glass ceiling

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i do not seek
your forgiveness
neither do i seek
your understanding.

i do not seek your truth
for you do not seek mine.
and i do not seek love,
for love seeks hate.

so forsake me
for my sake.

 

 

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look up, little one.

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Child,
when you look up and see the stars tonight
blink back your tears, hold your tiny heart.
The fathomless night guards your sleep.
The stars watch you from afar;
apart yet a part.

child,
when you stared up at those loud florescent lights
why wonder, why despair?
your eyes are his, and his are yours.

so child,
when you see them in the skies tonight
do not be afraid to cry
it’s time to say goodbye.

fault lines

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you ask me:
why don’t we get along?
why can’t I compromise
why can’t I understand you?

i say:
I(have you taken a look in the mirror lately)
am (why do you manipulate everything to be my fault)
sorry (for not being what you want me to be.)

if you’re so concerned:
take my life. be done with it.

remember.

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i called you
at the bottom of some stairs
at some posh hotel
where they wore smiles
celebrating my cousin’s marriage
but i seemed to drop mine
somewhere along the way
with my back against the cement wall
and i called you
but your number isn’t in service anymore
my phone burned my cheeks
with all twenty attempts
just like how i felt
our connection
burning
to ashes.
you sent me off with a text.
i sent you off with silence.

to be born and reborn

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She carefully lifts her firstborn, her spindly arms awkwardly crooked under a heavy bundle of warmth. She trembles under the weight, glancing at the pinched eyes, crinkled nose, tight pout. But his hand is there, under hers, under the baby’s, and suddenly it’s autumn and she’s in a pile of fallen brown leaves, nestled there like how her baby is nestled in her arms.
Everything is going to be okay.