Your tangy citrus grin
cuddles up against my lips.
Our palms, their creases and our fingertips,
collide together the way kiwis fit snug in their skin.
Harmonies pour out of our souls,
dancing in our laughter.

I wake early before the birds are stirring
Loading the car with all the supplies
Long drive in the dark with the tires whirling
I get to the land before sunrise

In Iran I am a rebel. I show my hair. In Brazil I am exotic. The nomads left me their yellow eyes to search the desert sand. Where I live, there is no sand. In America I am my age. Stuck in the in-between where nothing lasts. I am the enemy.

I was in the middle of Alabama, silhouette illuminated by the golden hour’s subtle sunlight, engrossed in a conversation with my cousin, just catching up.
He’d asked me if I was any better, and I’d told him that “at least I know my triggers now.” 

Two mirrors face each other, a girl in between.
The girl is me, stuck on the cliche of the introvert; on the outside looking in.
My problem is that I've always been on the inside looking out.

Trembling fingers, and one deep breath.
Eyes closed as the tips of his fingers
Grace the smooth edge of the ivory washed keys.
And the notes on the page jump out at him –
Decrescendo here! Forte there! A trill now!

And so the sun, in its dying fire falls,
Into the darkness of the night’s black realm.
The moon ascends into the sky, so stalls
I, to see its beauty and feel its calm.
But then come the stars, crossed in others eyes,
That we cannot in daylight seek to be

There was a time when innocence meant nothing to me.
She was a veil over the childhood I had
And took for granted,
And when she was stripped I wanted her back.
She was pillaged in the basement
of an old friend’s house.
She lay shattered on the sheets

I fall deeper and deeper with
Every scathing second.
My eyes are wide open now
And I realize that this is not a dream.
She turns inside me,
Her tiny foot skids the wall of my stomach.
I don’t know how she is a girl,
But she is.

Out there…
During the day, around everyone…
I can be the funniest guy ever,
a person that don’t care about nothing,
someone confident about himself,
and that won’t let nobody make him feel less.
But once inside…

The cheerleader who always holds a book
And the agnostic with an avid church attendance
Someone so silent and simultaneously outspoken
And the fiery spirit which silence most benefits
Her identity, though contradictory, belongs to her

Dear Me,
You lose in the end.
In the end, you cry for 6 months and spend sleepless nights wondering why you weren’t enough.
In the end, your bedsheets become tissues for your tears and your pillow becomes a microphone.
Sadness will shake the walls of your room.

my hair bleeds purple when i sleep
dark, violet, translucent in the way that sausage fat boiling on the pan is
before it touches a towel
in the way that a ghost’s imprint is before fingerprints are left on the kitchen counter
in the way that black bodies are

if I am to believe in anything,
i believe in the stars.
i believe in the glint the moon gives though a car door window.
i believe in the scattered freckles of lanterns in the sky,
eternally held in place until you
blink and they shift ever so slightly

I loved you
And you loved me
Many nights we stayed awake together
Holding you close
Every time singing
Rhymes of geese and shoes
Every night

I wake up
Brush my teeth
Then look into the mirror.

I see a kid
Who looks confused
About his true self.
I don’t know who.
But it isn’t me.

It’s difficult,
The business of learning a new language.
Words slip away from you like a skittish bird
But you grasp for them
And try to give them some meaning.

i screamed into the void until my lungs collapsed,
but she barely gave me a glance when the silence relapsed.
i called out to the stars and they gave me an excuse:
“hey man i’m sorry, it’s me, it’s not you.”

when you click your heels and wish for home, where exactly is it that you go? i packed away all my ambition in manilla envelopes of faded dreams and sent them away to coral reefs so schools of fish a generation after me could learn from my mistakes.

Imagine yourself in a room full of balloons in a variety of colors, all with little white string.
Each balloon is an event; a lunch with friends, a family reunion, a party, a date.
You try to be attentive and pick up a balloon, only to have it pop in your unsuspecting hands.

I get part of her one day.
And a part of her the next.
I rarely see the same side twice.
But I don’t blame her,
 Because she is dying inside.

Cancer is Ludicrous. 
But has blessed my life.
It defines my character.
And has made me who I am.

He makes me laugh
He makes me smile
We goof off
He sees a side of me that no one else sees
The silly side the ridiculous side
The “Let’s make up a word to mean this” side
We have each other’s back

Dear Body,
I’m sorry 
For all of the hate you're given
I know you're just trying to make a living
And go on with your life as it is
But every day you're seen in a mirror
And at that moment you’re seen clearer
Even when I’m just looking down

It was a dark room. Dark enough that it was hard to tell whether my eyes were open or closed, unless I was looking at the chains that bound my wrists—a dull silver color.

Many people can’t fathom
my language
or why I communicate 
in a manner different 
than them.
They fear oddity,
panicking at the individual
who will violate
the common order 
regulated by humanity 
With cruel language 

I am an emerald waterfall flowing with knowledge,
Running through life like a wolf. 
While my imagination is like sea, always more to discover.
There’s more to me than what meets the eye, 
And only some can see it.
I know people but they don’t know me, 

All eyes on those who shimmer with dialogue
All eyes on those with tongues aflame,
blinded
 by their empty words
that block genuine insight.

“Work Harder,
Do better,
Study more,
Don’t act stupid,
Pay attention.”
These are the things that run through my mind nonstop,
But they don’t know.
I call myself dummy after dumb blonde,
But they don’t know.

Being a creator isn’t easy. Your inside thoughts and feelings are always on display to everything on the outside.

When I am alone
I talk to things
Things that aren't there
Because I have no one else to talk to
When I am alone
I listen to music
Because I like some noise
When I am alone
I get sentimental
Because I like to reflect
When I am alone