I know you tell me to write about myself
But I am not the one who deserves to have his ego coaxed
My mom, Maritza Paul is the one
The greatest woman that has ever been
Starting off with almost nothing
And rising to be the queen
Maritza Paul

It is the spirit that fuels the body.
It awakens fires long burned cold.
It restores the broken heart.
It heals the scars cut long ago.

my fingers rest above the piano
and their shadows trace my presence
upon its ivory white keys. i
inhale, my fingers rising gently, and i
exhale, pushing into the keys,
ringing several notes at a time.
if i press with more force, i’ll bring about

The initial absolute of "black"
fizzes out; reds and blues and shapes pulse
with every beat of your racing heart.
You can feel her hands, see the basic outline of them,
of her shoulders, her curved collarbone.
As you reach for her -

I grow from a place
where emerald rain
pounds against the
land, painting the
hills bright green. I
paint, too, hoping to
leave my mark on the
world.

Passion: A word I can’t even say because of my lisp.
Inspire: Another word I can’t say because of my lisp.
Things like this are the reasons many people lose hope.
We go in with a mindset of: “They are going to laugh at me”
Or

Today, I am the only song you’ve ever known all the words to.  I am the first person who ever meant it and the last thought you can manage before you close your eyes. You look at me, and all you see is light. You look at me, blinded, and you tell me you’re the happiest person alive.

The world of song is like a gentle stroke of a paint brush on a canvas creating what ever beautiful creation you desire.  

I awaken you from your slumber,
as I slide you out of your safe, velvet bed.
I ask you to help me play the tunes
that dance around in my head.
I taste the sweet cleanser that resides on your reed,
as I dampen it, 
oh, ever so carefully.

he wouldn’t meet her eyes
when he told her that he met someone,
suggesting they take a break to figure themselves out.

“but I love you,” she said over the lump in her throat,
eyes burning with unshed tears.
“there’s nothing for me to figure out.”

my laughter quieted 
when she looked at me.
there hasn't been anyone else in the world
who makes me as still as she does,
because her eyes sparkle even when
she's frowning,
and she I know she can see
everything good about me.

i'll carry my fault to the sea and salt 
and i know it's dragging me along 
i wish i was more than a hollow frame 
riding through time on a tidal wave 
and i know i won't be here long 

I hate diaspora poetry
as much as the next
fed-up immigrant

All that bullshit
about “lives stained
with honey and turmeric”
and “the colonizer
cutting my tongue with
aluminum shears”
is utterly boring

Day and night become irrelevant 
Time is no longer marked by the movement of the sun
But rather the hours passed in front of a screen

iconic narcotic, cut it with a straight edge, that’s ironic, feelings are chronic, brought without logic, she broke in with a lock pick, to purify the toxic, joint sockets, fill his deep pockets, talk to him, but change the topic

The day Reason was guillotined
in the kingdom known as my mind,
his head flung into the murky sea of oblivion, 
Cruelty became my god.

lace up your sneakers and roll up your jeans: your jeans 
are blue and worn in the knees because they’re your favorite
and the laces on your sneakers used to be white but now 
they are tinted brown from the dirt of the earth you walk through.

To my vocal chords ring
WISHIN’
That you could be me
You fall for me like Autumn leaves
I am pollen in the Spring
You love me, but I am your allergy

Last week I found my friend’s fake ID’s
One form Towson, Maryland, where she is 23
One form an address in Scottsdale, Arizona
Each card different, each with a new persona

oh my gosh what song is this
oh my god is it that song
that song i first heard
god it must have been the summer before middle school
listen to those horns
it must have been npr’s all songs considered

My brain likes to run amuck.    
Some days it gets stuck on the same thought:
You are in love with someone and they do not love you.
You ate too much today and are now chubby, too chubby in fact to be loved by anybody.

The streets,
full of people rushing to and fro.
Stepping on the paved concrete,
wearing it out slowly,
like nothing.
Night spreads through,
covering everything,
like a blanket.
The wind breezes past
the buildings,

50% Polish, 50% Russian 
I thought.
It all changed in Rehovot.
I flipped through the book.
The dining table crowded with voices.
“Tracing our roots” He said
Turning the page.
The faces of those like me 
gazed up from the page.

Pakistan and America 
Eastern and western
but they feel like the north and south poles
I’m immersed in the red silk dresses embroidered by hand and I’m in love with the ability to roam alone across this land

Unsure.
About the question, or the world?
Unsure whether to answer truthfully, or to fabricate a more intriguing narrative.
Unsure what the question implies: Fears,
(Spiders, bad grades, falling out of love)
or physicalities, 

Bounty brand paper towels; you know it by name
“The quick picker upper”, thirst pockets
Outnumbering the leading brands not only in price
But in absorbency
Who would have thought that a simple household object
Could be comparable to humanly functions?

I am the center of the universe
My problems are complex
My thoughts are intricate, my experiences unique
Surely no one else can live this way?
What a cruel realization it is
Such a curious paradox of existence
In the monumental movie that is my life,

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.