He hadn’t seen her since the day they left high school. He has heard from her from their former classmates, but their paths never crossed. He still doesn’t understand why he agreed to meet her. He thinks, maybe eight years is enough. She said she called him for the sake of reuniting with someone you have supposed to be reunited with a long time ago. He just smiled and he felt her smile on the other line. When he hung up the phone, his chest fluttered. He had always tried to avoid her calls and messages. Within the past eight years, he thinks he only managed three messages out of all the millions she sent him. Maybe she’s still in love with him. But that’s ridiculous, he thinks. He had been in two different relationships since high school. It’s quite impossible for a person to not change at all. He knows he’s changed, a lot. She is, too, he’s certain. He never told Pam about this meeting. He has been with her for five years, and he knows her enough to not tell her about the “reunion”. Four years ago, he had mentioned about this girl who’s head over heels in love with him. If Pam knows he’s meeting her, he’ll be in trouble.


When he saw her at the door, he couldn’t believe what he saw. She looked like she didn’t even try to look good for him. She looked like what someone looks like in her normal day. He thought she’ll be wearing a dress which shows a little bit of skin. He thought she’ll be showing her what he’d been missing. Well, he thinks, she knows that Pam is pretty hot, so perhaps that’s why she didn’t bother looking sexy. When she approached the table, he stood up and pulled the chair for her. She sat down and said hi in a very lazy voice. It made him imagine a woman, with her eyes barely open and with her sleepy voice, saying hi to his lover who just woken up. He said hello. He looked at her face – no makeup. Wow. She said she can’t believe he agreed to meet her. Well, he said, why not? That’s where she laughed. He didn’t ask why, he knew. They ordered the same platter. She wasn’t very talkative. She should talk, she should impress him, he thought. He asked her what she’s been doing for the past eight years. She laughed again. She asked him did he really want to know. Yes, of course, he said. Well, it’s a messy bit of a story, so let’s just say that for the past eight years I’ve been dying and resurrecting and dying and resurrecting again, and again and again. She laughed nervously while picking the food with her fork. He just stared at her and waited for her to look back at him. She didn’t. Well, he said, you’re still very poetic. She looked up from her plate and she squinted her eyes at him. He said, there’s something in you that just says you’re poetic. She gave her an unsure smile. They talked for two hours over their untouched dessert. So, what state are you in right now, he asked. Are you dying or resurrecting? She looked at him for a few seconds before she answered. Neither one, she said. Today, I met my savior. No one talked, laughed, or even smiled. There’s only one conclusion running in his mind while he looked at her trying to figure out what she just said.


Yes, she showed him what he’d been missing.


Hide me

Hide me
Cover me with thick, bruised clouds
Clothe me with smoke and morning fog
Hide me
I don’t want them to see me like this
Shivering under the sun
Gathering what remained of me alone
Crying over my rejected and returned pieces
Hide me
Still the voices inside my head
I can’t run away from them
Make them disappear
Make me disappear
Hide me

You still find yourself browsing the page of the person you swore you don’t like

You still wait for the message that you’ve deleted a thousand times

You still think about that night you heard those three little words

You still don’t believe it and yet here you are

                      sending a message

                      waking up the love you

                      don’t believe in   

I sleep to silence your memories –
only to wake up and dream of you.


Fifteen minutes from a wish going on twenty

Catching your eyes
is like holding the smoke
from a cigarette.
I could never catch it –
but the smell lingers
for a while, then disappears.


Somewhere, something cracked

Somewhere in a place where people wear sunflower faces, there
is a little girl sitting on her little yellow chair. She wears a ruffled dress
the color of the sun on a rainy day and a face the color of the rain
on a summer day. This little girl, – let’s call her Nema because that’s
what everybody calls her except her very special friend Od who calls
her by her real name which he has given her himself – sits on the yellow
chair inside her sunflower-papered room everyday and waits. She waits.
But the same thing always happens. Nothing. Od have been lying to her all along.

Somewhere in a place where the sun points its golden rays on cloudless eyes, lushful trees, dreamy roofs, and topless skies lives a boy with a little red train. Everyday, he rides his train and visits places more special than Neverland and the Emerald City. Everyday the train drops him off at random stations where his mommy would wait for him with a tray of milk and cookies. Everyday. But not every night.

Somewhere under a bridge of fog is a four-story building . On the first floor 
lives a twenty-ish girl who doesn’t go to college and neither goes to work which
probably won’t work anyway. This girl sleeps with his skull cracked 
open because the fairies come every night to empty it so that by morning it’s as
cold and empty as a jar. She has a special wall where all the pictures of the places
she’s ever been were glued, and those little souvenirs hang on nylon strings at the 
window. There’s also a rectangular shelf where books about poetry, and dead turtles and dead people, and carpentry, were carelessly but lovingly stacked. Somewhere, a voice is rocking itself to and fro as it hums in melancholy, delving deeper to what used to be.


A Skyrocketed Yes

Wild eyes, half-closed eyes, clueless eyes, halted eyes, trembling eyes, 
past-tense eyes,  locked eyes, sultry eyes…

You are yelling. Father! Mother! Sister! Sir!… Police?! But it was like yelling
at the dawn to stop breaking. You strip off your scars and sins
and I behold even more scars and sins. You lowered your defenses,
laid it on the table, and sneakily put a cheap snow globe on it as if
the wind will steal it away. Darkness is starting to peel off the daylights;
silence sprouting like dandelions pushing through the sidewalk wounds.

I ambled towards your shadowed space and steady you like a tilting
picture frame on a paint-chipped wall. I intoxicated myself with
your speechlessness, defenselessness. You lifted your eyes and I think
about the tear-stained evening sky.I suddenly wished I was outside, 
with you, tracing goddesses and knights with our fingers. Dreaming dreams
lovers will never dare dream.Throwing blasphemies at the sky like we
always wanted to do but never did except inside our heads. They can
never hold us accountable for questioning their answers. They can
never speak of something that – like the rocks thrown at the clouds –
will return directly on our heads. Because we are stronger than the 
inevitable  that lies on its side, facing no one, nothing.

Glass eyes, pensive eyes, clenched eyes, silenced eyes, handcuffed eyes,
ink-stained eyes, slit eyes, psychedelic eyes, enlightened eyes…

I am in control. Are you?


Constellations 🌌


She rummaged through the clutter inside my old skull. 
I found no odd memories. I found new, old memories.
She never knew they were there. But then, no one does. 
Now, I have something to call my own.

When Depression Calls

The odds of becoming happy are high, or low.
I don’t even know how to use that phrase.
Oh for heaven’s sake, Rain, come down.
Quench this arid desert that continue  to suffocate
and strangle me with passion.

What Cutting a Class Means

He. I found him again. For the second time.
The same table. The same woman.
Older. And cleverer. Wink. Wink.


Two white, no, pale girls standing against
white wall. The camera clicked. Perfect. 
All smiles. Red lipsticked lips. Hands, groping
finding. Oh, all. But the reflection of society
in their eyes. Judgment ruins everything. Sometimes.


A yellow book created a somewhat
not-really-good impression on her. And yet, 
she put it inside her bag – between the oversize,
folded umbrella and orange file case. At eight
tonight the bell will ring, there will be the sound
of hurrying feet in the hallway. She’ll be glad.


The Master said just keep writing write what
you know and then you’ll get something. 
Only, the rain started pounding on the roof
and I had to go. The Master gave me an
exasperated look. I waved goodbye. I never
heard from him again.

A Time To Be Selfish

She decided to stay for a little while.
The song is still playing. Unfortunately,
the dancers stopped a long time ago. 
She didn’t mind. The truth, is, she’s
overjoyed. The lyrics belong to her now.
She’ll keep it in a little jar and hide it
under her bed with the box of her darkest dreams.


Because your voice may not be loud enough

life is a struggle
not against the chauffeur
but against the bearer

life is unfair
not because of society
but of reciprocity

life is obedient
be sure to let
yourself be heard


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