I want to be the reason

You rush to come straight home

I want to be your cuddle on the couch

And your decompression zone

I want to be your laughter

On hard and trying days

And the reason for your breathless swearing

In the early morning rays

Ornate cage with views of trees

From this life, why would you flee?

What reason have you? Why do you cry?

When there’s nothing you lack

Except perhaps, the room to fly

The little bird wept

For she knew the price

Of becoming so very well kept

I believe that one of the hardest things is overestimating your place in someone else’s life.

At times, I feel a comfort level that allows me to open up to someone, only to find the feeling is not reciprocated. It makes things really awkward, really fast. For me, more often than not, things are never quite the same after my faux pas. I often regret being vulnerable, yet it continues to happen. It makes me want to give up and fully commit to a hermit lifestyle.

In short, one of the hardest things in my life is… me. I routinely make things more difficult than they should be.

my nose

was born empty.

and when the air

finally learned

to travel

through tubes set up by doctors

and finally entered my lungs

it did not bring with it

the sensation

of scent.

even as i grew

and learned to breathe on my own,

i never smelled

christmas cookies

or bacon frying in the pan.

i remember once, in kindergarten,

the teacher lined up a row of spices.

cinnamon, pepper, salt, and

god knows what else.

she asked us to tell her

what we smelled

and i could not answer.

by grade school,

it became

a joke,

a running gag,

forgotten about until it was

convenient to mention again.

i'd have to remind my friends

when they asked me if i liked

their perfume.

once, my mother lit a scented candle outside my room,

and asked me if it smelled okay.

there was a long silence

and then the two of us burst into laughter.

i don't miss the scent of childhood,

because i never knew it.

i don't mind bad breath

because i'd never notice it.

i'd prefer to dwell on

my strengths:

i'll never wince when cleaning

my cat's litter box.

i never minded

high school dissections.

i'll never shy away

when a dog licks my face

in greeting.

my nose

was born empty.

but i can still

breathe.

Based on my calculations

I can say without hesitations,

due to my consumption and caffeination,

that my taste would reflect the libations,

of a coffee sensation,

black, bitter or sweet,

just depends on the situation.

And just like coffee I smell better than I taste so no need to investigate.

The sin. The sin.

Even though it was a whim,

he took her breath as if

her essence was very thin.

Hold it in, like medicine,

inhaling all this was the regimen.

Only the memories remain

the pleasure and the pain.

Although guilt shall reign

nothing more being the same.

Forevermore

changed.

carefully, carefully

he says with gentleness

the knife enters her skin

"i'm glad you and I are doing this together"

he says with the widest grin

she scream but the sound

is like music to our ears

me and Dad are celebrating

while her eyes fill up with tears

i want to kill her

but "not just yet

we have to make her feel it

i know you're excited, Son

but hold it in, like medicine"

Hold it in, don’t let it slip,

maintain composure,

just don’t let it rip.

Silence lingers and my stomach howls,

A screeching sound, straight from my bowels.

Not here, not now,

tense and contort,

whatever it takes,

not to blow your horn.

A squeak may emerge beyond your control,

but if you relax, it’ll blow your hole.

Just a little longer and then it will be safe,

to let it fly in the right place.

Hold it in,

just like medicine.

But if for too long, it will sing a loud a song.

Spewing a spurting with its own beat,

coming out fast and leaving some heat.

Squirming and sweating in your seat,

praying the moment will soon fleet.