I’m glad I live in a hypocritical, bigoted, racist country where white supremacist ideals are still very prominent. I’m glad I live in a country where it’s o freaking k to bash another religion, but get offended when someone doesn’t agree with yours. I’m glad I live in a country where people who have never read even a page of the Quran will act like it is the root of all evil, but fail to acknowledge the fact that the Old Testament of the Bible was violent itself. I’m glad I live in a country that once worked so hard to become a place of freedom and acceptance, only to throw itself in reverse. I’m disappointed, America. You used to be such a classy lady. Now you’re just an uneducated, self-entitled, spoiled brat who erased the word “equality” from her mind and replaced it with the word “tyranny”

I remember that night as clearly as can I recall my morning coffee.
Four beers in, and a hundred places I’d rather be.

Faces parallel to me; we called ourselves friends, 
though acquaintances we had become.

The room was loud, and too goddamn crowded, 
and empty all the same.

Some people say that in life there are moments, the kind that make you new.
It was my mentality to think those people mad, until her.

She stumbled in, while she laughed at herself;
I swear I could’ve spent the rest of my life with that sound on repeat.

I remember every conversation and how she taught me to dream.
Somehow I’d forgotten what that meant.

Fond I was of the way she wanted the best for the people she loved,
and the way her heart could have been frigid but wasn’t.

There was a time, once, when she talked of forgiveness;
Said “there’s no sense holdin’ grudges, when there’s so much more to hold on to.”

Passion radiated from her skin when she spoke of things she was wild about.
And when we danced in the sheets, I was certain I’d found salvation.

She was lovely in a way that I couldn’t comprehend, body and soul.
I stared, and although discreet, I always hoped she’d catch me…

I remember the day I asked her, and the way she kissed me when I did.
It’s been three years now; I’m still trying to figure out where I went right.

It’s a shame, my dear,
that some won’t be so lucky
to witness your smile.

Light beams through the small space between the curtains,
just as it does every morning before I stumble to my feet.
I wonder if I am the only person who goes through this ritual,
convincing myself not to stay in bed.
Unlikely.
The wind blows, and the leaves rustle,
and the neighbors drive down the same street at the same time they always do.
The clock ticks, and ticks again.
I will never understand why it is that misfortunes travel in packs,
and little by little they swallow your sanity until you are feeble and rickety.
An old staircase likely to collapse.
Maybe it’s human nature to doubt ourselves.
We doubt everyone else; it only makes sense.
Water drips from the gutter outside of the window. Drip after drip.
It must have rained while I was dreaming.
Eyes closed. It’s comfortable in the warmth of my sheets.
Thoughts slither in, though, and I see something. It looks rather beautiful.
Maybe it’s that silver lining everyone always talks about.
I think I’ve been missing it for a very long time. I’m not sure how.
The clock ticks, ticks, ticks again.
Breathing slowly, my feet touch the floor.
Oh, it looked so lovely.
As simple as can be said, I will not fall today.

You were the muse;
the inspiration for the loveliest of images and most profound stories in my head.
I often found myself speechless,
at a loss for the right way to tell all the tales.
For a woman like myself,
who takes ordinary prose and skins it alive,
with a tongue that twists discourse,
sucking the marrow from words…
Yes, for a woman like myself,
this was an extraordinary experience.
You sewed my mouth shut, scrambled my thoughts.
I was in an uncharted territory.
For this, I feel indebted,
because it forced me to watch, to witness, to absorb.
In these moments, I viewed your depths with vicious clarity,
and saw everything I wished I could be.
Face to face, I witnessed nirvana, and fell to my knees and in love.
I cried, unapologetic, stunned into silence.
You once said to me “Your eyes tell stories.”
Little did you know…

The more I think about it, I don’t really believe that “home” is a place at all. I believe it’s a feeling, and a not so common one at that. Just closing your eyes, breathing everything in, and thinking to yourself that every high and every low has somehow brought you to that feeling of sincere and unexplainable happiness, and you wouldn’t change a damn thing. That’s home.

I’ve spent so much of my life playing it safe and trying to rationalize everything I do and every decision I make. Which can be good, in some instances. But if you really get down to it, right down to the very moments that shape you and everything you are, what’s logical isn’t always what’s right. Flying close to the ground and being afraid of the what if’s… I just don’t want to be that person. I want to have the courage to go after what I want, even when I am afraid of failure. I want to take chances that make me question everything I think I know, and be content with the fact that I don’t have it all figured out. I want to live passionately and love dangerously and breathe freely; to not only exist but to be consumed by all of the simple beauties in life. I want to wake up each day and feel happy, simply because I am. So maybe I am irrational, and perhaps I’ve gone a little mad…but when you consider the other side of the coin, I wouldn’t want to be anything but.