feelings, feeling, a feeling

feeling a feeling

not feeling a feeling

not feeling feelings


is not feeling a type of feeling?

scared, worried, anxious

scared of death

scared of crashing


is it really love if i look all around 


do they like me i dont like myself



is it love or guilt 


above all

no, its love for i feel bad saying it 

im bad

and guilty 


should i be worried if i would choose not to be born

but the boat has sailed

and i have to keep it from sinking 

i almost forgot this place exists

and i wish i could feel  bad 



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. 

on Racism

it would be a lie if i said i didn’t feel special when I heard a white person say my name.


how am i expected to be myself when i can’t get over the fact that i speak different?


i look at myself in the mirror, an ordinary brown girl and then look around my campus, one million ( of course i exaggerate) beautiful, accomplished girls and i shrink. i cant think and i cant write.


i see my room-mate with her statue of Ganesha, and her saying ‘I wish I was him.’ i see her friend laying on the bed, holding the god of my religion in her hand. I almost think , ‘you girls need to stop. this is not how he is supposed to be treated. we keep him in temples.’ then i stop. doesn’t religion transcend these boundaries so conveniently created by us? and who am i to say anything, when i haven’t even thought of my own god in the longest time? who am i ?


all i wanted was a few white friends and i didnt know it was that difficult.


every time you try to talk like me, you don’t belittle me, but yourself. i am the one who brings myself to shame for i pay silence as the price of fitting in with your kind.


you talk about traveling from one city to another, i stay mum for i am in an entirely different continent away from my loved ones, but again, who am i?


every time i sit in the bus and look around, a black man, a white girl, me, a brown girl, a latino, i feel grateful, for we all are one, in the same bus, under the time constraint set forth by our driver, never mind his race.


i look at you, a middle-eastern, craving for the love of his parents and i feel bad. “how do you do it?” i question him, then i realize i do it too.


people ask me, “do you miss home?” and i say “no” for it is true. for all the racism, my home is me.


Cup full of feelings

I wake up, with a cup full of feelings.

I pour it out, out through my eyes.

It fills up, oh so quickly.

I try, try to share, but I am so alone

My parents across the distant land,

Me, here, away, by choice. (like my friend’s room-mate said)

Me, here, away with none but a cup.

A cup that fills, as fast as it goes

with feelings, I’d rather not share

Feelings, not so unique, 

for my story is as Common

as Common goes

I’ll be alright as long as I try

But, oh my Cup, is full of feelings.



my mind is everywhere and nowhere

so many things to do

but nothing makes sense.

im fat, when did that happen?

or is it the anorexia creeping back in

my fingers are chubby

not to forget my arms.

my body.

overdosing on chocolate

my mind is everywhere and nowhere

not enough sense to rhyme

making my way using mime

my friends dont like me

it became ‘you and her’ from ‘us’

in the blink of an eye.

sitting here, alone, on purpose.

my boyfriend, why?

girls are pretty or girls are smart

but people like me

are nothing

making my way

but each passing day

makes me want to say

i am just a small needle

in the big stack of hay

take me out,

the only thing that you will miss

is Nothing.

Steer away slowly 

I scour for poems , 

Poems to make me feel better,

My boyfriend asks but I have no answer,

But boy, do I know!

How do you say,

When you don’t know the way

Maybe, people like me, are meant to be alone. 

No one signed up for this. 

This, beautiful mess of me. 

Scared of everything,

Anxious too. (Are the bed bugs crawling in my ears)

First, eating nothing,

Now, eating everything. (Boy, your cheeks are sure chubby)

Never knowing, what is true. 

Thinking about things,

But not really knowing. 

Not to forget, my back hurts. 

And the boyfriend. He hurts. Not really. 

People hurt, not really. 

I hurt. The beautiful mess, slowly, scouring in the scorching heat. 

Using fancy words will lead you nowhere, habibti. 

Okay, then, good- bye. 

part of the love club

she sat, walked, listening to Lorde

relating, not relating

blending in, fading out

smiling, dying

“There’s nothing more I want

Except to be alone”

true? was it true?

she didn’t know.

oh, so tired, spelling ‘are’ as ‘our.’

autocorrect did not correct.

“everything will glow for you.”

all the happy, but she pushed it away,

one step away,

from fading.


One thought away

It was one thought away,

to drop it all, and disappear

leave it all behind,

the people, the studying, the feelings.

especially the feelings.

because she didn’t know what to do with them

piling up, higher and higher

one thought away,

to drop it all, and disappear

move to New York, or just,


The girl and the thing.

Here she was again, not writing in her secret book in Pages, but trying, scared, but still trying, to write here.

Who was she? What was happening?

She sat on her friend’s floor, at 177 Hamilton Street, trying to understand the answer to the question. She wanted to write in italics because it seemed fancier.

What is she? She had a boyfriend. She was slightly upset with him. She was upset. She was surprised at why she was upset. Honestly, she never thought these things would bother her. But they did. The things he did. 

Sensitive. She was sensitive. She was not a nice person. Jealous. Possessive. She felt ashamed at how she felt. Insecure. These words made her feel unhappy. Made her insides jitter. 

She wanted to write them out, but that would just make them feel real. She did not feel real. What is happening? She was forgetting her words. 

Looking around, trying to understand.

The things people did.

She was hurt. By everything. What did she want?

Just hold me close, hold my hand, and know. Don’t ask me, just know. She wasn’t the girl with the ‘big personality’, she was confused.

“You’re irrational,” her brother would tell her oft.