Crippling conversations, stale words taste rancid
Examen every corner of the café, occasionally outlining your features 

The strand of hair poking out of your head, defying attempts to tame it, 
taunts me,

I can’t fixate on the memoirs your hands illustrate, wiggling around 
as if I can’t envision what a classroom looks like 
it’s not that you’re not interesting, I promise you
your anecdotes of high school friends amuse me,
it’s just that I had pictured you a bit different 
with a broader essence, 
maybe

a presence more capable of cradling my sorrows

You seem too frail to bear the weight of my pain, and I wonder if that unruly strand of hair would jab my mother’s eyes 
the letters of your name are foreign to my ancestors, 
how would I translate our interactions? 
As much as I pray for your pieces to fit mine, 
I can’t help but focus on the missing fragments
the ones that do not reside within you.

Do you understand what happens to boys like you?

Your voice fades into the backdrop, blending with the grey walls 
I struggle to yank myself back to the present moment
a persistent tug at the recesses of my mind,
while my guardian angels bow in pity

Privileged boys get devoured at my house, 
how would you defend yourself against my parents?
How would you brush off my mother’s glares and my father’s disappointment
I can’t blame them, for not wishing to see you again,

and, can you blame me?

I tap the edge of the table, syncing with the ticking of your clock,
I had convinced myself that things could evolve,
perhaps if I strain my vision, I could shape your eyes
to echo mine,

It's bitter, 
it's so bitter 

pile my memories within you, even if they get swept under our pillow 
how would I wake up to the sight of my abuser, my colonizer
settling on my grandmother’s embroidered linens 
as she wails from the realms of heaven?

You call out my name, snap your fingers,
ripping me away from my thoughts,
"Are you okay?"
I don't know how to respond, the taste is insipid,

You,
You taste so acrid.

Do you know what happens to boys like you?

Their heads mount the walls of my ancestral abode, 
a constant reminder of my lapse 
and desire cannot advocate for you, no mercy 
your features torment my parents' dreams,
as they wander around my statue,
begging for guidance.

I love you, I truly do. 
(But I don’t)
I just think we should see other people. 

Daily writing prompt

How do you waste the most time every day?

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• Experiences
• Mental Health & Vulnerability
• Poems
• Short Stories
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3. 

   Welcome

4. 

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