“Kiss his wounds and tell him its okay to cry, humans have emotions and they bleed sometimes.”

Somedays, I’m an overflowing fountain, a chaotic ocean or an untamed river. But even on the hard days, kindness is a possibility I always choose.

I’ve never been much of a dancer. But healing is a song I’ve been learning to dance on.

I stopped complaining about things I didn’t have, and poured gratitude for what I did. Life became lighter and more fulfilling. Desire didn’t hold onto me like it earlier did. Happiness filled in like light, and life started to feel like a blessing.

Everyday is a discovery of the person I am becoming, or I always was, but only now realizing.

You are a miracle. Every essence of you is magic. On days you doubt yourself, I hope you know, the universe resides in you.

I keep you in my heart, like a dream unfulfilled. Like an incomplete wish. Like something I can crave but never have. Ever since the beginning of time, what has love been anyway? if not longing or heartbreak?

Aren’t all poets born from tragedy?

You are a nameless prayer, my heart begs to be brought again to existence.

I have inherited my fathers rage and my mothers silence. Everyday is a survival. I am a fire burning, just invisible.

Brown daughters are just fragile glass houses always on the verge of shattering.

I believe we all deserve good endings. We were kind people before this world turned us cruel.

They said everything I lost will come back to me. I said -everything I’ve lost is too lost to ever come back to Me.

My love isn’t love. It is devotion. I don’t fall in love, I shatter. I don’t love, I worship.

I’ve been so hurt. Just love me enough that my heart heals and all my scars worship your name.

Even when the blood in my veins is the same as them, every cell in my body is against becoming like them. What a curse it is to hate the very thing that birth you.

I want to write happy poems on new years. But grief doesn’t have timelines, and it refuses to let go of me.

Only that which does not teach, which does not cry out, which does not condescend, which does not explain, is irresistible.

I can feel the dust of her skin in my skin; and I think maybe that means these bones of mine have grown weary of crying too.

This ‘missing you’ It begs for water; it cries your name.

The wind sounded of Mother Earth’s forsaken and abandoned cries.

Near the gates and within two cities there will be scourges the like of which was never seen: famine within plague, people put out by steel, crying to the great immortal God for relief.

I didn’t know what to say. I felt like crying, Goddammit everybody in the world wants an explanation for your acts and for your very being.

I pressed the dress to my nose, and found what was left of your ghost. It was then that I remembered how to cry.

Fear not for the future, weep not for the past.