"I always wanted to wander."
"To wander? To where?"
"From Walla Walla to Uganda."
"That's a wide world to wander!"
"You wanna?"
"Wanna what?"
"To wander?"
"To where, Uganda?"
"Youbetcha!"
"I don't want to onomatopoeia anymore!"

"Are you refusing me?"
"You're confusing me!"
"Do I do that usually?"
"Yes, and it's abusing me!
"I didn't used to be."
"But you see it's no use to me,
So start talking lucidly!
You're coming across abstrusely
By talking so loosely.
You've got a lot of 'splaining to do Lucy."

"It started out grand!"
"But quickly got out of hand."
"But you fail to understand."
"You should have planned."
"Is that a reprimand?"
"You're like the ampersand."
"I don't understand."
"It means 'and per se and';
The pronunciation became bland
And three Latin words became 'ampersand'."

"But, don't you need a vacation?"
"What is the relation?"
"It's a matter of pronunciation,
And sometimes punctuation.
Some words deserve elimination.
Yes, and some deserve illumination.
Thus my original illustration.
In the interest of communication,
Some things deserve enunciation."
"I will accept that explanation."

"But, I'm still hugely fond of
The two of us going to Uganda;
As we internationally wander
I'm sure it will make you fonder
The more the two of us wander."
"But I really don't wanna!"
"Don't wanna what?"
"Go to Uganda!"
"That's what you don't wanna?"
"You betcha!"
"It's okay. They probably won't letcha."

Why do I keep on trying?
When you don't want me anymore
Why do I keep on hurting myself?
When you don't even care
Why am I still hoping?
I know for the fact that you don't want this anymore
But why do I keep on pushing myself?
Maybe because I wanted things to work out
What am I feeling?
Attachment?
Love?
Who knows
I saw good things that are bound to happen
yet
You saw something not worth fighting for
and I guess that's the oblivion of us.

I want love,
I need love,
Where is love....

They tell you love is in family,
But they hate...
They tell you love is in you,
In order to find it,
you have to look in the crevasses of your heart,
But within you ,
It's reenactments of a ****** scene ,

Tell me again ,
Can't you answer my question?
Where is love ?
I'm looking for love ,
Love can you see me ?

You want love from me ,
I'm not earthly ,
I can't give you what you need..
My love can't even nuture me,
When I'm in time of need..
How can I learn to love you,
When I'm half loving me...

I create duplicates of paper hearts,
Made up of broken sea shells ..
Forgive me if I'm distant but loving,
I'm convinced I need help...

I no longer want others to understand, I want them to see me. They keep staring at the curtains, once they've opened, but not at what's standing right in front of them. Maybe it's selfish, but to me, this is my show. That I am performing for them, and I am no clown. I am a poet. So please just see me, stop trying to understand me.

There's going to be a phone call in the night
A well of whispers and worries opened
It'll trill once, twice, cease
For my hand will cool its plastic brow.

I'll cradle that phone call in the night
Cup it to my ear, like shell washed with memoirs,
Anxious to hear an answer as clearly
As the water to which my mind will take me.

Seconds will hold me - no one answers at once;
My chest will heave, rattling those breaths and thoughts impatiently.
I will beckon with a greeting and will despair with a sigh
And hear the trill of the night reply.

'Think. Think. Think.' like a clock tick
That word will alight me, strike me dull blows
And sorrow at...
No, in me.

A thought takes the theatre
A doubt 'dopts the limelight
And I fear not what will
But now what would happen

And like a pool in the dark it takes me.

I would hear what the speaker would say and
Wouldn't be so lucky as to remember, as to understand.
There's going to be a phone call in the night, but
I won't be there.

Just because I am not that kind of woman
In past,
At present
Or may be never in future
It doesn’t mean I am not real
Although I don’t need to prove myself to anyone
Who I am is who I am
Neither can I change
Nor anyone else
Sometimes on days like this
When I am misunderstood
I feel like taking my heart out
Taking my brain out
And declare loud “see this is what I am”
Don’t give me your limited knowledge
Of how should a woman be
Of what am I suppose to be
What you think of me
Just don’t give me that

Sometimes I feel
like a useless mass of space matter
Clumped together by ideas long ago tainted

I just do not understand
How the universe could be so against me
when I am the universe