What I wish I didn’t know is that when your dear friends whisper the word “psycho” behind your back, you’ll grow up accepting it.

I skip talking to myself for hours / The “me time”, before going to bed

It was not a question one would ask as he did/ With his round glasses at the end of his nose

i quite like the smell of cloves, even more when they're burning/ turning charcoal in front of my eyes

This is a garden, these are my petals; this is my armoring plant

Shut shut let me shut my eyes, for even though / the dawn confiscating the dusk’s shades of greys arrives, / there is no place for me

Sweat beads upon my brow, my shirt begins to cling/ The vile monster's tendrils reach out, adhesive

I've seen love/ Rolling down from a mother's eyes/ As she picks her lean child, bathed in innocent blood

like a caterpillar cocooned into its shell undergoing metamorphosis—growing up sneaks up to you whether you want it or not

We have built a civilisation / of sky-high buildings, / of concrete cities, / of disconnected communities

go further than/ what the hills have seen/ through their ice pick scars

Welcome, weary traveler! To my humble abode. Come, come. I'll show you

You know those instances when we start off in the wide, turbulent currents of a river making its way downstream?

Grief is a lonely river, like a fisherman's song with an empty net

I am a poet because you love me

In my deep sleep, you came, my love—

Dust patterns have gathered around my landline phone, huddling around the maroon. my fingerprints take some dust off of it, and they rejoice.

You know how that day the wind brought out/ The crazy thoughts I had in me all the while.

I wove necklaces of lyrics/ Which you'd wear beautifully

You called me close in the moments of grace/ Veiling my delicate senses