over the sting

My scorpion, you inspire me to write
in secret about the times I have held your hand
without the sting over my skin

girls on the side of the road

To the girls left on the side road

that I cannot help

I cannot even pretend

to know how you feel

Calamity

There is calm in calamity
the way there's a pip in an olive
lodged right in the middle,
felt at only when bitten into.

Surpassing heartache

Too long we have been on this road together;
you and I

we passed on another
on a cold winter night

we walked with awkward feet
colliding first into each other

too long have we been on this road together
but tell me how do we surpass

all the heartache that is there
with just a simple photograph

of you in a museum
smiling at a complex painting

folding into your hands
all the errors of my past.

an aerial view of loneliness

There you are 

standing tall like an elm 

overseeing the crowds, like from a plane 

an aerial view of loneliness 

you come up

You come up,
like the treasure found at the end of a box

you come up,
like surfacing for oxygen

you come up,
like a word in a dictionary, looked for not found

you come up,
like a wind floating by quickly

you come up,
like the end of a choir

you come up,
like a sentence out of place

you come up
in stories, like a heavy character

you come up
in memory like its companion

you come up
in red and blue bruises

you always come up

even in tea

The tea here has your name
so I no longer drink it
dark, tall and handsome
the glass in my hand is empty

a country of 3adi, normal

Adi', is the way we spell normal
like it doesn't hurt to breathe at times
Adi' is the longest wait before going home
not because the traffic is hell but because
the sea of cars isn't moving. Adi, is the youth
wasting hours of their lives struggling to be
clearheaded enough to take a jump. Adi, is a country of normal
where everything and anything is of itself a story
Adi, is the country where death walks hand in hand
with life, like an old bride and a groom.
Adi is the abnormality, of getting used to normal.

When I'm sick

When I'm sick
my mind is at its sharpest in math

calculating distances without touching
 on the times I shivered like a leaf

near the black board with the thought
that a pit of numbers will take me down

my dreams are different now
they are closer to touch

salty on my tongue
yet it remains a sharp brain in math

and a poor lung.

if all of this fighting went to rest

If all of this fighting went to rest,
he asks, face twisted like three branches loose
where would we bury newly minted weapons?

Things to do with anger 3

of the things you can do with your anger
is stop answering the phone, hang it up
with its own chords to choke away the noise
of the requests lining up on your door.

repetition, creation, repetition

The will to create
evaporates
with banality of repetition

Fear of force

I fear
the force that causes
death by inconveniences.

Freedom is restricted

close your mouth
put tape over its corners

tie your legs together
with a stone, send it down a lake

put your hands to other use
than typing on a keyboard

avert your eyes
from areas marked with "caution"

cut all buddings of feather
growing between your shoulders

this is natural, a redefinition
of you being free to be restricted too.

Mission completed

The harsh hand
on your chest, closing in

like an end
it calls onto your senses

love is another way to showcase
violence

package it differently
with roses and determination

wills and vows to change
this is a new mission for you

with that harsh hand
a mission completed

wrapped on a delicate throat.

other versions of a nightmare

I had a dream in  which  you died
when I opened my eyes
you screamed at me

minimal life

Try looking at the things you keep
unlike humans, you are able to discard
items that are shelled-out

fished from other people's pockets
or dreams, broken up stones
end of evenings, boring conversations

try extracting the old
out with it and in with shiny things
against the rule of your head

try looking at things you keep
to add onto you, like boulders
on your shoulders 

me, you and a birthday

like a betrayal
this day dawns again
when I had asked for complete darkness

demanding parentage

Hard as stone
her demands, I complain to the wind
it hears me back with a song
she's your mother, isn't she? 

stress

the weight on your chest grows
by the number of years you add

subtract the way the world moves
outside of you

trees, clouds and the stars as they align
the plans you make and keep denying yourself the chance

to make come true
this weight on your shoulders

these long nights
these thoughts that belong to humanity

coming back only to find you
lying on your back, breathing slowly

once more