I feel like an Alien.


I’m gliding in the Milky Way

covered in dark matter,

in nothingness that smothers

the soul.


The stardust illuminates my 

Hollow cavity, where “belonging” has 

Rolled out, and is left dying on the floor.


My uncontrollable frizzy curls

are my antenna, reaching the grisly sky.


My mother tongue

is slippery, long, but not normal.

A reptile. A snake.


My skin is green,

Shimmering, as the sun’s laser beams

shoot through my face,

to illuminate the fear dripping from my eyes

and pooling on the ground.


E.T. Phone Home


                 “this is your home”…...


No, it’s not. 


© Maya Nalawade