because i was exhausted and cranky
and it was too late in the week to be walking home
and because texas was threatening to rain all over us, especially me.

did i mention i was starving and i had gotten a bad test grade
and someone had spilled something suspiciously brown on my white shirt?

because this dog craved attention and because
my fidgeting adolescent paws begged me to do something.

because petting is said to be incredibly therapeutic. this dog wasn’t fluffy, or cute.
just a lonely, sad old doberman with no home.

sure, i worried about ticks and disease, but not close to enough to stop.

because i liked to trace the outline of the ear, of the soft cartilage it was made of.

because i wanted to ignore the questions of who would wins and hypotheticals swirling around my skull.

because i could tell from the dog’s watery eyes that he was thinker who didn’t want to think, like me.

because his barking was somehow beautiful and his fast swishing tail was unregulated by the
police or the government.

because chaos was everywhere, inside me and out, and i liked the shy glow of a small success.

I know that one day
You’ll be gone.
But I sit behind you here while you sleep,
Entranced by your gentle snoring
The hum of the car’s engine

The occasional passerby on the nearly deserted road.

One day you’ll be gone,
And I’ll miss your anger
When I wouldn’t wake up.
Dusk and dawn,
Two ends of the same blanket
In which I wrapped myself
To hide from the day.

One day you’ll be gone,
And I’ll miss your smile,
The gaps between your teeth,
The crust at each end of your lips
As you bathe me in your light.

One day you’ll be gone,
And I’ll miss your laugh,

The one you make when you find something S said funny,
And the one you make when you laugh alone at a bad joke.

One day you’ll be gone,
And I’ll miss your shadow.
I’ll miss your frame.
I would shatter myself
If it meant I could fit in it
Just one last time
Before you go.

One day you’ll be gone,
And I’ll be grown.
I’ll miss your imperfections
In the acne scars on your face
In the stories through the creases by your eyes,
And the stretch marks on your stomach
From when you had me and my brother.

I’ll wish just another time for you

To hold me still
Or wipe my tears
Or kiss me softly on the side of my mouth.

Bathe me in your light

For I grow where there is warmth.

I know that one day you’ll be gone,
And I’ll try to switch the light back on,
But when you go,
You’ll have taken the Sun with you.

Do you not understand?
What I’ve shown you
I am reluctant to show anyone else.

You
Are special.

I was cowering
Cowardly
Quieted by anxiety.
I bore my soul to you
And you said
“It’s good.”

Life is fleeting
But
Sometimes
Fleeting is beautiful.

That is why we keep sniffing the perfume we’ve sprayed
Upon our wrists.
Because we know that
Eventually, inevitably,
It is bound to fade away.

The rain is a constant.
An everlasting white noise.
It does little to calm the youthful soul.

You must see me through the rain,
Because I see you–
I’ve always seen you–
Caught in your vision,
Tethered to your form.

My eyes move to you without a thought.
A silent pull I cannot ignore.
The rain attempts to distract me–
Attempts rendered futile–
For I always find my way back to you–
Your stillness in the chaos.

The rain,
It tries to blur my view of you,
But your warmth shone through.
As the rain clouds the sky with its ugly shades of gray,
It tends to forget
That it is only when it is darkest
That you can see the stars.

You,
the Sun.
And me,
The seed.

However much the poets try to deny it,
We are numbers.
Days, really.
Counting

Down

Down

Down

Until the last survivable thing
And what comes after.

Glowing eyes
In the dark.

Something with bright red
Glowing eyes
Is watching me
From the dark.

It blinks its shadowy reflection
And trails me
Though I’m sure I haven’t done wrong.

It follows, whirring gently
At my futile attempts to escape it.

It’s everywhere.

Glowing eyes
Watching me
From the dark.

You are the imposter
Of your own self
The Holy Prophet
Of your own rebellion.

Sometimes

You need to sleep.

You need to sleep a lot.

Not because you’re tired

Or because you need to escape,

But to rest your soul from your feelings

And your heart from emotion

Because everything

And everyone

Past

Present

And future

Will not hesitate

To devour you

Completely.

Sometimes, all you can do

Is go to sleep

And wait for the storm in your chest

To pass.

As the colors come back

As the small seedling begins to show its soft green stem,

India wraps itself in saffron

And Pakistan their deep green

Kashmir, as is customary,

Soaks in blood

Blood of the past

And the future

Of all things in between

Of those conceived

And those not yet,

The direct cause and effect

Of simply existing

In the wrong place

At the wrong time.