but there is something about this broken-ness,

these privileges, exist together, this sweet amalgamation, 

maybe im crazy,

or this is what broken homes do to you,

dreams too broken-

hopes never shaken,

privileges, i still recognize.


i don’t know about you, but i have these habits,

where i compare, not just our strengths and virtues

but every bit of our being-

and place myself the lowest lower could ever be.

i dont know about you.

i dont know about you, but i have these habits,

where i scorn and shudder,

the mirror reflects my monstrosity,

food becomes my enemy,

sweet tastes like guilt and empty feels like pleasure.

i dont know about you.

i dont know about you, but i have these habits,

that i can never see through,

growing up and growing along,

i just hope to love (myself)

going back

as i go back and read,

all these stories that made me Me,

i read about a girl, young in love, seeking attention

then i look in the mirror

i wonder what torture and pain and suffering

turned me into Me, lone and forlorn,

young and pretending, until one day i just shut

down and cry.

i remember how i used to feel all these feelings,

love, jealousy, happiness and connection-

now its hard to remember anything but



first came September,

the season was not the only thing that was Falling.

Falling- in love, with the people, the reasons, the seasons-

and most of all, you.

Then came December,

the sudden cold and harsh snow crashing down,

and me with them.

Lies, tragedies, loneliness,

I felt all kinds of cold, for the first time in forever.

Soon it was March,

the sun came out, the flowers blossomed,

I quietened down.

With another year marked in my life,

i turned over a new leaf.

Soon it was June,

Blistering sun, tans and lemonades,

I retreated back home

and waited for it

to start all over again.


i look back at these things

that broke me and consumed me,

a tiny little girl, all of ten,

was filled with fear and anxiety.

i look back at these parts

that broke, one by one,

leaving behind

an excuse called me.

i look back and try to fix,

the broken-ness and the wounds,

the wears and the tears

how do you fix

something that never healed?


some days, i wonder who i am,

wallowing in my silence at the library,

rather, drowning in my thoughts so loud.

waiting at the bus-stop,

ten tabs open in my brain,

but still stopping to appreciate,

the sun out on a gloomy day.

i wonder who i am,

talking, laughing with my loves,

or slowly choking in the racism

slowly creeping up on me.

i wonder if i were white,

if i were beautiful,

if i were smart,

what would i be?

then again, i wonder.

who am i?

i am me,

unapologetically me,

skin, brown and spotted,

brain, too over-crowded,

friends, few and dear,

i am me.



i would tell you i care,

but what about the empty despair

the single nights of loneliness

grabbing me around my throat,

transitioning into days- where i talk to none

about things that matter,

for i can talk about the weather

for hours on end-

small talk- does it really matter

thoughts become trouble,

piling up like unsettling pebbles,

refusing to write,

can it be any worse?

pain- again

some days its fine,

like gentle breeze on a summer’s day or the

lazy morning you wake up to on a sunday

other times it comes crashing down-

a snow storm out of nowhere or

maybe as subtle as the bitter taste

left in your mouth after drinking coffee

try as you might, it just wont go away

and then theres all this pain,

now i don’t know any fancy words

that could describe it just as much-

but i feel all this pain

and then i cant speak- i hear people hurt

but again, i care too much

my brother- my parents- in cities all different

no one to talk to, no home to begin with.

its all wrong, i wonder. this is not normal

but again, when was i i wonder again

is this empty hollowness a byproduct of my insecurity

or the desperate attempt to give you love,

for i feel none.

man, i should just go home.

or the house, as it is.