Today marks the 2nd anniversary of my poetry collection La Douleur Exquise. It’s a collection of poems on unexpressed and unrequited love, as seen through the eyes of a woman. Since its
How long did you cradle me in your calloused hands before I ceased my newborn shenanigans and fell asleep? Did the others notice your papery hair already freckled with greys
Sleep tiptoes inside my skin, like a thief entering a familiar house. Drenched in his sweat, he waits, for the right moment to steal the energy I made love to all day. Sleep drugs
Eyes anchoring darkness, feet on a patterned mosaic, crushing on colonies of red and black ants, body reeking of the loaded day’s stench, heart crooning requiems, I looked for her
Icy Pepsi sticks. Lyrics pamphlet with stills from the movie inside cassettes. The devil from the Onida TV advertisement. Multi Game 9999 in 1. Payphones. Milton water bottles. Bomberman. Max
The poem I just wrote (after Joy Harjo) The poem I just wrote is not real. And neither are the post-it notes stuck all over my heart by men who
Devil in the details (after Misha Collins) Now that we have been apart For two years, let me tell you how I imagined the details of your existence these 730
I can’t dislodge from the arms of my past Memories build a honeycomb in my heart What is it that makes nostalgia last? Evermore longings under skies overcast Delving deeper
If gravity is the weakest known force in the universe, why am I always gravitating towards a period that unravels only at the back of my head? Why is there
It brings back all of it. All of life. All of the moments I missed seeing the fingernail sun dipping inside the horizon. All the times when my mother herself