Diaspora

Sometimes I want to return home

But then

Being at home makes me feel like a long lost cousin

Who has over stayed her welcome

And that makes me want to return home

Which begs the question

Where is home?

Second-hand Sweethearts

I have collected hearts over the years

Some have stayed
Some have left
The rest I have kept captive

My second-hand sweethearts

These are the ones that bleed me dry

I give them everything
My love, my heart, my soul
My life, my body, my gifts

I give till there's nothing left to give
Then I give some more

My second-hand sweethearts

I give till it kills me
Because it kills me
Because sometimes dying, is living

My second-hand sweethearts

You were never mine to begin with
Fairly-used is never as good as new
Alaha human iyol