B by Sarah Kay | Poem No. 14 (NPM2017)


by Sarah Kay
If I should have a daughter,

instead of Mom, she’s going to call me Point B.

Because that way she knows that no matter what happens,

at least she can always find her way to me.
And I’m going to paint the solar systems

on the backs of her hands,

so she has to learn the entire universe before she can say,

“Oh , I know that like the back of my hand.”
And she’s going to learn that this life will hit you


in the face;
wait for you to get back up,

just so it can kick you in the stomach,

but getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way

to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air.
There is hurt here

that cannot be fixed

by Band-Aids or poetry.
So the first time she realizes that Wonder Woman

isn’t coming, I’ll make sure she knows

she doesn’t have to wear the cape all by herself.
Because no matter how wide you stretch your fingers

your hands will always be too small

to catch all the pain you want to heal.
Believe me, I’ve tried.
And Baby, I’ll tell her, don’t keep your nose

up in the air like that, I know that trick;

I’ve done it a million times.
You’re just smelling for smoke

so you can follow the trail

back to a burning house,

so you can find the boy

who lost everything in the fire

to aww if you can save him.
Or else –
find the boy

who lit the fire

in the first place,

to see if you

can change him.
But I know she will anyway.
So instead,

I’ll always keep an extra supply of

chocolate and rain boots nearby,
because there is no heartbreak that chocolate can’t fix.

Okay, there’s a few heartbreaks that chocolate can’t fix.

But that’s what the rain boots are for.

Because rain will wash away everything if you let it.
I want her to look at the world through

the underside of glass-bottom boat,
to look through a microscope at the galaxies that exist

on the pinpoint of a human mind,
because that’s the way my mom taught me-
That there’ll be days like this.

There’ll be days like this, my mama said.
When you open your hands to catch,

and wind up with only blisters and bruises;

when you step out of the phone booth and

try to fly, and the very people you want to

save are the ones standing on your cape;
when your boots will fill with rain,

and you’ll be up to your knees in

And those are the very days you have

all the more reason to say thank you.
Because there’s nothing more beautiful than the way

the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline,

no matter how many times it’s swept away.
You will put the wind in win(d)some,

lose some.
You will put the star in starting over and over.
And no matter how many land mines erupt

in a minute, be sure your mind lands on

the beauty of this funny place called life.
And yes,

on a scale from one to over-trusting,

I am pretty damn naive.

But I want her to know that this world is made

out of sugar: it can crumble so easily, but don’t

be afraid to stick your tongue out and taste it.

I’ll tel her,

remember your mama is a worrier,

and your papa is a warrior, and you

are the girl with small hands and big eyes

who never stops asking for more.
Remember that good things come in three’s.
And so do bad things.
And always apologize when

you’ve done something wrong,

But don’t you ever apologize

for the way your eyes refuse

to stop shining; your voice is small,

but don’t ever stop singing.
And when they finally hand you heartache,

when they slip war and hatred under your door,

and offer you handouts on street-corners of

cynicism and defeat, you tell them that they

really ought to meet your mother.



You can order her book on Amazon and Book Depository




Worst Poetry by Sarah Kay |Poem No. 1 (NPM2017)


Worst Poetry

by Sarah Kay

Without question, you are the worst thing that ever happened to my poetry.

And I’m serious, I’ve heard about writer’s block

but this- is ridiculous.

My poetic fluidity has dried up faster than

a woman hitting menopause to the

point where this dry spells got me praying

for some inspirational discharge to leak

from the folds of grey matter in my brain and…shit!

See what I mean?

I’ve been thinking for far too long

with my heart instead of my head,

and I think people may be starting to notice

and I’ve got a reputation to uphold!

And no it’s not my time of the month, so don’t ask.

Continue reading

Top Three Wednesday: Poems


Welcome to the first Top Three Wednesday! If you are interested to do this please check my previous post.

So for today it is Top Three Poems/Poetry book. Since I have been very fond of poetry, I am here to share you my Top Three Favorite Poems/Poetry Books.

1. No Matter The Wreckage by Sarah Kay

Hahah I think I have repeated this already a trillion times that I am so in love with Sarah Kay’s poetry, her poems spoke to me in such a personal level. Which to be honest her book got me to love poetry more.

Here is my ultimate favorite poem by her.



I had already fallen in love with
far too many postage stamps,
when you appeared on my doorstep,
wearing nothing but a postcard promise.
No. Appear is the wrong word
Is there a word for sucker-punching
someone in the heart?
Is there a word for when you are sitting
at the bottom of a roller coaster,
and you realize the climb is coming,
that you know what the climb means,
that you can already feel the flip in your
stomach from the fall, before you have 
even moved-is there a word for that?
There should be.
You can only fit so many words in a postcard.
Only so many in a phone call.
Only so many into space, before you forget
that words are sometimes used for things
other than filling emptiness.
It is hard to build a body out of words.
I have tried. We have both tried.
Instead of laying your head o my chest,
I tell you about the boy who lives downstairs,
who stays up all night playing his drum set.
The neighbors have complained:
they have busy days tomorrow.
But he keeps on thumping through the night,
convinced, I think, that practice makes perfect.
Instead of holding my hand you tell me about
the sandwich you made for lunch, the way the
pickles fit so perfectly against the lettuce. 
Practice does not make perfect.
Practice makes permanent.
Repeat the same mistakes over and over,
and you don’t get closer to Carnegie Hall.
Even I know that.
Repeat the same mistakes over and over,
and you don’t get any closer.
You – 
never get any closer.
Is there a word for the moment you win
tug-of-war? When the weight gives,
and all the extra rope comes hurtling
towards you, how even though you’ve won.
You still end up with muddy knees and 
burns on your hands?
Is there a word for that?
I wish there was.
I would have said it, when we were finally 
alone together on your couch, neither one of us
with anything left to say.
Still now, I send letters into space,
hoping that some mailman somewhere
will track you down and recognize you
from the descriptions in my poems;
he will place the stack of them in your hands
and tell you, There is a girl who still writes you.
She doesn’t know how not to.
2. Blackbird and Wolf by Henri Cole
This collection of poems by Henri Cole is such a breath of fresh air. Relatable and very timely if I may add. Because of his talent to make you feel more through his poems, he instantly became a favorite poet!



Gravity and Center

I’m sorry I cannot say I love you when you say
you love me. The words, like moist fingers,
appear before me full of promise but then run away
to a narrow black room that is always dark,
where they are silent, elegant, like antique gold,
devouring the thing I feel. I want the force 
of attraction to crush the force of repulsion
and my inner and outer worlds to pierce
one another, like a horse whipped by a man.
i don’t want words to sever me from reality,
I don’t want to need them. I want nothing
to reveal feeling – as in freedom,
or the knowledge of peace in a realm beyond,
or the sound of water poured in a bowl. 
3. Twenty Love Poems by Pablo Neruda
Well, Pablo Neruda will always be one of the pillars of Poetry. So it is no surprise that he is on my Top Three!



Here I Love You

Here I love you.
In the dark pines the wind disentangles itself.
The moon glows like phosphorus on the vagrant
Days, all one kind, go chasing each other.
The snow unfurls in dancing figures.
A silver gull slips down from the west.
Sometimes a sail. High, high stars.
Oh the black cross of a ship.
Sometimes I get up early and even my soul is wet.
Far away the sea sounds and resounds.
This is a port.
Here I love you.
Here I love you and the horizon hides you in vain.
I love you still among these cold things.
Sometimes my kisses go on those heavy vessels 
that cross the sea towards no arrival.
I see myself forgotten like those old anchors.
The piers of sadden when the afternoon moors there.
My life grows tired, hungry to no purpose.
I love what I do not have. You are so far.
My loathing wrestles with the slow twilights.
But night comes and stars to sing to me.
The moon turns its clockwork dream.
The biggest stars look at me with your eyes.
And as I love you, the pines in the wind
want to sing your name with their leaves of wire.
I hope this post made you want to give poetry a try! Have a great Wednesday everyone!