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What Are You Good At?A Confession in Light and Dark
I am good at surviving what no one ever admits they lived through. At carrying hunger that howls in libraries. At becoming myth in my own bloodline— not disappearing, but dissolving, like ink becoming memory in water.
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The All I Carry: A Poetic Meditation on What It Means to ‘Have It All’
What does “having it all” truly mean? In this deeply personal and lyrical reflection, I explore the quiet joys, the redefined ambitions, and the evolving truth of fulfillment. A tender, thoughtful answer to the question we often rush to answer—this is a poem for anyone searching for peace in a world that keeps shifting the…
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Talk to Soon: A Journey Through Voices Unheard
A poetic exploration of voices the soul longs to speak to but often ignores.
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Where the Voice Forgot Its Name
Because names peeled off doorbells like old skin, While the moon grew restless in your tea, Though your shoes never forgave you, Even then, the echo asked for ID. And something—finally—named itself: belonging.
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Inheritance of Oddities: A Catalogue of the Self
A surreal plunge into the soul’s storeroom, Inheritance of Oddities is a journey through the uncanny, the forgotten, and the beloved. Each item speaks—half-memory, half-metaphor—of what we keep and why it matters. This poetic odyssey dissects the mundane into myth, the absurd into relic.
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The Ritual of Awakening
I forgot who I was just long enough to meet myself. we shook hands like enemies pretending to be diplomats for the sake of the children.
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Tomorrow Is a Compass Made of Salt
“Hope is not polite. It barges in with muddy feet and eats all your strawberries.” Life wrestles with doubt, collapse, and resilience in a dialogue that blurs the line between “I” and “You.” The mantra — “The sun will rise tomorrow, and I still have a chance” — becomes a lifeline stitched into surreal metaphors,…
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When Leaders Rewrite History for Applause
When applause becomes louder than facts, memory suffers in silence. This poem navigates a surreal landscape where history is rewritten by the powerful, and truth lingers in forgotten voices. It urges the reader to resist, remember, and reclaim narratives erased for convenience.
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The Museum of Me: My Uncollected Collections
“Do I collect things? No. I collect absences. I collect where the rain didn’t fall. Where the letter wasn’t sent. Where the apology stood naked in the doorway and turned back around.”
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The Legacy I Leave Is Not a Name
“Let someone trip over my laughter and fall into their own joy. Let my legacy be the stranger you helped because you remembered how it felt when no one did.
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