Writing

What would it be like

to see the rainbow?

To stand beneath it,

soak in the colorful

mistakes it bleeds.

What would it be like,

to have someone else

One morning

I woke up,

With the stars shining in my face

Amidst the gentle midnight blue sky.

No sun to greet me, 

No moon to comfort me.

i blink at the screen.
after all the prompts ive ever read, 
this may be the most outrageous.

i am said to be a writer.
it is true that i think too much
and write too little

I came from mountains.
From the memory of تبدیل,
Of change,
Regurgitated from the depths of what may have been.

and when the sun lingers on the snow

and the moon instates itself over the dark horizon;

when the trees reach, grasping; when the wind curls in on itself, pleading 

I sit in my closet, my phone in my hands, dialing 911. Downstairs, I hear glasses breaking, tables and chairs being thrown and smashed against the wall, the man who broke into our home screaming.