If little by little you stop loving me I will quietly sit by myself And remind myself of the sore truth; That love may come beautiful Like the morning sun, And it may vanish into endless pillars Of darkness. I may cry like one does when a loved one is gone, But it won't be a prayer to bring You b...Read more

The water blisters my skin until the mirror clouds with steam and I disappear inside it. I stand beneath the scalding heat scrubbing until my arms ache, until my nails bend backward, until my skin blooms red and angry, because somehow pain feels cleaner than remembering. I drag the rag across my t...Read more

If little by little you stop loving me. Then little by little I am certain. You have stopped hating me too. Those things are never apart you see. Nor ever in opposition. You cannot summon a storm without warm waters and cold atmospheres. I cannot love you in summer, and then only hate you by wint...Read more

I can not pretend, Like I'm not wounded. Because I will bleed out If I don't apply pressure, To the wounds of my soul. So I have to stop and address the pain That changed the way I walk, That created triggers along my path, And changed who I am. I can not pretend That I am not still hurt Like pai...Read more

If little by little you stop loving me I will slowly dissipate Like cigarettes smoke in thin air It is all fair In love game One goes , one remains Last day in my room I will ask myself Is it the last step Lonely and loyal to complex Void answers This is how everything ends.

If little by little, You stop loving me, Then I go back To the void by myself... I know, For you I am nothing, But there's still something Within me... For you—love. ... When time stops, Rain falls over the Sculpture of concrete, Then I haunt the silence around you And whisper, "I love you."

The ghost that shoots me up holds me like a fairytale. He paid off my patron saint and my heart tipped the scale. This is not a confession about dope or living unwell. It's playing a nightmare on repeat while praying to paradise in a gypsy hotel. These hallways are always changing. Some men hangin...Read more

Observe. I have never been a logical person. I feel before I think picking at old wounds, pulling at loose threads. But I am always watching myself do it, at least and this, I'm told, is how science works. Question. Is it possible to become something you are not, if you want it badly enough? Hypot...Read more

Brown girls This one is for you It's ok to be soft To step out of survival mode And be seen with a smile And for the little yellow girls Remember your voice Because we love to hear it's tone We are not the world...we listen. We know your voice heals. And for all my girls colored red Stand when a...Read more

Once a man is born, He grows up With thousands of dreams in his eyes, Sparkling like stars in the darkest night. Then he learns... He cannot cry. And then, Sick of his own reflection, He becomes what society wants— "man of society."

Sick of his own face Weary of his unfortunate fate Must be an awkward mind game When they praise you, isn't a shame. Smile on, suicidal thoughts going on He goes on to highway to heaven People say God bless you He hears die, die, die.

Sick of his own face, Sick of his own failures. He looks at the walls And hopes the spiders In their webs might Give him a bit of a hint, Or maybe the painting Which has known him Since childhood, Surely must know Something. He breaks At life and gives God His Deserved praises. ~ dadapoet

Sick of his own face, he will shift away tonight. From a sliver to a fraction A fractional moment to an exact half of the bed. Growing till he is at last full, and yet... He will throw it all away again, as always. Devouring himself till there is nought. I sit up with him again uncertain...if he...Read more

my childhood home has a swingset, a hammer and a yellow slide we attached with patience and stubborn love. I held the nails while my dad worked and for the first time, felt what it meant to be useful. in spring, the daffodils bloomed along the fence and in summer, the fireflies collected in the gard...Read more

If tomorrow starts without me, I would have kept my appointment. My appointment with death. I would have said all I needed to say, And did all I needed to do. The flowers will still bloom And birds will still sing Notice them The sun will rise And the moon will involve Watch them Do not cry for m...Read more