Missing

You said you missed home –

I hesitated to say it misses you too,

Simply because I wasn’t sure what home was to you.

Maybe you meant the city, the hustle and bustle,

Or your sister and her husband, your only two

Maybe you meant school, or the campus

Or the other million things you do

I wasn’t sure what you meant-

But I was sure as hell

That you didn’t mean to say

that you missed me (too)

 

~

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i wish

i wish i was as god made me

i wish there was a god and i believed it

i wish the crack in my walls healed up,

not with paint, quick and hasty

but slowly, like its meant to be.

i wish for a thousand things

and my life passes right by me.

sometimes i get so sad

wrapped up in myself

but i cannot cry.

my heart goes down

and things seem gloom

but what can one do?

i still live a good life

like god made me

or intended me to be.

insides 

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. 

trying.

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.

habits

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

monotony.

seasons

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.

broken-ness

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?

identity

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.