Lost touch

I’m scared I’ve lost my touch.

Lately, my life has been a flip-book,

still frames moving at inexplicable speeds,

with a few accidental delays (thank God for those).                                       

I am a living, breathing body

but my mind is floating somewhere above

unattached but  overwhelmed

with to-do lists and deadlines and trying to get enough sleep,

often a sponge soaked in coffee, awake but not focused.

Sometimes I’m really tired of always having something to do.

Crossing items off lists used to be therapeutic,

but lately it seems like it just makes the tasks multiply;

a constant state of pressure.

I haven’t written a word since March and that scares me.

They say when you go to law school,

they will undo everything you ever learned about writing and rebuild it,

brick by brick,

And that terrified me.

But I was fine until a few months ago

when finals rolled around,

and then work,

and I realized that it wasn’t the writing that changed,

it was that I had no time left to think,

and now I’m sitting here desperately trying to put a pen to paper

and the words are hidden behind thoughts that will not go away,

like what time do I need to set my alarm for?

and how I should really back up everything on my laptop

and how many days I have left to submit note proposals

and do I need to be at court tomorrow?

and I need to answer so many emails

and I need to call the landlord

and…

Labels (Video)

One of my very good friends, Maneetpaul Singh, is incredibly talented with video work so he and I teamed up to create a "Labels" video project :)

Here is the video: 

Labels from Maneetpaul Singh on Vimeo.

Hope you all enjoy it! We'd love for you to spread the love and share the video!


And here is the poem that I wrote for the bookends of the video:

Do not define me by my clothes or the color of my skin

Do not define me by the many shapes that I’ve been in

I am not my weakness or my flaws

I am not the person that I was

Do not condense me to a word

The rest of me will go unheard

And when you see me unconfined

You’ll see that I am not defined

So take this label that I wear

Let it burn into the air

I am not the words that you assign

There’s so much more than meets the eye

Your beautiful mind

I do not care

about the thread count

of the suit you wear

or how much dough you make,

I’m not fascinated

by your imported silk pocket squares

or your fancy steaks

Your stocks and bonds?
I could care less

So you’re a V.I.P.?

I’m not impressed

Don’t tell me about the interiors

of the many cars you own

or how much you paid

for your cologne

I could care less

if you were made of gold

Tell me, how rich is your soul?

I care only for the colors

of the thoughts you paint,

each brushstroke

of what you create

I only want to know

what makes you feel,

your morality, conscience,

and your ideals

I want to know the depths

of your tremendous spirit,

what drives you,

and what you hold dearest

I will define you only by that

which resides in your heart

because that is all that is left

if your world falls apart

I do not care 
for the riches you find

I will only fall

for your beautiful mind

A Genocide

Bullets pouring like rain

upon holy gold

fire upon scripture

five rivers of blood

a mother weeps

a child screams

a father vanishes

villages set ablaze

wiped clean of life

scattered bones and debris

stain cold gray patches

amidst vivid green earth

sisters raped

brothers mangled

truckloads

of bodies

upon bodies

upon bodies

thrown into canals

flooded by death

corruption trickling down

from the top rung

hiding behind shades of lies

perpetrating a genocide

yet we will forever challenge

the raging darkness

we will not let it settle

ashes, ashes

we won’t fall down

Profiled

Wiping the tears from my face

I rolled my carry-on suitcase

into line

glancing back one last time

my parents blew kisses in the distance

I waved back

my heart, terrified

leaving the sanctuary of my home

for the first time

to travel to a foreign land

and as if emotions weren’t running high enough

I was “randomly selected” for additional screening

yet again

I stepped aside as a female officer

took her hands

and ran them along my caramel body

as if I had consented to the humiliation

as if I had a choice

her touch was aggressive

as she patted me down

I looked into her pale face and wondered

if my brown face had set off alarms inside her head

as if the color of my skin meant

that there were explosives hidden in my jeans

or the college sweatshirt I wore

I wanted to tell her

that the weapons of mass destruction

were inside of her mind

and they were destroying my people

with their explosions of ignorance

I wanted to tell her that

I did not consent to be profiled

and neither did the 5-year-old child

that I saw her pull over and search

because her father was wearing a turban

I wanted to tell her that the way she looked at me

was dangerous

because I was sure that not every actual threat

was hiding behind brown skin

I wanted to tell her that though my body felt violated

it was my soul that felt more violated

But she was in a position of power

and I had to catch my flight

so I silenced the rage that boiled inside of me

and let myself become another hushed victim

of a security checkpoint