forever grateful for you and every little thing that you do.
kindness shapes every little part of you—
makes your heart malleable,
like the dough kneaded by ami
to make me her crispy wale parathas
every day when i wake up at zohr time,
when the world has already started for everyone.

but for me—
the world drops dead when you close your eyes,
and the universe becomes tangible
only when you open them.
at the same time as me.

your voice,
woven in gossamer threads,
wraps me into a cocoon
and then slowly, slowly unwraps me
until i’m a blue morpho butterfly
on her desk,
with a 10-hour mark on her baby pink timer—
matching his white one.

make sure you do one thing at least a day:
either the pre-med questions
or the anki flashcards.

i agree.
we’ll make the chat too spicy in discord—
with firing neurons,
and “i’m so proud of you”s,
and w’s.

i’ll make sure you understand the concept of resonance energy
by making you feel it.

so when i am electrocuted by the d key,
the numbness in my hand
turns into this debilitating blue numbness
in my baby’s malleable, precious heart—
and then we fix it.

together.
with all the scotch tapes
and the double-sided ones,
and the cardboard pieces from your drawers—
piece by piece.

a 4-hour call;
of crocheting,
moving in and out
of the seams of us.

we really did become a mosaic
of all the people that we love.
maybe talking about the teachers
in your khala's school,
knitting sweaters in the kitchen
for their loved ones—
made you feel like you could do anything.

resonance energy.
you carry the same energy
of all the people in your stories—
and with your gossamer threads
pull me back inside the cocoon
when you miss me
(when i miss you)
and fall back to sleep, holding me.

so close—
we're not even a heartbeat away now.

love,
i will find a way back to you in my dreams—
where you are in my lap,
and nothing has ever hurt you before,
and nothing will hurt you again.

call out to me,
and i will be up at 6:24
to get you off your desk.
no more apex without me.

we only play apex
when i’m in your lap as you play,
tracing my fingers
along the canvas of your face,
and kissing you stupidly—
until you are senseless.

Sat next to a stranger,
Asked for advice.
The old man paused, then said:

"Be content.
Keep your balance.
And whatever you do—
Place responsibility before it."

I asked, "What do you mean?"

He looked ahead and answered,
"For your career,
Your behavior,
Even the words you speak—
Each carries a weight.
A responsibility comes with them."

falling shadows
howling holes—heart's chasm
gaps in teeth, bites of time
in the cavity of a mouthful successes

written in a journal of fears
not to fear death, but a death of dreams
not to fear easy give, but to easily give in
not to fear tomorrow, but a yesterday's repeat
to pen my thoughts, penning words at fault
                   ....my poetry is a journal of fears

Will I remember that
on this day,
or that other day,
I awoke besieged
and under attack?

Does it count, all the ugly,
growling, snarling demons
licking at my gloriously unpainted toes,
if I never write them down?

Does it mean
they weren’t even ever there?
Something like imprints
on the paper from
the pen with no ink?

I see, it’s quite simply
rather easy to take
Mother’s new, colorful pens
and draw some scene
of greater freedom
than the former, greyer
stories wanted to unfold.

And the sorry tinge of regret
that appears to want to hold on
is really only misplaced
and mistrust of my own love.

Look at that!
It floats on by.
See that cloudy scene
just passing
along the screen.
Why write down only such a minor,
miscreant, unsorted kind of thing?

It is as if a wave of tranquility passed over me this morning. Still numb. However, the strenuous longing to feel has dissipated. The wounds have be temporarily cauterized. No empty pain lingers in the darkness like a phantom menace. I felt nothing before, But I knew I was in pain. Now the nothingness consumes any lingering obscure thoughts. I am the hollow man; Such a fragile shell I carry on burden bones. But tis a pleasant day indeed. Thunder storms barrage the sky in open warfare and ominous tear drops soak the battlefield. For once I am not the fool weeping alone; The world takes my place, my pain, my suffering, and I revel in the warmth of it's tears as any good sadist does.

You are loved
You are worthy
You deserve more
You’re are not to blame
You can do it
You are important
You are beautiful
You make a difference
You are valued
You matter
You are resilient
You are enough

Things that come to mind when people say “ How are you”

Cluttered, jumbled,tangled, confused, intricate, acrimonious, scattered, disheveled, torn, complicated, mucky, annoyed!

Things you actually say when people say “How are you”

I’m fine, I’m good, I’m well...