regrettably,

the first word must be the finest;

a promise of what is to come.

regrettably,

you've arrived, unaware that there is no message,

your eyes skimming

--if this far at all--

for the shine of stars on the horizon,

a morsel of life to feed your mind.

regrettably,

you will find nothing here.

just an empty written page.

scribbled heedlessly and meaninglessly

and in the middle of a night not quite

dark enough for my taste--or yours, perhaps.

regrettably,

i am tired.

and the sky is still too light.

and my dry eyes blink in time to the ticking of the

globe, spinning on its axis.

slowly.

regrettably,

you're here too,

wasting your time

on someone else's regrets.

take a ticket

or two, lone wolf

lift a brow and

raise a glass

it's not so cold

when you keep your

eyes closed,

not so bright

when you swim in

the night sky

the calendar's just as

quick in the mirror as

in this volatile world

so hand me a ticket,

or two, anything to

keep my feet off the ground

just watch as I

plunge into the

night sky

once more

that zip-zap

sinking

of a sick scared

feeling

remains

seeping deep

into my core

for my eyes

have been bleeding

with unslept

aching feeling

that's burrowed

permanent

somewhere within

my mind

my haven

has been lost

to me

and i cannot

find my way

the only solution

is to give up

give in to

the grappling

snakes in

the pit of my

stomach where they

snap and hiss

your name

Should they be able to? Heck yes. I have no doubt that people definitely have the capacity to write characters of other ethnicities or cultures.

But should everyone be writing people of color that they themselves are not?

Yes and no.

Firstly, I say yes because as a woman of color I have grown up reading novels upon novels and watching many movies and shows with protagonists which are so different from me, both culturally and racially.

Nothing would make me happier than to see characters that look like me, talk like me, deal with cultural problems like me. Indian-Americans, such as myself, have fought the daily struggle of deciding if you’re too Indian or too American, or just trying to convince your very Asian parents that just because you had fun yesterday doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have fun today.

I want, no, I demand, that writers take it upon themselves to branch out of the usual cookie cutter and please add in more culturally inclusive main characters. Not side characters or minor characters because you don’t want to do the research required. Main characters.

But I say this with a word of caution, which brings me to all the reasons I have to say no.

While I would love to see more cultures represented on T.V., I will NOT stand for misrepresentation. Like, please, please, please do your damn research.

I’m sorry, but not every Indian I know has a thick accent like Raj from Big Bang Theory. Not all of us do yoga on Saturday mornings or wear a bindi. Not every Asian is smart. Not all of us want to be doctors or engineers. No, I don’t speak “Indian” and I am not “a Hindi”.

Please figure out the difference between Hindi and Hindu. Understand the fact that Indian people don’t speak Indian. Rather they speak Hindi, English, Hinglish (a recent development), Tamil, Telugu, and so much more. Because your poor writing will show. And I promise you, it’s not only rude to the people you’re writing about but it’ll reflect the poor research on your part.

And maybe it’s more convenient for you to write characters which resemble yourself. I know it’s ten times easier for me to write an Indian-American character than a Vietnamese one. But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t. What it does mean is that I’m going to buckle down, research the heck out of a nation’s history, interview close friends who may belong to particular groups, and figure out everything I need for my story to work.

So if you’re going to feed into stereotypes and promote biased, negative views of specific cultural or ethnic groups, hold off on writing people of color all together. But if you’re willing to do your research, understand the culture, come to know why certain things are the way they are, then by all means, please write a character from whatever group you want!

The desires of man creak past on the rickety carriage of time, while I cross the street.

I know it barrels toward the city, but I like mud, and hay under my shoes, not coal beneath my feet,

So I just watched that carriage drift off 'til it was too far for me to reach.

When they packed up the cargo, they included lust, and next to her power sat.

Fame near the front, and wealth near the back.

But, as the shackles were being distributed, no one noticed one package slip away.

For freedom doesn’t like handcuffs, nor do I like to be contained.

In this land I’ll sit alone and do all that I can,

But it turns out my sins are boring, without those of my friends.

Dear Human Friend,

Your thoughtful gift gives me much happiness.

You see, I lost my companion a few weeks ago. I don’t know what caused her affliction. We used to hold tails together and swim with abandon.

There’s frequent talk about inhabitants in my world losing partners and family members. They too, like my love, choked up and left us alone. I was in a deep funk, much like Picasso in his blue, blue days.

You understood our plight. You send us gifts galore just to alleviate our sorrow. You try to make our world better. These gifts last forever, leaving a legacy for future generations. But the rate at which we lose partners, perhaps these gifts will last past extinction.

Last week, my friend got huge kicks going in and out of a six circle transparent exercise machine. It brought him so much happiness, he almost stopped being crabby.

Your incessant gifts make us forget losses. Is it a bit much to ask for instruction manuals? You see, some folks here just don’t get it right. The sea turtle wanted to imitate the little crab, but it got all wrapped up in that very same six-pack. I mean, there are age and weight restrictions, right? I gotta say, you humans think wisely before testing out equipment. One silly animal did not even know how to suck out of the colorful straw. He put it up his nose!

Your generous gift material endures long after you leave. Atop the food chain you may stand, but with your humble degradability, we see you’re one of us. Your benevolence in spreading the “forever” wealth around is peerless. The nest had bright blue plastic material, keeping the bird family safe.The other day, the mamma lost her spouse. Apparently, for reason unbeknownst to us all, his abdomen exploded. The devastated widow stopped foraging food. But your wondrous material saved the day, and the hungry family gobbled it greedily. The next time she visits, I will let her know I included her in the thank-you note. I thought she would get here by now, but something must’ve held her up.

My friend the hermit crab found a new belly protector. He uses a plastic bottle cap. It’s hardier than the scattered shells he once was used to. I happily align myself to your thinking; technology does mean evolution. He says you like to take those lowly shells for yourself and replace with the invincible bottle caps. Such stewardship is a human trait. Those incessant presents come thoughtfully included with plastic wraps and gift bags. Indeed the humans are wise; they think of everything.

I love the pink, shiny stuff you put out for me. It’s my crutch for the one I lost. She promised to be by my side, but left me way too premature. Her demise made me lonely, but the pink stick with fluffy tips gives me much comfort. I feel like Picasso in his Rosé days. Swimming together, I sing La Vie en Rose with accordion playing in my mind. I’ve become a giddy teenager with his first love. The world is so much nicer through rose-tinted glasses. I grip her with my tail, and we cavort along. Long after I’m gone, she will serve another, until to serve there’s no other. Such is her eternal promise, all thanks to you.

Gratefully yours,

The Once-Lonely Sea Horse.

Photo by Justin Hofman / Wildlife Photographer of the Year

Is such an intricate marvel.

Just sit and think for a minute how a small wriggling land bound creature with at least one hundred legs can go from crawling on the earth.

Being as undesirable to the human psyche because of the aforementioned to...

Absolute splendour.

Majestically and delicately designed.

Carrying itself like a monarch.

Going through a change which can be seen as nothing short of distasteful from our perspective,

A change so enthralling and encompassing to them (and if we as people understood that in some ways all life starts this way) as well as ourselves.

Once they make their cocoon they liquify themselves in a fashion one wildlife documentary describes as a “Spock like dismantling” - not paraphrasing but you get the gist.

Reassembling themselves.

Restructuring their very composition before reorganising and repurposing each atom in unfathomed ways that it becomes utterly unrecognisable as it’s former self.

A reshuffling of the parliamentary cabinet if you will. And the ruffling of euphemistic feathers so to speak.

So I wondered; has it escaped anyone’s attention that something so fragile;

Some sentient being which would die if we touched the wings (you know because of the whole powder on the top being the very reason why it’s supposedly able to fly);

This very dainty of creatures,

Is able to rest and recline so languidly on a rather large Scottish thistle approximating six feet or find respite whilst in repose on an impossibly wild group of nettles without so much as a rip or scar on its pristine composition whilst both plants have proven injurious to humans.

Let’s consider two matters of impossibility:

Firstly that shift in the composure of caterpillar to butterfly but to be able to withstand such harsh conditions with a dearth of thought or injury being the second!

Reiterate this to yourself.

Now understand by the very nature of the butterflies humble beginnings that being as this is an extremely impossible fact.

The impossible is not possible.

It just exists without challenge.

And is all the more resplendent for it.

A truly ingenious creation indeed.

By way of this fact impossible does not exist,

Rather there are a myriad of potential possibilities.

What a beautiful realisation and self actualisation.

@Danceinsilence # wayback challenge # longest most read poem # 9 months ago

Body electric zapped

lower gastrointestinal tract

wracked with wretchedness

pitted, rocked, and tortured

severe muscle spasms cramp

deathly hallowed deliverance

beseech divine creator

to exorcise relief

any panacea trumpeted vetoed

pestilential nausea diarrhea

wreaks relentless havoc

horrid ordeal twists insides

lack strength to live

breathing a laborious effort

bedrest temporarily alleviates

generally healthy ironclad junket

weatherbeaten rickety ship

of state restorative sought trouncing unwell

corporeal self against torture

assailing, castrating, and drubbing existence

avocations ordinarily promulgating

resplendent joie de vivre

squelched, scotched, and sabotaged,

courtesy minuscule mailer daemons

emotions unlikely culprit,

though times gone by anxiety

tindered, pitched, and kindled

abominable irritable bowel syndrome

prescription medication tempered

badgering, crippling, and debilitating

panic attacks plagued this primate

manifesting feeble endeavor

to experience poignant satiation,

asper simple pleasures nonexotic

endeavors merely passively living

as one organic carbon based

human being finding fulfillment

meditating, reading, and writing,

now fleeced, deprived, and blitzed

suspicious disagreeable provender

perhaps lactose intolerance

after enjoying pizza birthday

fours days prior celebrating chronological centenary,

sans one frail resident here,

Highland Manor Apartments

suddenly, I feel chill o' rigor mortis!

Personally I see

Life’s

Ongoing

Varying

Experiment

Levels

Of

Varying

Emotions

Leaving

Overused

Verbs

Empty

i love metaphorical talk but sometimes i just wish someone would tell me the truth

also please don't try to find the meaning in this because there is none

this is just me writing and losing my mind

also it's 2:06 pm and i'm thinking about numbers and letters and colors and how we are all so weak

love doesn't really mean anything, does it?

if you had the choice of who you fell in love with, who would you fall for?

i'd choose to fall for myself because at least then i wouldn't be aching

and the one i loved would never leave or betray me. okay, that is a bit narcissistic

i need a break from humanity for now but please like my poems so i feel like someone gave me a chance even if i never gave myself one

honestly if you are thinking anything remotely negative about me tell me immediately. i need some inspiration.

actually. i take that back. if you hate me, only talk behind my back. i'll know that you hate me but i'll never know how much.

in elementary school when kids called me weird i took it as a compliment. now, looking back, i'm realizing the mistakes i made then and am trying my best to be remotely normal although i hate conformity in this society.

i only tell the truth when i write and when i play music and when i dream. don't you know, you can never lie in your dreams.