I stay silent between pumpkin soups 

and spiced lattes.

Words can’t explain

this typhoon in my mind and heart.

If not your perfume

Terre d’fancy, I can smell – then,

let your feverish lips 

kiss my forehead in my dreams,

leaving a moist mark.

I was told that merciless criticism 

and ability to grow from it

makes a strong person.

Your ruthless criticism

storms my life.

I crumble and fall.

Where is my growth

and revolution in the way

I was told and taught to love you?

Where is my happiness

if I must obey you?

Let the sudden cold wind

bring fall –

red leaves, red lips, 

red dot on my forehead

ready to walk into 


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