story time.

“i’ll be hoenest. just need some weeed”, begged the cardboard rested along a rusted shopping cart. that one cardboard has been through a lot, you can tell. still a bit wet from last night, the soggy words were starting to fade away. just like their creator, the proud owner of that shopping cart. and inside it rested her life. a sleeping bag. two blankets. change of clothes with dirt and dried grass tagging along for the ride. you could just stand next to the shopping cart and smell the last 17 years of her life.

that’s how strong she was, even though she appeared a fragile herb getting torn to pieces by wind and water at first sight. her closed shivering eyes at night embraced the cocaine blues on her face. the scars so deep that even rain had lost its pride seeping deep in them. and who wouldn’t? let god know even he can’t stop a poetic meltdown of a human body.

lana, they used to call her that. i never heard her saying that. maybe she had moved on from her last element of attachment to others. most probably she didn’t remember it. after all, it had been a while. 17 years since someone last called her by her own name. what was it? she would dream about it, and that night was the same.

a lost name in the streets.

and like every morning, her curiosity was infringed by the eagerness of life built on following so-called destiny of the man. the circus was up and running, and the sun shone shyly on the hopeless and the desperate. the world died every night, but the skeleton always got up in the morning and walked. lana was aware of it all. her favorite phrase was, “been there. done that.” she crawled out of her sleeping bag and kept away the blankets. the only thing she had to deal with was the changing nature of, well, nature. almost nothing else affected her. “hey whore, wake your hoe ass up.” shouted a male doppelgänger from across the street. ” who you calling a hoe you ugly ass son of a pathetic bitch? come here i’ll show you who’s a hoe you motherfucker…get the fuck outta here.” she screamed back, making sure her voice was loud and clear to the tenants of the road from 2 blocks and out.

like i said, almost nothing else affected her. who needs caffeine when you can start your day like that.

Lost

i was never lost

i just
chose to never

go home.

Daily auditions

Some people are always auditioning.

People who aren’t comfortable with themselves.

Who don’t know who they are.

Or what they want.

Always figuring out what they’re supposed to do.

While others just make the stage their home.

Home and hearts

​It’s weird to leave the place where you grew up.

And that too, so many times.

You gotta do what you gotta do I guess.

But I’ve realized something doing this again and again.

Home isn’t a place.

When someone asks me, where’s home for you, I can never answer. Is it where I grew up? Is it where I live currently? Is it where I went to college?

No. Home isn’t a place.
Home is a person.

Many persons in my case. My own people who are close to my heart wherever they may be in this world.

So wherever I am, I am home.

Because we are together.

The reason why I have home

Though we don’t talk like before,

You still feel the same I’m sure,

I never grew up in your eyes,

Just went far away after saying goodbyes,

Now and then I always feel,

The absence of your presence that always healed,

The soul and made me smile,

Even though the separation is a few thousand miles,

The way you granted my every wish,

It’s not like this is the only thing I miss,

But the fact I was so important to you,

The love, even the sacrifices too,

You are the reason why I have home,

I know when I’m lost I don’t have to roam,

I can just in your lap,

And forget the world and all it’s crap,

Though it’ll be long but the time will pass,

And when there’s dew on the grass,

That day I’ll be by your side,

And feel like a child again when you kiss me goodnight…