Poetry

Take me to the Karakoram Road, I beg—

Where the mountains meet the rivers, 

Entwined with the pathways of cracked cement

The rooster's call—piercing through the veil of dawn—
Pulling me from the depths of sleep, eyes heavy.
Its cry rises into the soft light of morning,
Where the sun slowly stains the sky in shades of red,

You can't fix what's broken,

So should you start anew?

The pieces are shattered,

Hearts on the floor,

The trust has been stomped on,

You've walked out the door.

You can't fix what's broken,

Four years.

The first year the devil

Was my best friend

My

Entire

Universe

So close he could see inside my head

See inside my heart

Knew every little secret,

Every part of me

Sentimentality

all the time

wishing to be younger

to be somewhere else.

I wish that I was in fourth grade again

and everyone was friends

and everyone was happy and content

Your goal is to make me jealous.

To make everyone jealous.

Even your friends.

Friends? Or followers?

You're all leaders and not very good at it anyway,

And guess how that works out,

I want to write about everything

the steady rain

the misery

the end of school

the upcoming event

the natural world

the current political universe of doom

but I can't phrase it

Constantly

all the time

I feel like crying

I've just had enough

enough of the girls accidentally hitting us with balls in P.E. class without them apologizing

enough of depressing experiences and losses;

You had my back.

I had yours.

Because that was the deal.

That was our deal.

No negotiating.

No way around it.

That's what it is.

I email you when I shouldn't.

I lie awake in bed

With my thoughts -

No AC and it's hot and humid.

I open a window.

It doesn't help.

I can feel the ghost of you in my every movement.

The blankets you snuggled into,

Just last night.

That feeling, once granted in 

brings warmth and a violet hue 

It beads my eyes, of now burned through 

pin cushion medicine

I walk.

I walk in my head.

In my brain,

My thoughts,

My feelings.

I look over

At your hand.

Hmm.

The more I think about it,

The more tingly I get.

Tingly?

Fuzzy?