i love you (not right)

they bought you flowers, chocolates, and gave                               
the normal simplistic love you wanted                              
and they say, i love you                                        
but darling, they never loved you right                              
and never gave you the love you needed.



tragic, isn’t it?
boy you’re on the other side
and this river is too wide

since the current came and took you
nothing has been right
my days never turn into night soon enough

can you even hear me?
i need you to be here; i’m lost
i need you hear; i’m in too deep

this is what drowning feels like



classified as fragile and

they told us what we could do

you can bear children, cook meals, and iron our pant suits


we are grew up on lessons of

‘ladylike’ behavior

and to stay in group and never walk alone at night


we are backbone of the nations

not fragile

and have demanded equality since our great-grandmothers


progress is ironing your pant suits

substituting wonder woman for damsels

and never taking no for an answer


we have work to do still

we have to build a ‘we are the people’ environment

for the generations to come







all i am is a fragmented sentence

half-drunk cups of coffee strewn over the countertops

half-finished storylines where characters stopped speaking mid-sentence

half-hearted apologies because i meant what i said

half-this, half-that and never quite enough

i might never call again, because i’m ashamed to call myself your friend

i might never finish that song, because every time it plays i think of you

i might never love after you, because i will never be over it

i am half the woman i could be. i am half the writer i could be. i am half of the daughter i could be. i am half of the friend i could be. i half of the lover i could be.

all because of my inability to just fini–


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you fill vases so your flowers have enough to drink

and never seem to see they’re overflowing

mine were always half-empty

because i was afraid of drowning my flowers

we kill beautiful things

with our touch and without knowing why

we are so different but bond on our ability of not being able to notice our self-destructive personalities 


excerpt from my book, logolepsy.