PART - I
And again in despair,
I walked through nakedness
all night long.
I see myself through the mirror
hating every pieces of my existence.
And then there's audience
of my own who praises me
for the bits and pieces of myself
I show them to entertain.
I need something in return
and I eventually get it all.
But there's still a question
Why? Why? Why?
Is this what despair meant
All the while?
Maybe I'm just horny.
Where does this unquenchable thirst -
a thirst for attention came from?
From the longing desire
to be seen by others.
Or this constant struggle
to be understood and treated well.
And my cat meowed
as if it knows the truth.
It humbled me in every other way
it could, to ease me out.
Did my cat understand me well?
Oh, my cat needs my attention as well.
How I love being a person
Like water droplets in lotus leaf.
I thrive to coexist
With every cosmos that I'm present.
Sometimes like the salt being unnoticed,
Sometimes like a cog in the wheel,
Sometimes like a mustard - and
Sometimes like the whole entirety
Of everything that I belong with.
But I'm also autonomous and independent,
Sometimes it's just me and my presence -
That I crave the most of mine.
But where do I belong?
In the meadows or in the woods?
In the castle or in the dungeons?
In his beloved arms or in a pack of wolves?
But where did I actually exist?
Who actually found my presence?
If not for myself that I do,
To coexist all the way along.
I'm just a water droplet
Alongside a lotus leaf.
Oh dear lord,
August is depressing.
Take me to the days
Where I used to sing and dance,
Not where I frown and cry,
Not where I crumble into pieces.
Take me to the places
Where I sit and laugh,
Not where I question my peace,
Not where I bleed to ease.
And all it takes a while
Won’t August be kind to me?
For so long this pain has been,
Passing days never felt and seen.
Oh dear lord,
August is depressing.
And I wish to disappear
into fragments,
that I see while gazing
through the sky.
Somewhere I believe
that's where I belong.
Been too late to carry - the
burden of being a human.
Now all I do crave is
becoming a mist,
becoming a fog - and
becoming a cloud
to ease out the burden
being a human!
I'm blooming somehow.
Not yesterday
not today
not tomorrow
but everyday.
I wish to be remembered
like the flowers that thrives
even after a stampede.
Without any sympathy
but seeing my potential fully.
I'm sure my flowers
spread compassion - and
my fruits are the virtues
for your ignorance
on this very little life.
If you would ask,
I can pluck some flowers.
But I do worry
About their fate.
While for the sake of love,
They are being plucked.
While not being loved
As so in the branches.
And I do wonder
Maybe someday,
Who knows?
I end up getting plucked.
It’s strange when you hear
butterflies eat the dead and decay.
That’s how it felt when I became that nectar
for them to feast on me.
A few years ago, these butterflies
were roaming in my stomach.
Little did I know, they were helping me out
from the uncertainty of being in love.
But when my worlds shattered,
they show no mercy,
only pain was left in my body.
I could see my stomach was torn apart,
my intestines were left to nothing.
I was terrified by the lustful desires
of these unholy creatures consuming me from within.
That’s when I know these butterflies eat dead.
Which I was already, long ago!
It's strange when comfort and chaos
coexists together.
Who would desire chaos
when they need comfort?
I ask,
who would feel comfortable
amidst all chaos?
Only the ruins remain.
Sometimes they are together
singing lullaby and reciting elegy.
There's a betrayal in either or,
and there's guilt in everything.
What do I choose now?
Finding comfort in chaos
or chaos in a comfortable way?
You can't choose both.
It's a die or die situation.
May seem to be off
a family that's fractured.
Lifeless souls
wandering around corners.
Silence seems loud,
conversation drains energy.
Paying guests as they do
pay for their trauma.
Different dynamics here
makes you orphaned almost.
Just suffocating
the way emotions seems crowded.
Some days paralyzed - and
some days brutalized.
You scream silence and
a good life is a violence.
Pillows carry meltdowns
the only emotional support.
A breadwinner puppet
amuses the world,
becomes a grumpy doll
and haunts us all.
Always a war in thy home
yet not one ends in room.
Every battle a loss
and every defeat is gross.
The baggage we carried
burdened our backs.
A legacy to be followed
for generations to pack.
I desire many
I do get to work on that.
But then, I get bored.
Their presence’s a mere joy.
The desires stay same
As it lingers with my soul.
But never find excuses
To leave its place.
Ambitious. Passionate.
Perseverance and patience.
They all spectate my boredom,
But never tried to rescue me.
Out of focus? Lethargy?
Lack of interest? Gave up?
But you never know
Any of these before,
How you used to live
And love what you desire.
Ended up far away
Hoping it's the right path.
But why did happiness fly away
Before I could reach my desire?
Maybe that's what desire does to many
And dies young at heart.
Sometimes,
life just feels like drowning
in the sea of thoughts.
Never returning back to find
what they really meant.
I don't feel burdened
when my lungs are filled -
with the water of chaos.
I'm what the chaos
that consumed me throughout.
Destiny ends here.
You never gonna know
what it meant
the whole time.
This place is comforting - yet
a strange chaos seeps
through your soul.
When you understand
the whole point of existence,
you're left with pieces and crumbs -
of your irresistible faith
that you've left here.
I’m glad that I’m alive
Witnessing these moments in delusion.
Somedays in lakes, ponds, swamps,
Streams, rivers and oceans.
I need to act I’m alive and joyful
In this place that’s dying and haunting.
The water in this tank is never the same,
It’s my grief and pain that you are so lame.
I understand he’s anti social,
But I’m not one.
You deserve this tank and I deserve freedom.
He got a bull’s eye
no matter where you turn
gazes you passionately.
He wants you to stumble,
kneel down, so as to show -
his dominance over you.
He’s there everywhere
in my shadows,
and every nook and corner -
in the end of streets.
He knows me A to Z
but for me I'm about to flee
he's a either a friend or a foe
make sure he's not that hoe.
His passionate gaze
pierce through my chest.
Oh! Dear lord,
he thanks for a beautiful fest.
What does he want?
Asked myself politely.
All your body
brain responded calmly.
Just as usual
a lazy day to begin.
Started feeling blue
all of a sudden.
Not poisoned by anything
that would ruin my existence.
My skin turned blue,
fatigue consumed me.
While rotting in bed
the smell of lost passion
started suffocating me
and I fainted slowly.
I felt I was unalive.
How can one ponder relentlessly
about being unalive
while their heart still beats?
It was cozy and comforting
not to open my eyes.
A small ache in my stomach
rushing in to do my toilet duties.
That's when I realized
Monday had lately turned
Into a Thursday.
Hope is contagious as it looks.
It sucks your soul out of it.
It destroys the fruit of loneliness.
It’s adamant. It’s painful.
Hope sometimes is terrible
Like an illness that refuses to go.
It’s chronic and sometimes bedridden.
Hope spreads very easily
As one breathes till their death.
Hope is a slow poison that
Makes you believe maybe
There’s someday you’re free.
That’s why I say again,
Hope is contagious as it looks.
But what's there in porn?
What makes it so addictive?
It's after all just the fantasy
That drives us.
A million ways you fantasize
But are you trying
All the million ways?
You fantasize getting fucked
Or you fucking someone
But what does it mean?
Is your reality the same
As you fantasize?
You can be a doctor,
Lawyer,
Teacher,
Astronaut,
And what not?
Either you're multitasking
Or you're patronizing
But wake up
You aren't out of your bed.
But somewhere it should end.
I don't wish a deluded life
Or a fantasized life
That has nothing common
With my reality.
Escape.
Escape.
Escape from my reality.
That sounds so consoling
The only reason I tell myself.
After those sleepless nights
I spend time looking page after page.
I watch gay porn,
That sounds rebellious.
I'm rebellious in porn sites too.
I watch men kissing each other
Like it's their last day.
I watch different genres but
Daddies are my go to.
And that night ends
After that dopamine boost.
But I still can't sleep
And I wonder why.
I heard some whispers
Saying I'm a lonely gay
That I might end up here
In the beads
As if I was married to it.
But that was true
My only companion
To my wet dreams
Are the pillows and the bed
And I never wish to wake up.
Somehow everyday
This cycle keeps returning and returning
Knowing that I neither have energy
Nor am I in a place for that.
Feels like a fate etched
With my bed
That keeps pushing me
Beyond my limits.
But one day my bed
Will remember, - this fantasy
will never meet its reality.
And so this lonely gay
With his little world
Of men.
I'm what I eat
Some days I eat strawberries
And the other day loneliness
So that I speak sweet - and
Taste loneliness in my solitude.
Some days I eat bone marrows
And the other day greediness
So that I speak malicious - and
Taste tenderness in my skin.
Some days I eat lemons
And the other day happiness
So that I speak sour - and
Taste confident in my tongue.
Some days I eat disgust
And the other day I puke
So that I can eat more
The next day and become
What I'm for the rest of the days.
I'm so selfish about
Anything and everything
That comes to me.
Maybe this rain that only
Pours in my yard.
Maybe this sun that only
Warms me in winter.
Maybe this cheesecake
Only for me with delight.
Maybe this croissant
Only for me with a vanilla custard.
Maybe the fate that only
Be kinder to my destiny.
And maybe this love
Adds a little more hope
Only to my life.
If not this selfishness to prosper
Maybe I would've been a shellfish.
I'm a frog
that yaps about existing ,
in this miserable world.
Too selfish to think about
the wrongdoing,
of the fascist predators
that squeezes out our eggs
and plays with the dead.
Now an uninvited guest
at this human's house.
They raise fascist predators.
"How sad I'm a prey now."
The frog yapping
while praying to God.
Nothing here goes to waste
including my heart.
I see potential in every
existence that ceases to die here.
In the storage room - I find
some unusual desires,
some left out passion,
some broken self-esteem,
some fragile hearts - and
some lingering stubbornness.
They were all once
fully functioning and of good life.
And then life happened,
in many unexpected ways - that
made them to wilt and wither.
They all need mending
to attain fullest potential.
And someday I believe
it happens.
What is Justice here?
What's the need for it?
Who deserves justice?
Who gets benefitted from it?
Why do we want justice?
Why is justice important?
We might ask it - from
Different levels of privileges
We have it here.
We all come from different
Spaces and experiences
That shapes our perception.
There's justice from the point
Of a Victim
Of a Persecutor
Of a Rescuer
Of a Spectator
Of an Ally
Of this and that and so many.
Justice takes up different sides
Sometimes it brings chaos - because
We don't know where it actually stands.
Sometimes justice seems to be an imposter,
Sometimes a relief and sometimes a lie.
Maybe with the lens of compassion
We might see its true colours.
And that's why justice is multifaceted.
Oh him,
He does everything
Known to this mankind.
What has he not tried
In this lifetime.
He must be very,
Very talented.
Everything comes handy
When he touched.
He sings,
He dance,
He crochet,
He writes,
He draws,
He does everything.
He must have a good future,
Of course he does.
I envy I don't do
Any of this.
How pathetic it is
To have no talent.
Just to admire other works
These eyes are sore and tired.
Of course I envy you.
You got a lot of time,
Your own time to dwell
With all these you do
Quivers my heart
I'm such a squander.
Oh look at you
What else do you need?
You got everything
As you wished in this life.
Everyone says you're
Blessed by thy almighty.
What a talent!
What a talent!
Oh dear, I'm tired
I don't own anything.
Not even a praise
I deserve thy curse.
It's all that you assume
Is a mirage like a
Deserted oasis.
I remain nothing.
But you never know
How I lament,
Every night before I sleep
Losing every part of my soul.
My hands tremble
As I try creating something.
Deluded by the imposter
I carry it with myself.
I saw no future - that
I'll call mine.
I'm just pathetic - as
Always bedrotten
By my own lame prophecies.
I envy you assumed
So much for myself.
Even I couldn't get - to the
Place that you dreamt of.
All I see - is a
Cursed young lad
Couldn't decide on
What he's capable of.
Crying himself to sleep.
You see I'm a jack,
Jack of all trades.
But I mastered none.
Not even one
Where I belong.
Little by little
I gather myself,
from the places
I've fallen and raised.
Not even a crumb
that I wish to let go.
Broken, shattered,
torn apart, exhausted.
I will embrace everything
for that's what raised me,
to where I belong now.
All these little droplets
in the ocean of my existence.
Maybe this flower
might feel lonely today.
Not because it's being plucked
from the branches,
where it belongs to.
But for the loneliness
it's gonna endure tonight.
In the hands
that start to wither and yearn,
where it never meant to belong.
There's a lot here to retire from
Being a son,
Being a sibling,
Being a student,
Being a nephew,
Being a grandchild,
Being a friend,
But being a lover
doesn't have retirement.
I can be anything
and a lover at heart.
It doesn't expire or rot,
it just consumes you as such.
As you exist here for - the
cost of repaying it till the end.
As a relentless employee
in a job market that never fits him.
Maybe in another life
Maybe in another world - and
Maybe in another universe.
But not this life
Not this world - or
Even in this universe.
To peel you oranges
To feed you pomegranates
To sing a lullaby
To write some poems.
If it all a waste
If it all a waste,
I don't want this skin and flesh
Alive in any other universes
Or in any other lives that I live.
Rather I would wish
I wasn't born in any of the
Life, or universe, or world.
Only to lament this pathetic existence
What a waste this is,
Maybe in another.
Shh!
A warning not to enter.
This long way
Surrounded by thorn bushes.
Monstrous growth over the years,
that no one bothered.
Slowly started to evade - this
whole place and the species
and become invasive.
Only hope left - is
someone to clear them.
No skilled gardener
to prune it or to take good care.
Destroying seems a good fit
but it will only leave ruins.
Not fair, either way
these will continue to thrive
after all these years - of
unbothered existence.
Someone's concern would
stunted its growth.
Instead of worrying
it's monstrous existence.
Of course
I'm gonna die someday
You, them, the other and everyone.
But I keep writing whatever
That makes me alive.
I chose to write because - this
Existence means much more than
Just living hopelessly.
Not knowing what to do and
Failing everytime till I get it right.
But isn't it our very first time living
And experiencing life. But this
Seems so comforting to rely on.
Yet people chose not to be kind
In their very first existence.
But still this genocide, violence, war,
Assaults, harm, threat and no humanity.
This makes me question whether
They would have already lived their
Very first existence here?
For the next few lives, greed started -
Eating them so bad that kindness
Seems to be of an awful taste.
Their hunger for lives will never
Be quenchable. If this is what it is -
To be born again, I wish I never.
Nobody will be there for you, but you can
be all by yourself!
Nobody will love you better, but you can
for the times when you feel you're not loved.
Nobody will hug you tight, but you can
for the times that seem so hard.
Nobody will cry with you, but you can
for the times you needed to sleep.
Nobody will calm you down, but you can
for the times you had trembling toes.
Nobody will treat you good, but you can
when the time seems unfair.
Nobody will appreciate you, but you can
for the times when you were least validated.
Nobody will smile with you, but you can
for the meaningful moments that you had.
Nobody will kiss you, but you can
for the times you miss your soul.
Nobody will sacrifice for you, but you cannot
for the sake of yourself.
Urgh.
There's always this strange desire
to relive in the moments,
that did not truly belong to us.
Yet we keep playing it
in our memories back to back.
Yearning for the time to be
compassionate enough for us,
to live through it.
But we somehow lived -
those moments that passed by,
like tender clouds on a sunny day.
I do whisper them to get back,
at times I find them fleeting
above my house.
They do ask me back,
What were you up to?
When all those moments were alive?
Don't grin at us like a lost child.
Perhaps ask nostalgia
if that's what you are looking for.
Again there are clouds
Above my head,
Worms beneath my toe,
Shadow behind my back - and
Grace before me.
I’m now left with no choices
That something has to define me.
Something has to come from me,
Something has to come with me - and
Something has to be with me.
I’m now left with no choices.
I feel like dying right now.
Death to humble me so much,
brutality to hug me with kindness.
And every chaos here to say
you're worth every flesh and bone.
This world is a waste
only hate and lust around.
Feels heavy swimming in this sea,
filled with blood, hopes and dreams.
A wish to drown there hoping
not to return anywhere.
Not to be found!
This is my country
Free from it’s colonizer.
Yet still we’re slaves
Under the prejudice’s gaze.
And here are the people
Not free from the taboos.
Says unity in diversity
But polarized by hegemony.
Dear motherland I live
For being who I’m - a sin.
Deserted in the lands of oppression
My freedom - an unquenchable thirst.
I buried myself
With memories that haunt,
As if an outcast
My existence here I flaunt.
To the cursed apple
That the snow white ate,
Here’s a watermelon
Blooded by fate.
Hearing muffled voices
Through my phone,
A horrifying nightmare
screams out loud.
There’s blood and flesh
And skin and bones,
Those beheaded babies
whose mother cries and groans.
In a world I thought
My life was cursed,
I’m more privileged
being an underprivileged.
I live in a forest
Not full of possibilities,
But full of paradoxes.
You can see me
Befriending a snake
Unbothered about hissing my life.
But the only thing bothers me
Is the skin it sheds.
You can see me
Befriending a hyena
Unbothered about eating my remains.
But the only thing bothers me
Is the strong social bonds.
You can see me
Befriending a cuckoo
Unbothered about taking for granted.
But the only thing bothers me
Is the justification it puts.
But where does this forest
Actually from?
And how many animals
Am I going to befriend.
Is a constant question
That's being ruminated here and there,
Only to know that
This paradox forest
Is within me.
The joy of being queer
is tangible like an ocean, yet weighs like a shadow.
Sometimes, in a world of monotone,
Queer joy brings me rainbows.
I carry it everywhere I go,
always in my tote.
It's an elixir that lights up my world
and also my fantasies.
Sometimes, it is to be seen and heard,
and sometimes it's to be cuddled and caressed.
It's like a sanitizer to the germ of phobia,
an invisible armour that slays so gay.
Even when worlds fall apart,
even when dreams are torn apart,
it's always my queer joy
that holds my tears without flooding the floor.
And in a world full of people where warmth is gone,
it's me and my queer joy always born.
After every long day
I just keep ending up - in
places that shattered my being.
Not always enough
for anything and anyone.
Oh somewhere I believe
my parents could've been better.
Somewhere I believe
my sibling could've been better.
Somewhere I believe I deserved
better opportunities.
Somewhere I believe I deserved
a better lover than ever.
Somewhere I believe I deserved
a better profession that suits me.
Somewhere I believe I make
the best out of myself all the while.
Somewhere I believed,
and I believed,
and I believed,
it was all better.
Only to know that everyone -
tried believing that things
were better to them.
The best part is
everyone tried their best!
There are some days
where I felt a great void,
while returning home.
Some early mornings,
some late nights,
and some afternoons.
I was returning home
with one of these.
Guilt. Regret. Abandonment.
Rage. Disillusionment. Heartbreak.
Sometimes it feels like hugging
all of these at the moment,
and slowly turn into ashes.
Or sometimes I remember them as my kids
who needs nourishment.
Either way I put my soul
demanding the truth to be seen.
At times I just broke myself
into pieces,
I have never been.
My kids need nourishment
and I need peace!
There are secrets everywhere
Some are hear and there
And some are now and then.
Some secrets are dirty
Some secrets are bitter
Some secrets are lustful
And some secrets are a mystery.
The only communicator is a whisperer
And the communication is a whisper.
But the secrets feared about one thing
What if they are abducted by the waves
That carries them around each nook and corner.
What if the whispered met the wrong whisperer.
And what if this creates a chaos
Where a secret labyrinth in born.
Have you looked up to the sky,
realising how peaceful it could be?
But I fear that!
Have you enjoyed the clouds and fog
that sometimes blurs your vision?
But I fear that too!
Have you enjoyed the evening
that it rains and thunders.
And I fear that!
What more could happen,
just for the sake of enjoying the skies.
Who knows?
The skies rain bombs here.
Whispers the oppressed nations!
To the lizards in my closet
I owe you more.
Yes, you heard it right.
What else could I even ask for.
Your presence seems comforting
At times when I needed some space.
You aren't that nosy or clingy
To spectate what's happening
In my tasteless life.
Sometimes I do wonder
What would you be
Pondering about me.
You know when to be there
Validate this fellow human.
Chirping. Squeaking. Hissing. Clicking.
Seemed like a great round of applause
For the unheard ted talks.
But how are you that patient enough
To go through the series of ranting
That I make about this daunting life.
But how could you see my rainbow
When all this world colours me
Black and white.
But how are you always queer
When this eccentric patterns of
The monotonous life haunts you.
I would say you're an icon
For me to bring back my colours
While all I did hiding in a monochrome.
To the lizards in my closet
I owe you more.
A companion so tiny
sometimes just whiny.
Made of a fur ball
steals the heart of all.
Craves connection and attention
fears the same.
Looks like a sourdough loaf
and a desire to be consumed.
Left with cuteness aggression
that fills your soul.
Tabby, Tuxedo, Siamese,
Persian, Sphynx and Ginger.
A full packed cake
make your heart tender.
Not a jinx, but a talisman
more than wonder what you can!
I see those longing eyes
quietly disappear with grace,
when he finds him staring at his soul.
But he never accepts it,
says, “I'm tired and weary of work”.
He peels oranges and pomegranates,
and suddenly all that he does to him
feels queer!
I know them like how
The sun and moon know each other.
No offense
They are a bit dramatic sometimes.
But don't be nosy about it.
You'll only break your nose!
They might be known well
as twins and cousins.
But to my wonder no one questions that.
I know how soulmates look.
Maybe everyone secretly desires they are one.
But only I know who they are.
These mosquitoes
Suck out my loneliness.
Like each bite
Was a cure for it.
These buzzing noises
Were peaceful melodies.
That puts me in a
Deep state of unconscious.
But they never demanded blood
From my body. But from my soul.
Their elixir wasn't red
But a deep void black.
Maybe they have a ritual
For this performative task.
But I do fear, if they die
Drinking my sorrow and loneliness
Wherever they could lie.
And all I do
Hoping that they return.
Continuing this ritual
Before I become immortal.
If not for the mosquitoes
That never existed
Who will even cure my loneliness?
What's more distressing is
To live in a world that supports you,
Cares for you, embraces you,
And sometimes validates you,
When all you wish is to
Put an end to the suffering.
When all you wish is to
End this struggle in silence.
When all you wish is to
Disappear into thin air.
This existence never meant anything,
And now, at your saturated self
You loathe your existence
Struggling to believe in compassion
That thrives to exist in this world and
Seeks to rush through your soul
In every blood and flesh of yours - and
That's what is more distressing.
Grief lingers
When I hear about love.
Like mucus marks
Left by snails.
Somewhere in my heart
It still lingers.
Can love and grief
Be separated all along?
Asks the dried flowers
Inside the love journal.
But these two sides
Are of the same coin.
It is intertwined
Wherever you belong
Says the unwritten letters.
If not enjoyed while it's present,
And only grieved while it's absent
What is love then?
That's where grief becomes
A remembrance of what once lived.
We're humans living
In a different geography.
We're humans that
Shed tears and blood everyday.
The jewelry you wear
Isn't made of gold,
But the blood and bone
From our own kind.
And when we ask
Our own gold,
We become the terror
Somehow.
We've bathed in the
Sea of blood all around us,
Greeted the dead - best wishes
Who are the neighbours
From yesterday.
The militant forces
Suffocates us from within,
Where our lives are their
Bonus points.
The mineral from the fields
You keep all your own,
Are looted form our soil
Mercilessly by your troops.
A worse crisis for the humanity
That displaces people,
Here and there as if
They are playing chess.
And to add on with this
There's this epidemic
That makes us so vulnerable
As if we're their lab rats.
Who would desire
A fate like this,
We wish our dear enemies
Wouldn't have to
Go through what we did.
The ceasefire you put
Is a game of fright,
You on and off till the switch
Gets short circuited.
Our children craved education
You destroyed their schools.
The newborns are yet to be
Born in the wombs forever,
That you destroyed.
You greed and lust
Our women and children
Your wrath and gluttony
Over our dying elixir - perhaps
You call it water!
Days and weeks and
Months and years,
Our inaudible voices
Won't pierce through your ears.
For some it's our childhood
For some it's our teenage
For some it's our adulthood
For some it's our pregnancy
For some it's our elderly
For many it's their life
Endangered in the war fields
While others eat and sleep and
Their roofs won't be bombed
Like ours they did.
Genocide, war,
Ethnic cleansing,
Displacement and
Destruction and
Trauma!
So yeah,
We are from Sudan,
Congo and Palestine.
We are many more
Hidden in your blind spot.
But if I die someday,
who will write poems for you?
Who will peel oranges
and pomegranates for you?
Who will pluck flowers for you?
Who will make you smile?
Who will make conversations with you,
till you fall asleep?
There's so much that's left behind.
Darling I'm always here,
in a cat's body.
I have nine lives now.
Worry not my dear for I'm gone,
I'll find my ways to be reborn.
Be this whimsical house cat,
A ferocious feline
Never letting it’s guard down.
There’s always a question
Running in its tiny brain.
What does happiness look like?
Is it in the shape of a mouse?
Or the shape of a toy?
Or the milk or the food?
Or the fellow human that
Befriended on the roadside?
Catnip.
Whispered the stray.
Thank you for spending your time with my poems. Every piece here carries a part of my heart, my memories, and my becoming. Your presence whether you read one poem or many, means a lot more than you know. I’m grateful that my words found a moment in your day. Come back whenever you wish to feel, revisit, or simply wander through my thoughts again.
Thank you for being here!