You will find me in places
where streets are jungles of people
that smell of old history books.
You will find me walking,
avoiding familiar eyes,
searching for strange ones
where you will find me looking
at yellow brown pupils,
holding sandpaper hands with
fingers circling the middle of my palms
with fingers filling the gaps of my hands,
feeling the woolen texture of
light green and black horizontal stripes of colors;
they speak a foreign language
but is so similar to my soul.
And when his lips brush against mine,
You will fine me in closed eye lids
where you will find me
in the pit of my diaphragm
with strange butterflies that
do not stop tickling
with heart that stops for a while
entirely following the traffic lights of the body,
forgetting the frailness of universe, of future,
of everything scary.
You will find me in strengths of my legs when I run,
when the air holds my hair and I smile,
when the ground forgets to map out our gravity
and she lets me float.
You will find me in gullies,
old meeting places where a jasmine tree blooms,
where poets gather and skate boards hang out with
skeleton masks, glass castles, stairs made of trees.
You will find me.
Not where I should be found.
But you will find me,
Broken down and breathing
In key holes and red stages of dreams,
where a shadow follows me around,
showers through my thoughts,
embellishes in me, in the past,
where you will find me in
oversize school uniforms,
mute and alone in the corner of a bench
not knowing how to end,
how to find arteries in my neck,
pills in the cabinet.
Unable to smile,
stop tears in the dingy toilet,
in a big school,
where you will find me lost,
confined in libraries,
pink books, glossy magazines,
where you will find me
wishing to be a girl with pink rosy cheeks,
uniform that fits and
sound that does not liquefy in big halls,
with smile that does not force itself.
You will find me in the past,
the lost hopes that were crippling,
and darkness that was blinding, maddening,
shrilling images of green pen,
angry hand written letters to god,
burned down ashes,
candle waxes stuck in the table.
You will find me waiting for electricity,
for energy to touch my feet in the ground,
You will find me in struggles,
basic teenage years,
Never knowing who friends were,
Never knowing my insides that
flickered, failed to light up,
tried to light up,
failed to light up,
until twenty people clicked three of their fingers together.
You will find me in a washing machine poem,
you will find me in a brazen millet field, under million stars,
with porridge bowls,
with Allah’s favorite people,
smelling of polar ice cigarettes
and dusty mud,
plastered cow dung and
love that sounded like river flowing along the banana groves.
You will find me
when I smelled of molten agar,
bacillus stained in slides,
alcohol rubs, Bunsen burners,
You will find me in dreams.
Because that is where I dwell.
Because all the places that you will find me in are
all the places that my dreams dream of
when I am wide awake.
And you will find me wide awake,