Jewels.

When the bough breaks, they said my cradle would fall but I fell instead, head over heels in love. You reached out to me with an olive branch, and I grabbed your whole arm, why did you do this, why'd you have to lead me on? I said I'd be there for you, like the soil to your rose, but you chose to wilt when we could've grown. I've never had issues with accepting fault, still you ran away, like you were allergic to salt. Sodium chloride wrong of you to leave me alone, especially when my spirit refuses to accept that your hand I'll no longer hold. You were the only reason I remained, I was the sole serpent to ever be tamed. Such a gem, such a jewel—yet you expect me to abstain, from falling apart, like glue, you kept me sane. My apologies for losing my cool all those times I made you feel blue, bear with me, my dear—I forgot all I had to fear. A silent hill, a busy tone, your absence is felt, now I've learned my lesson, so I keep others at bay. With a single extended arm, I run away; watching you from afar, I wish this love would go astray. Believe me, my boo, this is not how I meant for it to end, as you hold the only key that could unlock my ill begotten end. Prematurely met although I know we'll meet again, I'm sorry I failed you, as you were once my only friend. Grin and bear it, grab a seat, even smile with your teeth; just as long as you will see, there's no future without me.

when the dams burst, we will patch them up with words

"Tell me again, where is it you stop and the succubus begins? Why is it that once we separated we both ceased to exist?" A vanishing act, in two parts.

Act One: My pitiful proposal right in the middle of study circle was the first arrow to pierce your unfeeling heart. A feat more noble than neon on the periodic table. And you? If you were an element, it would be gangrene, the way you suddenly appeared and immediately created a crime scene. A biohazard more toxic and lethal than Fukushima. You radiated light, and at first glance I was blinded. Now that each individual shard of shrapnel has been plucked from my silver eyes, I see that you were nothing but nuclear. Once a dream within a dream, until you decayed and became a fucking nightmare within another godforsaken nightmare. Like those matronly Russian nesting dolls, but instead made up of demons, until there was nothing left but desolation.

Act Two: What happened to the wide eyed hopeful freshman that I met handing out pamphlets to save the rainforest or feed the world or whatever cause you'd attached yourself to at the time to make your human form seem believable. That same kid with the thick accent from East L.A. who arrived on a full scholarship to help inner city sweethearts avoid the inevitable—getting initiated into the first gang whose leader fell in love with her. I should've known the damage was already done and that you were the greatest con artist to wield a pen as a weapon. You seduced lovesick idiots from all walks of student life. Who knew future doctors, lawyers, and politicians could all be so easily swayed. Either way, you were a lost Latina princess who made men feel like one of your Latin Kings.

What happened to our heroine who refused to be branded like the cattle that would never be found on her plate. She was skilled in every recipe from cookbooks of anarchy. Who knew sometimes even soldiers sold out and became the same sheep they swore up and down 'til kingdom come that they would never be. The very sheep who required shearing and saving from a slaveowner who would rather refer to himself as a shepherd.

Behind the scenes a heavier battle was brewing...a conflict that was as deep as canyons grand, that had way too many layers. Our waxen eyed protagonist met his Waterloo in a spicy Puerto Rican seductress. Together, they personified academia, every interaction either ended with evacuated lecture halls or underneath ramen-noodle-stained-thrift-store-bargain-basement sheets. Spectators sighed at the sight of these star-crossed young lovers like modern day Montagues and Capulets. Together, they were an unstoppable machine.

Lovestruck or love's fools? The line between their overlapping identities faded with each day. They put blood, sweat and every last teardrop into the resistance. A revolution like no other, they claimed, that was the brainchild of their brilliance. As they grew closer, their separate clumsy heartbeats merged into one single thunderous rhythm. Surely nothing could come between a love that was united in humanitarian efforts.

By the time graduation robes neared, and colours reappeared across campus, the string that bound these altruists had started to come undone. Consumed by consumerism, a worldly woman in designer threads stood in place of our former rebellious lioness. As she appeared to be a phoney, her subjects rightly labeled her a fraud. Soon, her expensive appearance was a liability to their cause.

One black Friday between thunderstorms was when this War of the Rhodes' came to a halt; she turned away in anger only to be struck by his left lightning bolt. Electrified, and hurt as we reach the final breaths of real love, as it often ends. Only fairy tales wrap in happiness, why else would they appeal to us heartbroken humans.

What about healing, like we planted trees? What of the hospitals, where we pulled smiles out of the broken and the weak? What about the prisons, the detention centres unjustly holding refugees? Where did we stray, where did the love go? When did our own silence need to be bought with violence? What about orphans, widows left to starve in the streets? Where did we go wrong, to get here today? What about love, sweet love that doesn't end up settling in court? When can we return to peace and harmony? Unless we turn back, we won't have a pretty planet to watch on TV. If Satan's greatest con was convincing us he doesn't exist, isn't it time for us to accept we got ourselves into this mess?

Brain On Fire.

Engaged in reckless abandon,
self-medicating as I gamble.
I grow more weary as I persist,
as I become more promiscuous.
Am I the victim of KIDNAPPING,
where they took my BRAIN,
as I fought them off with fists?
ANOTHER abductee gone missing—
but they won't break my spirit,
even if they take away my WINGS.
DIAGNOSED in an anti-septic hallway,
though I still remain unconvinced.
I refuse to be an EXPERIMENT;
I am nobody's test subject.
One SATURDAY,
a PATTERN emerged 
that was disturbing; it began 
with DELUSIONS
of grandiosity. 
I may feel spurned now, 
but I'm still learning.
If only this INSOMNIA 
would just let me sleep.

Brittle.

Tough as diamonds, I still stutter.
Even equipped with spirit real resilient.
Titanium temper you can't tamper.
Bullet proof; I am bone brilliant.

No weapon could wage war against me.
You are Hiroshima to my bomb atomic.
Hydrogen gases could never harm me.
Napalm nor nitrous oxide could phase me.

When I fell to this planet, I crash landed.
Rode in careening on a comet.
Like obsidian, I am igneous; volcanic.
Concrete, cinder-block, ceramic.

Jackhammer my stone heart in the street, chances are the road will crack before me.

I survived storms, and tsunamis;
scaled sorrows, climbed calamity.
Rappelled into the fiery pits of Hell,
wrestled with remorse, and reversed spells.

I can't be destroyed now—I refuse it.
My lights may flicker, but they won't finish. 
Any attempts to break me will prove fruitless.
Diamond life of mine can't be cut open.

Paintbox.

Blood of my blood that runs scarlet red, rivers that rage through my DNA, these parts of me they can't be changed, they make me a sinner and also a saint. 

Forest fires devoid of rain nearly burnt my body to a crisp, orange were the embers that remained, as I maneuver through life's malevolent marigold maze. 

Yellow bellied and afraid to admit I was different from the rest, still, society and its rules sought to suppress my truth, now, as I seethe under the saffron sun while she sets, life gave me lemons so I shaped them into bullets 

I embarked on my adventure to fulfill Emerald City dreams, once I evicted my ego, I was no longer envious or grisly green, as I adopt the lotus position for deep reflection, nothing could feel quite as successful as I do whilst meditating.

Awash in the blues, I was drowning in my own sorrows, sinking in streams of sapphire sadness, these were the lessons that led to greatness.

Insecurities that were once unappealing, ignited, erupting into indigo intuition. My experiences could fill entire oceans, now that I emerged victorious over my emotions.

Violet violence is now just a faded vision, through my introspection I have been vindicated, fields of lavender and lilac fill my garden now that I have learned to love the man I always hated.

Synesthetic Symphony.

Burgundy bells blared brittle, like bread;
savoury silk suddenly singed my silent skin.
Chocolate chimes chased charcoal chalk,
talking toasters tingled tangled trucks.

A hissing whistle wilted hitters, 
tittering critters tinted cisterns.
Blisters erupted belittled erasers;
cauldrons bubbled creation's blazer.

A shock of sterile antiseptic.
Christmas tastes light blue like plastic.
Sometimes seasons sound unfamiliar,
and stranger than a static splinter. 

Sirens arouse sentiments unpleasant,
sharp like spies and estranged sisters.
That's when I just grin and bear it—
colourblind is chaos in its brilliance.

Dolcé Vita.

Eyes like the silhouette of Sicilian sunsets so majestic.
A marble mind carved carefully, with time; prophetic.
His humour could sell out shows at the Apollo.
With a sensitive flair, and sun-kissed hair, his will be a hard act to follow.
Roman nose, defined, and Aquiline; his every feature is disarming.
Floating through my Venetian canals, this Florentine was a natural prince charming.
But most importantly, his heart was Hercules, and his spirit was prosecco sweet.
He would die a thousand times trying to fulfill your every single dream. 
Pray to the Vatican, that we should never part,
I'm Juliet, he's Romeo. 
This boy has captured my heart.

Cobblestone.

Glorious gigantic greenery
filled fantastic flights of thievery.
A thimble; a thin, symbol of servitude,
as symmetrical as pulchritude.

Beauty surrounds all the things we do,
sometimes it's in taupe, others in blue.
Grabbing at levitating atoms
lies a grisly, gnarled rattle.

Games of houndsteeth,
patches of crimson,
line sterile streets with seeds and peat,
like we're in prison.

Catfish catch us at our weakest,
when we're desperate, in secret.
A candid snapshot of us on Tuesday,
mothers no longer tell us who's gay.

Geysers, canals of chaos create my cityscape,
Typhoons wash our troubles off to seabreak.
Hyperventilating, so I take away my hand.
Hold onto me as we spin, I'll add vision to your wasteland.

With fingers tousling your green hair,
my lips will kiss you til you grin.
Crafty soldiers hold my ego hostage,
until you became my breakfast sausage.

When we, crystallize then come together,
we never separate for stormy weather.
Call me whatever you want to,
I'll be a ghoul while I haunt you.

Have a fever, let it take me over;
I'm powerless under your persona.
Six on the stick when we drive,
seduce me whilst I kiss the sky.

Like it or not—you know I'm your guy,
know you believe me when you look into my eyes.
Pull up skirt, then swallow your pride, 
since I know your tears already dried.

Prove to police fame comes at a price,
You don't have to tell it to me twice.
Hop on up, let's see what's so different 
when I know we're both out here 
counting dividends.

Asylum.

Losing my mind was like swallowing hot coals—it stole the words from off my tongue. A treason like no other, even though we anticipate that it will burn. Embers lit up my mouth from the inside, like walls of a cavern lit entirely by torch. 

When my brain malfunctioned, my grasp on reality suddenly became loose. Unraveling like serotonin silly string until all that remained was one big knot. As my sanity escapes, all that was left is a pile on the floor of mess. 

I lose track of time as I obsess about an idea that evolves into branches that make up a nest. Twigs of delusion turn into entire trees when subjected to neglect. Dopamine twice a day does nothing to improve my self-respect.

I search the seafloor for something familiar to swim alongside with, making my way upstream until I can tell fish apart from their tailfins. Saved crocodile tears in a sandcastle—oysters reveal pearls of oxytocin alabaster.
It is finding yourself in quicksand sinking faster than a shotgun romance. A pair of rusting lock and key attached to some bridge in Prozac, France.

The metallic taste of mania often enlists the assistance of anxiety, especially when steel-spangled spices offer little in the way of variety. Pepper was better than ever back when salt was still secret, my pulse becomes a clock who only measures what's too soon to be revealed yet. Ticking thyme listens as time talks of things it wishes it had done. 

One arm's uneven the other's at odds, this unstable season's unreasonably hot. Going crazy was easier once I'd been driven there before, who said mental illness always left a suicide note scratched into stubborn cellar doors. 

On my way back to the real world, silence was the only schoolmate I knew I could trust, for even when she was pin drop quiet, her heart still sighed the heaviest. This Bipolar beauty was wickedly brilliant in battling her own serpentine uncertainty, hissing wildly as she slithered back to a sense of reptilian sobriety. 

Sheroism.

If Coco Chanel played by the rules herself
then there would be no iconic Number Five,
but ever since this mademoiselle raised Hell,
the fashion world was fiercely brought to life.

Indira Gandhi's ruthlessness
is how she rewrote India's history,
waging war for independence,
she was a state of emergency.

Dancing her way to the top of the charts,
Madonna's world tours sold out at every stop.
She used sex as a weapon to open her heart,
until she became the reigning queen of pop.

Refusing to slave another day, 
Harriet Tubman was determined to be free,
this renegade helped others run away,
on a route to the north country.

Some women prefer chains and oppression, 
so they silently accept all that is unfair.
This is why the good girls go to Heaven, 
but the bad girls go everywhere.

Nefarious.

I suppose even the most nefarious entities are desperate for an identity, 

creating their own corroded communities through engaging in impunity.

Erecting idols of their enemies & slandering their friends, 

scrutinizing all the others when it should be them under the lens. 

Delusion, like psychosis, has dust mites thinking they're superior;

as they sit and compare battle scars although they're dazed & delirious. 

Their obsession with made up offenses dines on them like a predator,

until a patchwork of paranoia peers back from every reflection.

You wanted to curse others, 

now you got it back times three, 

abandoned by your own mother, 

now all you have left is me. 

Reader beware: 

you're long overdue for a scare. 

Surprise, you spooky bitch, 

bet you thought you'd seen the last of me.

Cockroaches possess the common sense to evade certain death, 

and yet these criminals lack the discipline to not end up behind bars again. 

Pitiful, y'all look like idiots—and then, 

you continue burning all the candles at both ends.

Overdose on your internal ugliness—

your looks could kill like Fentanyl.

Poison's preferred over your name;

even arsenic has more appeal.

Your sticks and stones playground name-calling games are primitive and lame, 

as you engage in hide and seek-like child's play, I get at you with grenades. 

Then for my grand finale, I shower you in fireworks and flames, 

as Satan's symphony welcomes you into your grave. 

The Earth erupted in uproarious applause, 

as soon as it was liberated of you & all your flaws,

the world finally rejoiced, and knew peace

once your screams echoed from Gambia, 

all the way to Greece.

I bring brilliance while you obsess about irrelevant events, 

you and your network of invalids couldn't even win dumpster dive pageants. 

As I observe you from the upper decks and echelons, you sink; I stay afloat.

You tear down completely innocent allies around you in accusation, 

isn't it time you took accountability for your own reputation? 

If you build it they will come to tear it down then ask for more, 

is it any wonder the wicked wail they're victims above all?

x

Validated (Part II)

Every desert is testament to her understated elegance; even whilst devoid of rain, their roses still bloom in resonance.

With the majesty of medieval monarchy, the moon itself marvels at her magnificent mystery; conducting the stars as they sparkle brightest for her, since she is a symphony.

With every cup of her you sip—you slip further under her spell. You and all your fellow men were too quick to dismiss her as just another raven-haired rebel.

One thing becomes clear as you are hit by the guilt from her dreams you denied: you were threatened by the brilliance that blazes bravely behind her Bedouin eyes.

It is easy and quite simple to embrace equality; even the blind can see behind your problematic patriarchy. You are angered by the branch, despite your own status as the tree.

It's time you knew the truth and learned this ancient secret that was omitted from the holy texts:"Without her, even a rose is haggard—there is no beauty in her absence."

x

Vindicated.

Every desert is a woman—each one, mysterious, and alluring. No cartel or caravan could capture her despite their concerted efforts. Instead, she has them captivated; they covet her like treasure.

But she will not be bought by any bearded Bedouin! She cannot be collected in jars, or hidden away in some harem. Her Sahara will remain as free as the Arabian horse; only without a saddle can one truly experience the world.

She doesn't mind that her hair is streaked with dirt, or that the soles of her bare feet have turned black. Listen closely and you'll even hear them sizzling from the scorching Saudi sun.

A sly grin appears on her face as she performs a serpentine dance, intoxicating.
Like smoke, she moves with sinuous grace, slithering smoothly through these sombre Syrian streets.

Watch as her hips become hypnotists who stun through spins and twists like a mirage.
Listen to the jingle of the coins on her belt;
the same gold and silver some sultan or sheikh felt should measure her worth.

With battle cry, she removes her veil in violent defiance and whips it at the ground.
Unwilling to be a victim anymore by bleeding in the sand, her only demand is her freedom from their wicked government.

(Re)Missing

Once, when we were young, 
we fell head over heels in love;
felt like we'd been stung,
razors rained down on us from up above.

Oh how it hurts my lungs, 

once we were innocent as doves
I numb the pain with drugs, 

now that I have been disposed of.

As we argued more, 
push turned to shove, 
Now you've gone missing, babe. 
Take me back to yesterday.

Stopped by your place, 
but you've left for outer space, 
linger at your door, 
but you don't live here anymore. 

It's years since you've been there. 
And now you've disappeared 
somewhere; without a trace.
I'm lost without your sweet embrace.

And I miss you, yeah,
like infants miss their mother's face.
And I miss you, whoa,
you've left a mark I can't erase.

I just miss you, oh,
like a shoe without a lace,
I'm missing you, baby,
this emptiness won't be replaced.

I rang down your phone, 
so many times I cannot count,
your number is unknown, 
and all my emails even bounced. 

y sheets still smell like your cologne.

You haunt me when I'm feelin low.
Left your nest and now you've flown.
Where have you gone, where did you go?

Is our romance really blown?
Have you found a queen to share your throne,
My heart has turned to stone, 
ever since you left me all alone.

And I miss you, yeah,
like an immigrant, I feel displaced.
and I miss you, whoa,
like my favourite foods, I crave your taste.

Could it be you've been misplaced?
All my steps have been retraced.
How, I miss you, babe,
it'd take me weeks to count the ways.

And I miss you, yeah,
like infants miss their mother's face.
And I miss you, whoa, 
you've left a mark I can't erase.

I just miss you, oh,
like a shoe without a lace,
I'm missing you, baby,
this emptiness won't be replaced.

Now you're missing,
and I'm missing you; 
and although you're missing,
I'm still missing you.
And even if you're gone, 
Your spirit always seems to stay,

Escapism.

A paper boat wrestles with restless seas to stay afloat, as amber sun collides with cotton, cobalt-coloured clouds. 
Bruises decorate my blackened, battered soul, soon even sanity slips away unseen, into some careless crowd.

Caught in the rapturous aftermath of hope, this reckoning is one I'd rather skip.
Bind my idle hands with rope, next stitch up my damaged lips. Button up these barren eyes, before they believe another lie.

Malevolent magnets pull me in opposite directions, this tug of war romance won't be won with weapons. 
Heaven has to wait for me to revert to being holy, 
as eraser smudges have replaced all remnants of the old me.

This haphazard, hollow heartbeat has become a battle drum, it sets the season for my sorrow, and the tempo for my gloom. 
Grief, just like a paring knife, carves up my insides, 
cutting away the only parts of me that I ever liked.

Anger erupts inside of me until I burst then tear apart at the seams; as a byproduct of failure, I've been blessed with many broken dreams. 
This ire is louder than the air raid sirens that empty Iraqi streets, so I pray that landmines are only found underneath the sand below your feet. 

Recess.

You tear me down, I feel so weak.
It's hide and seek, hide and seek.
Scotch tape mouth so I can't speak,
pour me a glass of something sweet,
like gasoline, gasoline.

I wanna call myself an ambulance,
cos I can't swim, can barely dance.
My vision blurs, I'm in a trance.
Lost any chance for romance;
just resistance, and violence.

Heart's locked up, its wrists are chained;
the consequence of losing grace.
Our love's a refugee on the run 
all out of chase, feeling displaced.
Matchboxes and misery litter my home,
now that you've gone, left me alone.

I would rather endure your abuse
than the emptiness within these halls.
Cancer coloured corridors that make me sick,
I cough then catch my breath, and take a sip,
as red wine stains my restless soul.

You close your eyes, and count to three,
I cover my own but leave a little space, 
so I can see you search for me, 
through the mess, amongst the waste.

If only we could find the words to say,
we could both win at this game;
this hide and seek, it's child's play.
This hide and seek is child's play.

Rosy.

A thorny kiss, that pricked like tetanus. 
Your touch left papercuts no alcohol could remedy, fragrant to smell yet poison to me, 
you were the infection that led to disease. 
I may be your cancer, but I am also your man, 
so take back these seeds, bury them in the sand.
Not weak, but naive, and blissfully aware,
fake smiling my way through every affair.
I am the reason, and all that remains. 
You are the bleach; the iodine that stains. 
Like ink, you left your mark through roses, especially when they'd wilt,
so I swallowed my pride in spite of my guilt; 
pluck each of my petals as I slowly decay;
I return to the soil as I drift away.

Dethroned.

Heart racing faster than a sprinter, as I prick you like a splinter. 
I'll make you blossom like the cherry tree does after a long winter, then explore your oceans like Cousteau's possessed my fingers. 
I am the summer sun that overwhelms your city with heat, you are the sugar on my tongue that has me craving sweets. 
As we mix together like cement before it paves the streets, you'll declare me king in the north before we even complete.

Natural.

I gaze longingly at the stars, searching for an answer, attempting to find reason hidden in their alluring mystery. 

With both my eyes squeezed tightly shut, my third awakens and opens; it is wide enough to fit the entire universe in its field of view. 

I see myself reflected in the sky; my ancestors light my way as my soul leaves my body. 

It rises like smoke, and feels as light as steam, filled with the vapours of tears I could not cry; floating higher than hot air balloons that colour the clouds. 

Unexpectedly, I find you—exactly where I left you; between the sound barrier and my dreams, both currently equally inaccessible to me. 

But I am too busy living in the moment, or at least that's what I claim.

I blow you a kiss and pass you by, leaving you behind to chase fulfillment. 

You, the lesson I refused to learn. 

You, the embers that made me burn 
until my lungs could take no more. 

My spirit soars, elated, satisfied to discover a solution to soothe its restlessness, that was its greatest conflict. 

I return to my physical body and turn off the lights, now that I can finally rest in peace.

Spirited Away

I gaze longingly at the stars, searching for an answer, attempting to find reason hidden in their alluring mystery. 

With both my eyes squeezed tightly shut, my third awakens and opens; it is wide enough to fit the entire universe in its field of view. 

I see myself reflected in the sky; my ancestors light my way as my soul leaves my body. 

It rises like smoke, and feels as light as steam, filled with the vapours of tears I could not cry; floating higher than hot air balloons that colour the clouds. 

Unexpectedly, I find you—exactly where I left you; between the sound barrier and my dreams, both currently equally inaccessible to me. 

But I am too busy living in the moment, or at least that's what I claim.

I blow you a kiss and pass you by, leaving you behind to chase fulfillment. 

You, the lesson I refused to learn. 

You, the embers that made me burn 
until my lungs could take no more. 

My spirit soars, elated, satisfied to discover a solution to soothe its restlessness, that was its greatest conflict. 

I return to my physical body and turn off the lights, now that I can finally rest in peace.

Rubyred.

She bounces between the shadows of strangers, playing a solitary game of Hopscotch that seems to never end. The looming skyscrapers provide her with the utmost comfort, a retminder that she is a single loose thread hidden by fancy needlework in the overall fabric of this metropolis. 

Despite longing to remain as anoymous as the Jane and John Does in hospital morgues, the rubies in her hairband glisten in the sun, letting her presence be known against her wishes. 

Once she is ready, she will vanish without a trace, disappearing into the concrete sidewalks like the rain. But until then, she permits the sun to paint her shadow ruby red. 

One day she will fade away, becoming one with the blaring horns from taxicabs, and excited voices of children rushing home from school. That is when she will finally be happy—more elated than the current fleeting moments of contentment that make her wince from the transient way they ebb and flow, and tease. Until then, she remains vigilant, careful not to attract anymore attention than she needs. 

Soon, she will be free from this rat race she never chose, her final act complete once she solely exists in secret. Her purpose will only be fulfilled once all that's left of her is a ruby red glow that bounces between the buildings. 

Indus.

Since colonialism corrupted her innocence,
dyeing Mother India's land with the blood of innocents.
Once, harmony existed between their inhabitants,
until extremism reared its ugliness and sought to create division.
From the beginning of time, India was one,
home to many different tribes that coexisted
peacefully under the Hindustani sun.
From the shores of the Indian ocean,
to the Himalayas and Bangladesh in the east,
there was no bond quite like theirs
until pride and ego made it cease.
I still consider myself to be Indian
despite having Pakistani roots,
one day, hoping to to adventure throughout India,
whilst feasting on her fruits.
Long live Mother India, the birthplace of all religion,
though I remain in mourning
for the casualties lost to predatory partition.

La Isla Bonita

She has hips like Venus,
that ebb and flow,
with the rhythm of the sea;
her waves wash over me.

I seek tranquility in her ocean.
Swimming in her to
define my freedom.
A body of water like no ofher.
She smells of saline
and hard labour.

Every breath's an effort,
just like the very air I breathe.
Sweet as honey,
she is thick as milk.

Despite being blamed
for Eve's original sin,
she still weaves through
the traffic with expert skill.

Blessed with the ability
to turn water into wine,
and chromosomes into people,
she embraces every obstacle
with passion and wonder.

As soft as velvet,
and as smooth as jade,
she is the reason why
brutish men are
transformed into knaves.

Le donne, mujeres, aurat—
in any language she is beautiful.
And for her very existence,
I am eternally grateful.

She.

She walks with her head held higher
than the skyscrapers that kiss the sky.
Finally able to live her truth,
her hazel eyes have no more glitter tears to cry.

Sometimes strangers can be crude,
but often they just seem surprised.
Her name and identity give her strength,
and fill her with such pride.

I flew to you with broken wing only to find you preferred me in a cage.

I. I lay wide open awaiting your embrace. Like the solitude of the ocean, I am still and ready. Float into me and make waves. Create ripples as you run your finger along the surface. As we ebb and flow in our shared time together, you must promise not to hurt me. Do not disturb my rhythm—don't desert me. On the off chance that you should fail, I offer you a single warning: feed me knives, and I will rust along the edges of your dreams. Prepare to be shipwrecked if you dare to destroy all that's ever been serene. If not, then carry on, and do not make entire seas out of simple streams. 

II. It used to be endearing: her ability to play devil's advocate and remain objective. Not many girls her age, let alone women, could see both sides of every story. She walked a mile in every shoe until she was tired. Danced through gardens with reckless abandon, she was simultaneously as naked as the sun and as mysterious as the moon. We warned her but to no avail, she wouldn't listen. She's both the forest and the fire...she will destroy herself. 

III. Your lips whisper secrets only mine can hear. Your touch speaks to me in sign language, but only on my skin. We are more than lovers, we are poets, writing ourselves along each other's thighs. You taste like culture, and sophistication; fine wine, and photographs. I wish you would remain here forever, entangled between these satin sheets with me. If only I could find some place precious enough to keep you. 

IV. Her father was never around; always away on business in some major seaport or city. When he was away, she would sneak into his room, and try on all his ties. She deeply inhaled the scent of his aftershave, then rifled through his papers. As her mother's sobriety slipped away as the night progressed, she said silent prayers under the solid Italian oak desk in her daddy's office. Now that she is grown, she refuses to look back. She hit the ground running, chasing after the man she never had a chance to know. How sad is it that she measures her worth in currency and one-night stands? Even more sobering that hers is a story that is neither uncommon nor untrue. So, boys if you are listening, be the man that your daughters need you to. For a daughter is more precious than any business deal could ever be. 

La Isla Bonita.

She has hips like Venus,
that ebb and flow,
with the rhythm of the sea;
her waves wash over me.

I seek tranquility in her ocean.
Swimming in her to 
define my freedom.
A body of water like no ofher.
She smells of saline 
and hard labour.

Every breath's an effort, 
just like the very air I breathe.
Sweet as honey, 
she is thick as milk.

Despite being blamed 
for Eve's original sin,
she still weaves through
the traffic with expert skill. 

Blessed with the ability
to turn water into wine,
and chromosomes into people,
she embraces every obstacle
with passion and wonder.

As soft as velvet,
and as smooth as jade,
she is the reason why
brutish men are 
transformed into knaves. 

Le donne, mujeres, aurat—
in any language she is beautiful.
And for her very existence,
I am eternally grateful.