Sometimes I run the streets, sometimes they run me -Morgan Parker 

I don’t know what I think I’m doing

Pretending I’m well adjusted 

Schooling with the white people 

Club on a Friday 

Laughing in the library

Flirting with young boys and old boys 

Yeah you can come see me 

Dinner’s some fancy Thai food 

I’ll show you I’m made of that material 

While deflecting get-to-know me questions about home, about my blessed kin

With a careless shrug and an empty sigh

Why would it ever matter 

You say I’m repressing, I say I’m adjusted

I’m accustomed, a compartmentalising queen

I’m over it 

I don’t talk shit to death

Wouldn’t you rather appreciate this lingerie 

Under my dutiful apron and reborn appearance?

So no, I don’t answer calls from the motherland, if I can help it

Would I ever go back there, if I could help it?

Nevermind baby, nevermind 

See, I’ll have you know

If I’m never fully here, then I’m never really there

Always knowing I’m too lucky, too too ungrateful 

Over here stuck in my head 

Trying to come off as comfortable, in my own skin, well-adjusted.


Untitled #12

I don’t remember where I wrote this.

“Oh, you want too much!” she cried to Gatsby. “I love you now- isn’t that enough?”

Someone is going to call you their soulmate 

Hold you like the answer

And rejoice that you are finally here 

To make the world make sense 

And you will want to be

For a moment, a month, a year

For them, the answer

To be the saviour, the muse, the angel holding them from the precipice of darkness 

You thought this is what you were made for

You thought this is what you wanted 

For him, this is what you could be 

If you can be perfect to him, you can be perfect to the world 

And yet.

As with everything the universe deems as inevitable 

Something will remind you that you are not the fixer 

You cannot be the answer 

There’s no way you could be

Because we can only be parts to each other 

Parts for each other 

He can only be a part of why you are here 

You can only be a part of his life 

 If you want to consume me whole 

Then what has all of this been for?

I cannot be the beginning and end of you

I do not want you to end me. 

Hope Springs Eternal

I don’t remember why I wrote this.

Write a poem about this. Write a poem about everything – Daniel Handler 

Honestly, if not for you

I don’t have much to say anymore

But yet you

With your soliloquys and your musings and your dreams

Showing me with your paintbrush and your pen

What life really could be

If only we could have enough hope

If only you could hold on to that hope

That you have gathered from a million success stories 

That you have gathered 

And kept dear

Like seashells from a beach I collected when I was twelve 

Oh, I have been on that beach 

And seen those precious shells

Iridescent and almost unbelievable 

Beautiful in the face of all doubt and distrust 

I wanted to keep them safe too

But the waves come too quickly when I’m around 

Somehow you can hold them calmly 

But I am always clinging and desperate 

The tide rises and rises until they are swept away just as I reach them 

And I do not know where your hope is now 

Those keepsakes only leave traces 

Visible enough

That I cannot forget them.