chaiNboli

 I am 20 steps away from purgatory,   and 200 steps far from the hell, I know that heaven  is not meant for me, because I haven't heard the  voice of angels or god, and I can't offer  any prayers, nor hymns. I have mastered the art  of deception, good enough  to make you think that am an unnamed saint. Oh daughters of Jerusalem! will you cry on my fall, my sin,  my forbidden apple? When I kissed him  I heard Eve cheering  for me, and the serpent  said "you go girl" Alas, little did I know what she meant.. His perfect Judas kiss, and I: Jesus who can't turn  water into wine. Jesus who can't feed five thousand people. Jesus who don't have  a mother to hold tight.  And no angels were there when I was in the desert,  no hand to hold. I am empty. I am blind . I am nothing. I am dead. I have a kitchen match  hid in my armpit, a gift to Satan a small one for his home. What will Gabriel think  when he see ...

 There is a boy sitting next to me  in the last bus. His brown eyes  have magic  as the street light fell on it they reveal golden secrets. He gazes at tangerine skies, and I follow it, like an august day to night. I feel like  a slippery con artist  when he catches my eye, my cheeks burn. He smiles  and asks my name. And in his tongue my name feels like  a cotton candy, soft and sweet. He recites a poem out of no where  and I gasp, is he an angel? Before I know he was kissing me His mouth taste  like nectar and am falling with my eyes wide open. He holds my hand  and says he will miss me. And at the stop just  before mine,  he walks to the door,  looks back at me,  sitting  alone and frozen  tilts his head and  flashes that smile.. One moment and  he is gone. Oh holy shit... Teach me how  to be in peace again..

 /Can dead be owned ? Can stones bleed?/ I was three years old  when my curious eyes  found a round marble  and decided  to keep it with me. I put it in my nose  and my breath struggled, my mom screamed  but I was saved. When I was 8,  I thought I am a mermaid  and tried to hide  under slender lotuses but my cousin brother said am a stupid  to jump into  the pond. At the age of 13 I failed in the physics exam,  in the evening while returning home  I found myself  in front a yelling driver who at last told me  to cross the road safely. At 18,  the  first boy I kissed  called me a slut and I tried to cut my wrist. Three days later  I was in a hospital room white and dark, singing some stupid  song in my head. i was killed on the day when my books were burnt. the day when my father cried on his sleep. Then I stopped counting (One. Three. Eight) After all  am a cat  with nine l...

 The first time he left me  I cried for a week searching for all the  unfinished cups of coffee  we should have shared. But deep down,  I knew he would come back, not because I was good  but he was good  And that's why  after two summers I opened my door  without a moment's hesitation when he knocked it. I read Neruda to him and listened to his silence. When I couldn't find him one day after our  first kiss, I went in search to find the blanket I gifted  him abandoned in the street. it was nothing worth keeping, a red, tattered blanket  made of my heart. I don't remember  the third time he disappeared, but I do remember that I felt like  a stray dog,  unlovable at its very nature. The fourth time it was  no different,  a squeeze in my hand  and he was gone. By the fifth time  I was prepared, and nothing was a surprise. He had become an  aching habit, an occasional interruption  in so...

 I was drowning and  the boy I loved thought  I was just playing   He laughed and  his beautiful laughs  echoed in my shallow bones, my bones so heavy that  I couldn't stand up. He was a heart break  older than me  and in his eyes I  used to hide when  it was loud and dark. He had a song in his lips  inarticulatable to common tongue, and a knife hid between  flowers I forgot to notice. Then one day he stabbed me,  just above the eye.* I was dead.  I saw hell,  but still resurrected, the scarlet letter  as my halo.. And now  I have cuts in my hands, and wounds in my heart: Deep bruises, permanent scars. My life rests on a wretched faith, my hope thin as my smile. I fool myself too much, I hate myself too. I am a vagabond, who have erased  my street number and wiped my directions clean as a kitchen sink. And  in oddly hushed nights, I cry,  I repent and  listen to the ranting...