Poetic Attempt || Twenty

In a way, you reminded me of sand
maybe it’s because the texture of your
fingertips, as they traced the dots scattered
across my cheekbones is rough from all your
calluses, but I didn’t really mind the
light scratches because just as how the sand
on shorelines tickles my toes, the feel of
your skin against my own was comforting

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Poetic Attempt || Nineteen

What are the hard sciences? you ask to the class
a person from the back answers
chemistry
                        physics
                                                biology
                                                                        mathematics
your right hand briefly dances in the air
an obviously dismissive gesture
and light laughter forces its way out of your weary throat
now let’s forget about the hard sciences

Let’s not
I sit there mutely, hands neatly folded
on my lap; imperceptibly shaking
why should I? I want to ask
but I do not
I protest in silence

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Poetic Attempt || Seventeen

let this be an open letter to
all the fools with deliberately jaded eyes
eyelids shut tight, refusing to acknowledge color
disillusioned into finding beauty in blank portraits
as if there is brilliance and artistry
in painting white over a people’s heritage
they would rather gouge both irises out and
plead blindness as opposed to
stretching their arms out to embrace diversity
but colors demand to be seen as they converge together
into the fissures between tectonic plates
surging upwards as a wellspring of history
and giving birth to cultures that will
outlive all these fools

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Poetic Attempt || Sixteen

[ t h i r d ]
ink bleeds through crisp pages
for the sake of giving birth to
letters that make love
creating pretty sentences
that paint vivid sunsets
we find beautiful
and somewhere in the heart
of our madness
we start to believe that perhaps
rough patches of flesh
stained by ink from our own veins
are just as lovely

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