Poem 91

The Way We Love I guessI’m notreligious.I’m spiritual. I don’tnecessarilybelievein the creations of man,describingmy religionbut I believethere isa higher being. I believethat He watchesover me. I alsobelievein fortune telling,ghosts,and all thatsort. Though,I don’t thinkbelief in thosemeanI’m beingdisrespectfulto my God. I just believethatHe has all sorts of waysto communicatewith me. I don’t think that’s wrong…And if …

Poem 90

Smoke It was Sunday yesterday. Oh no…Don’t ask why the sun shines,or why google has no informationabout youfor me to finally set asidemy Sundaysfor God and notsome other guybecauseit’s only natural. It’s awfulwhen I spend thirty minutessmiling at your ridiculouslimited pictureswhere you’ve got a jointbetween your lipsinstead of a penfor class work you may not …

Poem 89

Conversations Talking leads to thinking and we question until we’re back at square one. It was about the events that transpired, what could have been or why it happened. We all tried to understand. Me. Him. Her. Them. There was a lot to say and little said. I said, who I am is more important …

Poem 88?

The Letter I’ll Never Send It went like this. Dear (fill in this blank), October wasn’t a rollercoaster of emotions. It wasn’t simply October of the Fall Season. That month was when I found myself in front of a mirror and hating everything reflected back. It was a time in my life I searched for …

Poem 87

frozen. i didn’t think about the length of snowfall during winters.i’d never seen snow unless they were in films.but i knew winter like no other. i didn’t think about how i could never wear my dressesduring extremely heated summers.it was always not the right moment for me.and with the passing of incoherent seasons,along with harsh …

Poem 86

To the Women and to the Men. I learned a great deal about situations in front of your moving lips beneath the under-breaths beside the weight of your backlash under the shadow of your falling hands watching your laughter mimicking your pretend. Here’s to you, the women and to the men of my life. Cheers …

Poem 85

Here is my angry letter, This is for the people who’ve met my angry face, my furrowed brows, and unchecked words. I’m angry at you for being you. Yes. That is what this letter is about. And I have very good reasons that validate this burning in my gut and the scratchy throat. My fingers …

not a poem, but a poem

Untitled. it is pay-backtime,time in which the days were good,of remembering the fun,the laughter we shared,caffeine we used to downtogether,all yours nowand where I am left alone,a string of insecuritesaccompany my solace. it used to bethat I could say it allthrough words,hands entwined,eyes interlockedduring days of ‘reality’,not endless dreamsor being forever awake. I’m returning it …