Revenge of the rainbows

​We are monochrome people, colour blind
Shut our eyes against rainbows 
Turn our face against differences.  
We are monochrome people 
Falling out the ladder, but still on the throne.
There is a stirring in the woods
The banished colors are rising 
When their mutant weapons strike us 
We’ll have nowhere to run. 
There is a stirring in the woods
Let us stay and finish our meal
This might be the last rainbow cake 
That we’d ever get to eat.

Monochromes, surrender!
Aren’t we a wonderful sight to behold? 
Tell me, have you seen anything quite majestic as our King Red? 
Perhaps if we slay you, we might find his cousins in your blood.
Here is Queen Blue! Royal blood reigns in her veins. Look at her bushing bright peacock! 
Ah, and this beauty before you is Princess Purple. Doesn’t she look ravishing in her lilac gown? Princess is a rare magician, you may want to be careful around her. 
This is orange, the optimistic minister. Don’t you see a brightness in his eye, joy splashed across his smile? 
And here is yellow, his wife. The great dancer amongst us. Maybe if you yield, she’d perform a little piece for us. 
I am green, you can trust me with your life. I see beads of sweat on you, black, need I cast a calmness spell? 
The hues behind us are our cousins, different in shades and tones but bound together by blood. 
We have multiplied in disturbing numbers, yes. 
Take a good look at us through your colour blind eyes, 
Take in our tints and let your retinas explode in amazement, 
And tell me, ladies 
Answer me, gentlemen 
Are you sure that it’s war that you want? 
Infinities of uniqueness suppressed for so long against your vain incestuous crowd? 
Before we storm your bland castles and paint ourselves onto your walls, 
Let’s try our luck at a gray compromise, shall we?
Join us and let us colour this world together.


​To the love poems I don’t write

To the love poems I don’t write.

How do I write you when you’re so painfully broken. Your cracks are hurdles my pens can’t cross. You have burned bridges that lead to your heart. Tell me, how do I write you if you dont feel? How do I write you if you stay this numb. I want you to think, to act, to feel. I cannot drink from a frozen ocean. Your kingdom erupts in fury every second but simmers down the next. I want you to start a war if that’s what it takes to bring yourself back. Do you not want yourself back. Let me write you and show you ways to heal. Screw hospitals, I’ll operate on you myself. I know spells that’ll make you laugh. I know words that’ll take your mind off men. You are love, you have a universe of subjects to shower yourself upon and I’ll show you what’s worth the time. You are oceans of happiness, stop resting by the dry shores of regret. Don’t you remember the days when your volcanoes poured out passion and their lava felt sweet. Let’s ink them back to life. Together. You are everything but heartache. Everything but fractures and holes. You are love, pure and unadulterated. You give, you lose, you give again and you give more. That’s your mechanics, that’s how you work. End this hiatus. Open that void up for public visitation. Fix yourself and let me write you like I used to, with sunshine and mirth.

​she is a dying storm. her time is up, she’s riled enough people to keep her history alive. her flame is out. the hollow in her voice is a virus waiting to spread. her cracked head is leaking out secrets. baptize her in ignorance and marry her to death. anoint her burdened head with honey and milk. drown her in the acid of her own lies. watch her wriggle out of her body, soul intact. bathe her in new waters, wash away every flicker of memory she holds to herself. punch holes in her. let her breathe through them. punch holes in her. let her learn to endure luster and not just enjoy it. paint wings on her and whisper to her the secrets of flight. point to the skies above. tell her they’ve been waiting for her. tell her she’s the universe’s latest baby and it needs her back. show her how dark the night is and tell her why. tell her her sins have earned her respect. push her off the edge and ask her to fly. watch her fail and pretend to cry.

​To the rebels in my mind,
I’m sorry I didn’t let you into bedrooms or halls, where the best versions of me partied. Fear had gotten the best of me and I wept everyday for normalcy. I’m sorry I shut you up in the attic, sorry I shoved you in with my devils and rotting old lovers. I’m sorry i blew your candles out before they could warm my soul. Sorry I came at your dreams with fix it kits; sorry I told you how awfully broken they were, although in reality, they were the only ones that weren’t. I am sorry.
Now your corpses rub against my skin, turning them blacker than hate. Your dreams still bleed through my wrists and I wonder if this is how you take revenge, like a slow tsunami waiting for the right current. Black eye for a black eye, murder for murder. 

I promise you, I regret it all, and not because you have shown me your tricks with the knives. I regret it all, I have burned these murderous hands of mine a hundred times to get the stink of shame off them. 

I regret it all.

I try to bring you back, stand on knees to every God and every devil. I pick up the pieces of the revolutions you planted and try to put them back together. There’s always a piece missing. Perhaps it’s the will, perhaps it’s your rebellious screams that I strangled at their infancy. 

I am so sorry. 

I see you rise from your graves. A civil war comes with casualties and I cannot risk to kill more of my own species. I yield. The rebellion is yours to lead.


​There’s a cat in my mouth, I call her gloomxiety. Her body stretches down to my lungs, her tail is wrapped around them tight like they’re her life support. She robs me of my breath, a guaranteed slow death. Her claws are caught between the knots of my tongue. I taste blood and despair, murder and birth. 

Gloomxiety is terribly hungry. Trapped in the cavities of my teeth, she seeks her prey. Words. From mind to mouth, she traces their path. Plots destruction and hunts them down, one by one. Some are trapped in her whiskers, some perish at her claws. My mouth has become a battlefield for words. They fight for release, for a parted lip. A long  life in somebody’s memory. They fight and fail. My jaws cradle a ghost town. A graveyard of forgotten speech. I reek of blood and dictionary meanings.

Gloomxiety is growing in size, as the population around me grows less. She’s claimed me, body and soul. I’m a mere colony in her empire of stolen histories.Her tummy growls. I hear unspoken words howl. They float in her bile and screech.

Gloomxiety is about to explode. Her pot belly pokes my closed lips. Her green eyes hold the darkness of death. Her eyelids droop down in a demonic moan.Crack. crack. crack. An explosion of expletives, loving words and proper replies. Out. Out. Out. It’s a mad rush. A stampede of coherence. The cat is dead. I spit out her carcass. I breathe, I laugh. I’m about to celebrate, but something is wrong.

The meow of a motherless kitten, plotting revenge, reverberates in my throat. 

Uh oh. Cat got my tongue.