i clutch a thousand sharp memories,
each one slicing deeper than the last.
HOLDING ON TO YOU,
my hands bleed from gripping threads you once placed in my palms,
threads i thought were mine to carry till the end.
i never cursed the razor strings for cutting deep—
instead, i cursed the crimson spilling from my own hands,
too fragile to hold even the weight of a few fraying strands.

it was never a war between me and them.
it was always me against myself.

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i am that dandelion
that grew up wishing to meet the stars at night
and to kiss the sun when the dawn begins
but the wind won't listen;

now, here i stand
with only my stem sticking out
often wishing to merge with the soil
and to never grow back again: NEVER

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Me skipping my online classes.

Meanwhile somewhere in the world:

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— % & — % &

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— % & — % & — % & — % & — % & — % & — % & — % & — % & — % & — % &

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poem by Mitali Singh & Floridita

// collaboration

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The Month of May, the blossoming month

Has arrived with a heavy rain.

I see the red blossoms in my tree

And the most beautiful bougainvillea
you'll ever see.

The birds are singing their favorite song

And thunderstorms growl all along.

The Month of May,

Gives my garden an opportunity to smile

The earth becomes a beautiful
place to live and die.

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