La Poésie

I begin with mint green,Funny—I hated mints once.Now I love them. But just the subtle kind.Maybe that’s how life works:the things we resist quietly become the things that shape us.Then I reach for jade green,heavy, stubborn,the color of patience that outlasts hope,proof that endurance is its own quiet cruelty.It also carries a trace of memory,of…

we used to lay in the dark and talk shit:family drama, some random highlight of the day,or some new streak or habit you plan on starting.you fall asleep abruptly, ignoring my continuous prompts.sometimes mid-arguments so i just declare myself the winner. you buy me things you buy for yourself (or something equivalent unless it’s from…

They never wrote poems for the leaf.They never carved sonnets into my skin,never whispered my name like a secret prayer.No, they left mesilent, still, suffocating in chlorophyll. They chase roses.Red-lipped. Sharp. Photogenic in death.Born to be plucked.Admired.Wilted.Thrown awayAnd called beautiful for it. But me?I rot in silence.I decompose where no eyes dare look.Not tragic, not…

When I was small,you hid behind a door;too gentle for my noise,too patient for my storm. But I followed anyway,wide-eyed, loud-hearted,believing that wherever you werewas where I wanted to be. You were the girl I watched,hoping to grow into;the way you thought,the way you smiled,and how the smallest daysstayed with me,quiet yet wild. We grew…

They are sunlight tangled with rain,her quick retorts, his playful refrain.She rolls her eyes at his silly grin,he loves the way she fights to win. She laughs at his ridiculous jokes,he cheers when her tea spills.Together, they turn the mundaneinto life’s smallest, sweetest thrills. She holds their daughter, heart aglow,he hums her lullabies soft and…

When I was five,they asked what I’d be.Other kids wanted to fly;into space, into fame,into PowerPoint slides and business suits.They wanted to be astronauts, doctors,the next-big-thing. I just wanted to be the beginningof someone else’s whole world. They traced stars on their notebooks,I trace tiny fingers that lie gently on my hand.They spoke of saving…

You were my very first hero,the way you’d lift me up, so highI thought you could touch the stars,and maybe, you did. But I see you through other eyes too,not just the ones that called you Dad.To your wife, a playful tease,filling her life with laughter and ease.   As a son, you’re still the young…

I do not believe in angels,or golden gates that swing wide,but oh, how I yearn for a realmwhere shadows come back to life. Where those who remained quietconfess by the apple tree, Where those who always hidstepped up and said it indeed. Where those who sought forgivenessfound comfort in shared tears, Where those who chased…

I called it summer thing,They called it summer love. Mere scrapes,False reality.All the ‘him’ that, ‘him’ this,All changed into ‘me’s. Slowly time flies by,Tears shedding down my eyes.Suddenly all the ‘him’,All changed into ‘I’s. They call it summer thing,I call it summer love.

Beauty of butterflies, such a wonder! Not all knowing with its dye-thunder. But do we see what they don’t know? Yes I see but how to make you say? Yes I know what you are, What you are but from miles away.