2023 aug

  • how did i come upon a place

    where i am afraid of the soft bed of dandelions

    that float with me

    how did i come upon a time

    when i chase sunset before sunrise

    a doggedly hunt - an endless sprint

    how did i come upon you

    your words softer than a curtain of dandelions

    your touch on my shoulder quiets a rushing sun

    you, who takes my hand

    you, who looks in my amber eyes

    me, without a word or place or time

  • burn burn this fire until i am nothing but light

    spend my wax figure with no patience,

    no schedule, no care.

    take my eyes, i need them no more.

    just hand and heart will do.

    just flow and fall as i do.

    take me, i need me no more.

    as long as searing light of my mind

    my work, my work,

    can be seen by you.

    the searing pain, old friend

    i am you, this stab. stab!

    a prickle a thorn

    a haze a black

    for the sake of light,

    dip me in acid,

    plunge me to nothing.

  • torch this paper body

    crumple this torched body

    drench this ashen remain

    float me to sea. see!

    this is quite a sunset, isn't it?

    the pinks blend well with the clouds.

    i pause, then i sink below once again

    as night falls.

    this is quite a valley, isn't it?

    i wouldn't know. yet. but i'm on my way

    this passage is narrow,

    my tattered shirt does little to cover

    gashed torso, littered with thorns

    ive collected along the way.

    in the black of passage

    so narrow even moonlight cant comfort me,

    know two things:

    one. i am alone,

    like i always am.

    two. i will make it through,

    like i always do.

    most of me, at least.

    who needs a left arm or a leg anyways?

2023 jul

  • jingmei night market is best served

    after dinner after hours and after sunset

    a wave, gentle puddles listen to passing motorbike

    a maze, with ever-increasing note of stinky tofu

    lit by flourescent tubes two at a time

    wet by cracks in the metal awnings

    jingmei night market is best served

    from a height of four foot and

    led by mother’s hand

    with childlike draw to the row of pinball machines

    jetlagged when we return every year in june, it seems

    return, or “hui”, or “go back again”

    jingmei night market is best served

    as a warm bowl of nostalgia,

    a harbor, a warm hug,

    a known, a familiar place,

    memories i’ve long forgotten

    but a taste i’ll never forget.

2023 jun

  • wrists of a dancer

    fingers of a lover

    palm of a giver

    hands of a maker

    lovely hands,

    often i don't treat you well

    i ask much of you -

    to fight my fights

    to paint my color

    to hold tightly those i will lose soon

    but i don't return the favor.

    for that, i'm sorry.

    dear hands,

    please know i treasure your wisdom

    i'm scared more often than you know

    and you only shiver when i tremble most

    brave hands,

    you, iris of weight

    you, cup forgotten years

    you, who shape my world

  • my greatest fear is mediocrity.

    but not mediocrity compared to you

    or you, or you

    i have lost you so long ago

    i fear a mediocre version of myself

    a watered down

    an underseasoned

    a pastel version

    of me, hwang wen li, for all to see

    a half dimmed

    quarter quartered

    holed version

    of myself not worth remembering

    grey, grey,

    grey. blacks. whites.

    but not all the way, so still grey.

    just grey on grey version of today

    afraid,

    hiding in the corner shadows of my rooms,

    but emboldened by the setting sun.

    so perhaps that's why i wrap walls

    wrap my floors, wrap myself

    in color on color on life on love on color.

    perhaps that's why my greatest fear is me

  • the adventures this day will take me

    as i walk this morning,

    between my second and third coffee,

    i notice a thread loose on my torn shirt

    pull! pull!

    mountains of memories

    hide only rivers to be rediscovered

    a tune plays in my body

    pull! pull! where to next?

    "how did i get here?"

    im not entirely sure

    "where am i headed?"

    i don't need to answer that

    "why not?"

    that's not the point

    "then what's the point?"

    there is no point. thats the point.

    pull pull!

    tie me up, bundle of love and tears and all

    tear me up, fumble my love and fears and all

    pull pull!

    let's create a place without time

    a valley valley, we'll share it just us.

    so let's move it, double time.

  • the s would soften everything

    curve would waterfall off my dress

    grace would stand by me

    sisterhood would be natural

    the br would soften everything

    soft enough for your head to rest

    just enough for me to smile in a mirror

    i wish i was a woman

    i wish i was womanly

    how awful of me to think

    is there something wrong with my head

    am i losing it

    i wish i was a woman

    i wish i was womanly

    i wish you would see me as such

    then why don't you?

    why can't i?

    i'm not... and i'll never be

    i'll never pass. so what's the point.

    what an awful thought.

    i wish i was a woman

    i wish, oh how i wish

    i wish it wasn't such a big deal

    i wish i just was.

  • hey, hi, it’s me.

    yes, yeah, it’s me. calling from forever, where we finally ended.

    yeah, no, skies are clear here, no chance of rain. no chance.

    no im not sure what you’re up to these days,

    we don’t talk like that anymore.

    but that’s ok. that’s ok.

    yes, love, yes. we had a good run

    no chance i’d forget. no chance.

    yeah we grew together,

    that spot by the water from last night became our spot

    i cared for you through it all,

    i slept on your lap that weekend

    you carried My Heavy when i lost it that week

    but as things go, as all great things go,

    the third act caught us hair still wet, shirt unbuttoned

    yeah it was just before 4 months, just before 3 years, just before 2nd sunrise. too soon.

    no, no, we didn’t stand a chance. no chance.

  • where do i stand?

    i stand in with the stand outs

    the outliar outcast outer

    space thinkers

    irrational dream makers

    chronic risk takers

    what do i stand for?

    the contemplating

    soul sinking

    deep feeling

    feeling sharing

    sharing. sharing!

    who do i stand by?

    the give gluttonily type

    the rising tide all boats type

    the lookout headsup text me when you're back safe type

    who do i stand with?

    i stand with The Good Ones

    The Beloved Loved

    The Overdo It All Lover Too

    The I'm Growing Still Not Done

    Never Done Growing Ones

    where do i stand?

    breath close enough to kiss

    but in a friendly sort of way

    I stand by you, my friend.

    I stand by you in our garden of assortment

    I stand with, I learn with, I am of,

    you. Of us.

2023 may

  • the outfit today is denim with lint clouds

    when time is right, discover gold.

    midas finger paints, his canvas is anything above horizon.

    a masterpiece that glints off windows where cityfolk scrunch

    in the kitchen, egg is scrambled yellow

    milk is added until just right

    light the stove. dance as fire twirls,

    dance as you do, dance as Sun

    sings lullaby to us.

    we yawn a long yawn

    blue again, this time

    a darker luminance, a navy hue.

    shadows now silhouette

    lights shout louder

    and louder! they chirp

    and scream and burn! loud!

    then, lavender quiet

    silent duvet invites us in

    to spend the next eight hours

    as sun sleeps, i am warmed by you

    tonight is our last sunset

    we just don’t know it yet.

  • black hair brown eyes

    and body kissed all over by sun

    black hair, brown eyes

    and painted heart

    bleeding at its seams

    black hair brown eyes

    and layer upon layer

    of thick skin, scored and gauzed

    but too stubborn to bow

    black hair black hair too black

    brown eyes brown eyes too small

    lips too big too big

    nose too small too small

    sketched torso

    too skinny too short

    two hands two hands with a story to tell

    and voice of stone lion, plated in brass.

    shout not with pink tongue,

    but with careful step of sharpened claw

    colored for fun

    one eye glints the moon

    “how dare they”

    unkept hair drips of river styx

    “how dare i”

    black hair, brown eyes,

    garnish my brazen skin.

  • i finally fold my laundry

    i eat my first meal at 3pm

    i finished editing a scene draft today

    as i hang up my sweatshirt i cry

    i dont ask why anymore

    i think to myself

    i am quite productive for how sad i am

    i hang up my clothes, fold my bed

    what's the point

    in a few short days it'll all be on the ground again

    i don't sleep on the bed anymore

    i prefer the couch or the floor these days

    this is how it is

    a constant back and forth with myself

    the highs are high the lows are low

    often at the same time

    frozen dumplings

    that's all i have that could be considered a meal

    left in my fridge

    i don't like admitting it but

    i know it'll be the only meal i eat today

    i spent the afternoon in a cafe

    i thought it would cheer me up

    i got work done, but i think i forgot to ask

    for saturday goodness in my latte

    the dumpling's are done

    and i'm not done folding my laundry

    i can't even get one thing done

    these dumplings better be good

    i feel it'll send me down a spiral if they're not

    they're burnt

    and so am i

  • co-written with jun

    first it was winter, then all was ablaze

    summer’s chagrin, the blush on your wings

    time stops in the intersection

    where paper wings meet paper hearts

    and the stroke of a leafy arm brings forth the tide

    free as a bluebird

    flammable as flash cotton

    where you danced, a wisp remains

    it is commonly known

    that a butterfly, well, flutters.

    wings thin and crumpled

    so as not to cast shadow on this afterwork sun

    glimpse of spotted color darts

    without care for lines or zebras

    only stopping for milkweed, to people watch,

    to window shop but never buy

    (it's cash only, butterflies don't carry cash)

    between the hour of six and seven tonight

    will we dance as butterfly pauses stoplight

  • co-written with jun

    forget the kindling

    we'll strike match straight to log

    the bark will scathe and tumble

    around me, fragile but covered,

    protected only by wood, dead as night.

    you have arranged carefully to hide me

    from mysteries of this endless forest

    where even cicadas do not dare venture

    each tree begins to bleed a sweet and viscous sap

    there’s gold up here, they say, gold in the mountains

    and in these moments i believed it too

    the aspens, the foliage, all filigree and full

    of rococo splendor.

    this is how autumn lays siege

    to the rocky stronghold of the mountains

  • im at the flower section

    with my mom

    picking out flowers for her mom.

    a woman walks up next to me

    i glance at her

    she glares at the flowers

    i think to myself,

    "wow what a cold person"

    but theyre at the flower section, too

    but theyre choosing carefully, too

    i wonder what life is like

    from behind the wall of drinks

    pushing forth jugs of juice

    in their neat little rows.

    i hope theyre dressed warm enough

    with that sweater

    that mom gifted them

    at the cashier, his name is Joe

    I wonder how many jokes

    he gets about that every day,

    must be tiring.

    he smiles when my mom makes the joke

  • I’ve decided it takes me 23 days to be one with New City

    On First Day, I adjust to light

    By sunrise I rise Two, face East

    to run street quiet as toe hugs concrete

    Five is about exploration

    much, perhaps too much

    fast, perhaps not fast enough

    vibrant, perhaps just enough

    With Thirteenth Moonfall

    fill closet with all sort of color

    heart closest with all sort of lover

    sun visits so iris will bleed red-pink

    Moonrise Fourteen

    light dims and grey binds

    Seventeen, adjust light to me

    By Evening of Eighteen,

    I have my favorites

    my favorite route if I were to travel West

    to my favorite neighborhood

    where I seek my favorite humans

    in my favorite cafe

    By Night of Nineteen

    I decide these are no longer my favorites

    Who am I to have favorites, anyways?

    Twenty

    wander aimlessly, smile carelessly

    Twenty One was supposed to be mine

    but I spent it staring at a wall

    sipping water from leaking cup

    I feel I am home, by Twenty Two

    at least home enough, for now.

    I sink into designer sectional and time slows

    Dawn again, this time of Twenty-Three

    comes with a sudden urge to leave

    Soon, I know, sudden too.

    And so I run, like I always do,

    In search of myself

    but I’ve been here all along

  • i wish i could write songs to remember us,

    three and a half minutes at a time.

    but for now, a poem will do.

    i remember how we built a pillow fort

    on that first night.

    how we wandered to nowhere

    on our first date,

    warmed by stolen chamomile from panera

    on that windy november day.

    i remember how we fell too quickly

    and started writing together before

    i left too suddenly. i remember suddenly,

    i remember it all.

    right up to how we ended

    when you sent a simple text.

    i get it,

    i really get it,

    you just can't trust me anymore

    not after what i had to do

    for me to be myself.

    i get it. our tulip was planted before winter.

    and we never stood a chance.

    we agreed the timing was all wrong,

    didn't we?

    but we had to try. we had to.

    and it all went wrong, didn't it? all wrong

    just like we feared. like we feared.

    "don't worry too much about us,

    we'll be ok. ok?"

    you had said to me over the phone.

    you're right, it's ok, it'll be ok.

    we'll save our love story

    for another life, my chamomile.

    an adventure of another lifetime,

    my lost love.

    they'll sing songs of us

    my gosh, will they sing songs.

    but for now, a poem will do.

    a poem for you will have to do.

  • read a poem like you would walk on a day with no plans and the weather is nice nicer than the need to get to a particular destination instead lets just sit with this word a little longer and think and feel it and hold it on our tongue like a sour plum while we suckle its sour sweetness from the pit saliva coats the back of our necks which is fine because we don't need to talk hardly at all just read and walk and listen and breathe

  • 48 hours to get to know you

    if i had 48 hours to get to know you, here’s what I’d do. Maybe we’d meet at month end, maybe Moon will let us cheat an extra day or so.

    If I had 48 hours left to know you, I’d begin with a hug. Start the clock! We’ll walk along sunset river, as ichor soon cools to lilac, as we borrow warmth to coat our words.

    If I had 46 hours left I’d notice your smile, your monochrome dress, the way your eyes linger on me when i am looking at the 45 clouds. I’d count the 44 inches between our shoulder. Soon to be 43, I’ve learned from sun how to slip ever so closer to you my skyline, you my view.

    If we had 40 hours left we’ll be left to wander midnight river and you’d brush your hand against mine. 36 times, one too many times for coincidence. It’d be a dinner party! You, me, you, me, you, me, you, me. Seats chosen for most eloquent conversation to warm you on this summer night and lit by a rather shy waning loon.

    If we had 32 left I’d ask to kiss you. The next hour we’d talk in tongues. The next hour we’d talk in body. The next hour we’d talk in body.

    At 26 hours to go we’d stall the sun best we can. No rush, only us. Walk slow like someone who can afford to lose time. Because if we pretend enough, maybe time will forget to punch our hours.

    At 14 left in the early hours of new day we’d sit by the riverbank, feet hanging over the water. This view of starry buildings and single streetlight and occasional passing headlight is our slice of cake - to share, eaten with very tiny forks. We blow out the candlelight, wish the sunlight could wait just a bit longer.

    But these summer nights are in a hurry and sun rises early anyways, so the last hour we’d dedicate to goodbyes. Tears and puddles of sunrise fall onto your bed. As i watch you prepare for your day, I smile. You’re so cute in that monochrome dress, you know?

    Goodbyes, I have decided, are a beautiful thing. We don’t mark goodbyes for things not notable. With a goodbye and a bow we decide how to finish our adventure book, packaged then signed then stamped then delivered all too soon. I am comforted to know then, that the last 48 hours holds weight. Brine of collected river words, bowl of coalesced tears, beads of condensed moments.

  • a reply to your heart's notes (in notes app light mode)

    heads or tails? i wish i could choose you. i wish it was simpler, we had more time, we had met earlier, we were in the same city. a mostly empty cardboard box of memories we have yet to have sits in my entryway where we would've dropped a memento for each adventure we'd share. concert tickets, pens that have run dry, movies we'll watch, my hoodies you'd borrow but never return. this cardboard box, mostly empty, is closed now and taped up. i've written our initials on it and i will care for it forever.

    you see, the wonderful thing about tape is that if the time comes i can cut open our box with a quick cut. if, not when. we'll tear our hearts open as well. if, not when. fill up that box and another one and another one. if, not when. for one thing we can't do is say we know the future. even a simple coin flip is driven by entropy beyond comprehension, and so maybe that box will stay closed forever. maybe it will be just one of many. all that we can rest knowing is that our memories already stored inside are safe, treasured, a perfect blend of monochrome color.

2023 apr

  • once again, it was over

    when did river go south?

    was it when we folded our paper map

    and tried to find our way over ever-shorter message

    no punctuation, annotation, enunciation.

    that would be too serious.

    when was it over?

    what started as a trickle of mountain water

    in the dead of winter

    soon picked up leaves and dirt and bitter.

    soon shoulder and drag and pull

    baggage we find. Heavy and Errant.

    i said to a friend recently,

    we say goodbye a hundred hundred times more

    than we say hello

    and so my heart breaks a hundred hundred more

    than it has loved

    Why does all water run south and downhill?

    Why does all water muddle when I touch it?

    I dont want to keep counting to a hundred hundred anymore.

  • I look into mirror of April.

    This moment has happened before,

    hasn’t it?

    Last year, when flowers bloomed.

    Last time snow melted.

    Hand of time has delivered me back

    I am here, in cradled petal,

    in quiet pond, not a ripple to disrupt.

    When I was ten I remember

    napping on my father’s lap,

    after I drew drowsy from dessert.

    His voice rumbled as he cracked his same old jokes

    to Uncle and Grandma,

    as he fought to grab the check.

    When I was twelve I said goodbye

    to all my friends.

    I left home, singular then,

    a quiet acre-wide suburb house by a farm, with a yard.

    I left my hundred firefly friends

    that I’d see when new corn was planted

    but not yet tall.

    When I was eighteen I said goodbye again

    to City of Moon, crowded with sprawling sin - the good kind.

    Shanghai, my second home,

    you will never be mine again.

    When I returned it was spring again.

    I smelled of worn boots and pacific spray.

    My petals bloom new colors, but my roots are old.

    I left when snow was just starting to fall.

    My heart as well.

  • When I met you, I asked your name

    so I could hold you on my tongue as I melt

    savoring your sweet, garnished with

    quietest leaf weaving in wind. Intertwined

    as if breeze knows your name too.

    …

    When we next talked it was to say goodbye

    you had made up your mind

    we never had our one more conversation,

    instead,

    packaged into a single text for our convenience.

    And so we let the credits roll.

    Your name comes up,

    still as sweet.

  • This started as the sunniest day

    I laugh when you twirl through field of butterflies

    You smile as I run through forest of forevergreen,

    Late afternoon cast fog,

    We kept missing each other’s hands.

    Taunted by Gates of Fire,

    you are burned, I am lost.

    Tonight

    I am finally one with clouds.

    my mind clear for me,

    my heart ready for you.

    But it’s too late

    “Too Late,” my shadow as of late

    I’m too late

    the star is no more.

    Imploded,

    In it’s place, a shattered rock nebula

    a hundred hundred pieces rain.

    Purple blue nothingness if we stare long enough.

    Do i just let this blooming sun wither?

    It already has.

    All we have left to do is pick up its pieces

    Goodbye, my Chamomile.

    I had hoped we’d see firefly nights

    to pair with our butterfly mornings.

    Maybe under another sun.

  • im 135 pounds

    ive tried to add weight

    maybe in time i'll be well rounded

    and well adjusted

    tear at this seasoned meat

    by our 40th, 50th, 60th, to the bone.

    not enough. i am not enough.

    fragile skin and atrophied muscle

    can no longer hold this

    heavy breast.

    luckily, my hand is well crafted

    and light as a feather

    late night might as well be morning

    wished upon a bone

    im broke now.

    i forget to feed myself leftovers.

    i lose 5 pounds again.

  • What does it mean to write half a poem?

    is it to stand on bridge

    across river of unknown width?

    where mudbanks will smoosh

    river walks, rise with tide

    drains with fading memory of today.

    What does it mean to write half a poem?

    is it union of droplets shoddily cobbled together

    wisp of cloud ever-dying under summer sun

    never to rain so lilac only wilts?

    What does it mean to write half a poem?

    Maybe I’ll only write one half poem ever.

    Then I’ll sleep knowing I’ve lived a full life.

    Please tell me, I’m asking for real this time.

    What does it mean to write half a poem?

    is it to write until my ink bleeds dry?

    before i am all but stretched and

    left writhing until Saturday’s full moon

    “Hmm, tonight I’ll do a liter of blood for ounce of ink,

    that should hold me over until next month.”

  • this poem is not about you.

    i fell for the idea of you, after all;

    or rather, ideas of you, from you.

    for your mind bleeds ichor

    dipped in River Black for contrast.

    your body merely an easel

    for your hand, a vessel

    for your graphite, shadow

    upon shadow to your liking.

    A stunning portrait:

    “You More Than You.”

    20 x 23.

    Ichor on Paper.

  • sometimes we discuss

    the infinite wisdom of stars,

    or how inevitable waves are

    sometimes we conjure intricate curves

    of feminine strength and masculine delight

    shaded by falling moon

    sometimes we just doodle flowers

    and laugh until rising sun

    Goodbye, my Moon.

    We knew we’d run out of night by April dawn.

    But I’m not hungry for breakfast

    or Ocean’s Fate just yet.

    So can we just tend to our

    fading star just a bit longer.

  • when we last kissed

    we shared a street corner

    it was raining ever so slightly

    your body slipped through my hands

    and it was a quiet fall

    just like before

    you whispered in my ear

    “you’ve left carvings

    and inscriptions on my soul”

    my heart broke in that moment

    for the second time that month.

    carvings and inscriptions

    are for archeologists to find

    carvings and inscriptions

    are to be buried under well written sediment

    layered and folded and creased

    poem after poem after poem

    “good night,” I reply.

    “I’ll see you tomorrow”

    Problem is,

    Midnight Rain Washes All

    And I particularly love the colors of today’s sunset.

    But I leave anyways. I must. I check my bags for

    charger, phone, water bottle

    but i never looked to take

    our silent moments and shared stories

    those are intentionally left behind

    for us to find in a year or maybe

    we’ll leave it up to the archeologists.

  • one day

    i'll lay down my brush

    and draw the line that never ends

    i'll follow soft curve of my breasts

    down to my chipped pinky toe

    ink black as night

    visible in sunrise that lasts forever

    where lonely clouds

    change shape, form

    borrow each others colors

    but hide when sun slips above skyline

    brush will lift at times,

    almost lift off canvas

    but hang on, even if by a single thread

    my forever line will reach sky where no

    bird has dared venture

    or died

    here i will fall

    fall like a leaf like arrow like i do

    its 5 am.

    i share quiet solitude

    with love stories that began last night

    but not mine

    it's 5 am. wake up. its time to live

    the shadows are only getting shorter

    good morning my moon

    say hi to her for me, will you?

  • it's summer now

    the days are longer

    and our texts are shorter

    i cant quite remember

    the way your face felt

    when i traced my fingers

    from the top of your nose

    across your forehead

    and lingered on your cheek

    eroded bodies

    are often forgetful, aren't they?

  • when you return home

    you paint. if not, then what else?

    twenty portraits, in fact, drawn

    again and again

    as you remake yourself

    to become yourself

    when I return to my home

    far too far from yours

    I write twenty poems

    one for each day I loved you.

    I remiss this time, this place, this us.

    arrangement of consonants

    glued by melody of vowels

    Ink will not dilute like my mind does

    But always a poorly rendered imitation

    not even close to what it felt like

    to be next to you.

    this latest one is called

    “What is love but intentional desire?”

  • just once i want to feel like

    i had a say in the matter.

    that i could’ve done something,

    anything,

    to keep us together.

    no circumstance, or distance,

    or chance. just one dance.

    it doesn’t have to be forever, either.

    i’d just like to know

    which verse

    precedes the last chorus.

  • there were 3 wontons left

    and mother gave me 3

    she didn't hesitate

    i didn't notice

    she could see clearly

    into the bottom of her bowl

  • They say you have to lose your mind to find your soul

    losing my mind was the easy part.

    nobody mentions the burning of this forge

    poundage of this hammer anvil body.

    as we build our watch tower.

    We ran out of girders a few stories ago.

    Now, the Scavengers brought us wheelbarrow

    of ancient blades.

    that we now restore and lay

    grate, edge side up,

    as we build our clock tower.

    To make dulled blade sharp we begin slow -

    pick a low carbon soft steel

    accepting of other soft steels,

    in its austenite form.

    After liquid burn and quenched twice

    steel is now brittle, daggerous,

    sharpened, lonely.

    Only then is steel regaled,

    only then is steel healed,

    only then do we add blade to our spired tower.

    As we walk,

    edge divides bloodied flesh.

    Better than the tumble from the 23rd floor

    to join the 22 other bodies.

  • on monday

    i fell in love with the color green

    the way the leaf half-covers the sky

    the way my toe sinks in bed of greens

2023 mar

  • you run gentle fingers across My Ink

    lines and scribbles of my heart

    suddenly make sense.

    they're notes, and i read them.

    what bdoes it mean to live a life

    and dream of These Quiet Nights

    side by side?

    to find someone of your voice even once?

    your music taste same as mine.

    not just what i enjoy, for i enjoy a lot.

    not just what i would dance to in passing,

    for i dance a lot.

    a melodious coffee cake

    not too sweet,

    with aftertaste amiss

    your eyes the same amber as mine

    if we're lucky,

    under certain light we might even see

    your iris swirls of collapsed star

    a nebulous silence hungry and shouting

    in the pause befv wore you respond

    to a question i ask

    (questions often unrelated

    to anything or anyone at hand)

    i smile. i know in a just few ticks of time,

    i'll feel full body with just your voice

    with echo that lasts until sunrise

    with notes of forever

    or at least Tuesday

    for who needs Wednesday

    when we have right now?

  • Dear January Me.
    You did it. You did it. You did it. You did it. You did it. You did it. You did it.
    I’m so proud of you, of me, of us.
    my mind, a balanced chaos of resonant frequency.
    Driven insane still, obsessed most certainly,
    but not by Them, by Me. By Me Only.
    perhaps I am still so deathly terrified of April Me who I have yet to know.

    Perhaps I am heartbroken once again,
    with torn heart twice again
    (both my fault, I will admit).

    Perhaps I am still uncertain more often than not,
    having taken the path of current that knows of no tomorrow.
    But I am alive, certainly more so than before.

    I’ve never felt this happy.
    I love life.
    January Me, I know you haven’t said that in a while.
    But I said it today. and i said it yesterday. And so if you ask me, it was all well worth it after all.
    I did it. I did it. I did it. I did it. I did it. I did it. I did it.
    And it’s all thanks to you, January Me.

  • there's something about lined notebooks
    that make me not want to draw
    pre-inked farmland fertile only for letter
    yielding occasional weedy punctuation

    a blank page offers imagination
    green, go-ahead for JOY
    words will fall off bleeding pen
    to odd ever growing decanter

    what is a letter but scribble?
    someone's father's father's father
    determined a small circle the language of love
    decided a slanted cross would be death of love

    what is a character
    but a dead illustrator's rendition?
    someone's mother's mother's mother's mother
    determined two lines are human
    what's fitting for me, perhaps,
    文 looks sister to 女

    my illustrative semantic perhaps wordy
    fitting for illustrious wordly harmony

  • you prefer pencil, you always have.
    gradient light is spilled liquid
    light of no gender, neither do we.
    line by line you direct chaos to your liking.
    for you, you decide. you decide
    the fate of when graphite ends.
    how deep shadows are, the wind you hold
    along small arch of your back.

    the peace of pen, for me,
    is the weight body carries.
    we shoulder consequences of ink.
    i create gradient in black and white
    no grey, no color, no minute sands.

    just touch or not touch, it’s quite simple really,
    it’s a choice we made.

    and we chose us.

  • only on paper

    can i make love to Chaos.

    Pen, if you shake that is because i shake

    if you cry, i cry. shout. live.

    In Ink we shall

    tell story of what brilliant joys

    and horrendous deeds

    in these depths i have been

    when Chaos has ruled me.

    Chaos, redrawn to my likeness.

    He is now caged in ink

    so i can hear grass sway,

    search quietly, my Valley.

    Pen, take my hand.

    May I have this last dance with you?

  • The heart collapses, and a vacuum forms
    hollow chest soon to follow.
    Puddle on ground, asphalt of me.
    Carcass drips from couture.

    We submerge
    sink to but a ripple.
    what begins as a twitch of the finger
    soon to be wrenched wrist
    bend arm to shift shoulder

    Perfect harmony is Controlled Chaos.
    I invited her to dinner once before,
    where she carefully consumed us.

    After dessert we dance
    until all guests retire to Winter’s beckoning.
    But you stay
    we dance until twine of candle wax collapses
    under weight of holding light.
    we hold these moments in memory forevermore
    however smudged, liquid, corroded

    mold hip to that of second harmonic
    i clutch you
    knuckles fore count, my love foremost, for you

  • When music begins
    My face scowls and I punch.
    Paired with a glass of dark aged shout.

    This burst of aggression is stranger to me now,
    but he wasn’t always.

    Oh Brother, we used to fight until sunwake
    and gnaw til evening.
    Oh Brother lost to the other side of River
    where bridge was lost to Storm one day.
    I don’t quite remember when.

    In fourth grade I jumped onto a table
    threatening to punch a kid who called me gay
    In ninth grade I joined the rugby team
    at just 14, weighing 135 pounds.
    I’m self made, in this my life after.

    I am powerful.
    I am feminine.

  • We don’t talk anymore, you and I.

    But I still remember what it felt like when we did. It felt warm - like dandelion sunrise, like hug of this coffee shop corner where I write now and remember. Not something to be sad about, not at all. I can’t help but smile when I still spend too much time remembering too well.

    I still remember when I finally found the courage to ask you to dance during the last dance of 7th grade. The song was Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol. You said yes because you were too kind. I still remember our spot on the third floor of the mall across our school we’d talk for hours to empty backpacks and laugh about nothing at all. Drink smoothies from the smoothie place downstairs. Two movies for the price of one, with sweet popcorn. I’m not sure where you are these days.

    I still remember when we would study late afternoons together even when we weren’t in the same classes anymore. Not since eighth grade math. Your wedding was beautiful, and I’m so incredibly happy for you. I’m so proud of how far you’ve come.

    I still remember that bowl of ramen we shared in the train station because we were low on cash and our credit cards didn’t work. I still hang onto my stuffed whale from our matching set that we’d trade every time we saw each other. The ones we got when we visited the aquarium that Saturday afternoon. I’m sorry for how things ended with us, I hang onto the guilt as well.

    I still remember that summer we cooked together every day. I still love pugs, especially the ones with notably flat faces. I’m still on the lookout for those coveted small-dog big-dog combinations where the small-dog can fit under the big-dog. When I see the sunflower stall at the farmer’s market, I still run on over, turn around holding the brightest most sunny of them all before I remember I’m here alone this Sunday morning. I buy it anyways, just to brighten up my favorite spot in my apartment.

    I still wear the necklace you gifted me and feel it every time I get nervous. I still taste you when I taste chamomile tea or remember your warmth when I curl up on the couch.

    My legs can stretch all the way now, for I’m alone on this Monday night.

    This poem is not finished

  • You see, Taipei cafes open at 11 and close at midnight
    The music is just the right volume
    and I fit in. I am neither too noticeable nor am I nobody.

    I find the corners, like I typically do,
    to pass the time and the clouds
    Page after page, line after line,
    film after film,
    these days pass to nights pass to mornings

    Weeks slip by without me noticing - but I’m sprouting.
    Late bloom colors of my blossom finally show.
    They’re light pink!
    I am lotus, bumping on lilypad, looking up.
    Moon, you pair well with distant stars tonight.

  • I thought I was over you
    but then you walked in, smile as big as always
    and suddenly I feel it all. All my love from all time

    The thing about romance for me, it’s permanent.
    like ink or the last bit of peanut butter in the jar.
    No matter how many times I scrape, there’s just some bit left.

    And so I think to the week before three months passed
    where we wrote and talked and wandered
    I think to our time last week, just you and I, as I draw
    and I remember it all, time dissolves once again
    I am suddenly held by you,
    a bright kiss as you cup your spare hand on my cheek.

  • by clouded sunrise
    i am sober, unfamiliar as of late
    colors are still vibrant
    not dulled, like i feared

    they seem more stable,
    just ever so slightly.
    lines a bit more legible
    direction assured

  • I’m in a cafe corner with them.
    it’s quiet not too quiet. it’s not too late not fate at all.
    here we discuss chaos and control of her

    controlling chaos, they say, is purpose
    eternal struggle giving direction to sun’s shadow
    losing ourselves, making nonsense of moon’s shine

    to slip out and in sane
    like this we will do right to those around us
    and hope we have enough left
    to blossom our petals

2023 feb

  • feb 28

    its been difficult clinging to time these days
    maybe that's why
    i just had a dream about
    our million moments we shared
    our thousand dances together
    our million more kisses
    all at once

    i know the cards had to fall the way they did
    so why cant i shake you from my heart?
    the slow melt of my butter body in your cloth arms
    i miss it so much
    the way you'd cup my cheeks before you used to kiss me
    i miss us so much

    this dream was of memories, after all
    ones from a few chapters ago, nonetheless.
    so why do i dream of you still
    i find myself slipping
    passed, now, what will be
    what's the difference?

  • feb 27

    good morning! i know im far, but
    we'll wave hello regardless
    "it's been too long!"
    your voice a warm hug, the kind that
    wraps bamboo leaf over heart's sticky rice

    "how was your day?"
    no no, im not asking for the play-by play
    "what peaks did you climb today?"
    certainly not the one you planned,
    "did you enjoy it regardless?"
    what oblique valley did you wander to?

    after some banter banter let us canter
    "why do you still love, despite it all?"
    "how are you feeling" and the sort
    i want to hear about your passions
    i care about your dreams,
    wilted leaves just as much as
    your budding flower

    "how did you get here, anyways?"
    no no, not whether it was by car
    or plane or foot
    i mean here, floating to this city,
    with this headspace,
    around these friends, of old
    and yet to be.
    where are you going next?
    mind if i come along?

    where will current of this exchange take us,
    we can talk ourselves to anywhere
    miles from here
    rivers i havent explored yet
    where will we float to next?
    we will converse until time melts
    like sun ends day
    with everfleeting gradient
    over our pacific coast, atlantic bay

  • feb 25

    when melody begins
    i bow, cordially inviting music into
    fragile sense of self

    by chorus
    i am lost. at this moment
    awareness crystallizes
    of this shawl our soul calls home.
    every stiff bone, even sore muscle.
    i note this space i occupy, however momentary,
    as i knit myself into busy sidewalk.

    by bridge
    i fuse with bass,
    recite steady tempo.
    i dismantle the rhythm
    to interweave my liquid body
    like unmarked storefront tucks itself
    between city blocks

    as long as morning birds sing,
    i will continue this little dancey dance of mine.
    in whatever form i take.
    it is hopeless to try and change that.

    this meld is unnoticeable to most.
    however, momentous to us.
    How bodacious!

  • feb 26

    why am i so comfortable when I am in Asia?
    It seems when i am here i am human
    not categorized instantly by the color of my skin
    not some Other.

    i have had three people ask me for directions
    do you know how good that feels?
    three!

    On first glance I blend, and it feels strange
    as it’s been a while since I’ve disappeared in a crowd.

    But, of course, after interaction, however brief,
    it becomes so vividly clear that i am,
    to everyone’s disappointment, Other
    like I always am.
    like I always will be.

    So might as well accept it,
    embrace it,
    and dance on this street corner
    for the sake of it.

  • feb 24

    i often feel i stand among suns
    bright shining humans who love so fully
    they love humans to an extent i fear i may never
    but i do believe
    i love life as much as they do
    i am cloud, after all
    a muffle on some days,
    adornment of sky on others

  • feb 23

    step by step, without destination
    like this i will wander these streets
    away from it all
    i make a lot of things in my day-to-day
    it seems creating this sense of home
    is my most complicated challenge yet

    i know my mothertongue, sort of
    i know my motherland, sort of
    i may not know who i am now
    but i know where i’m from
    and for now, that’s all i really need.
    and forever, that’s all i will be grateful for.

  • feb 22

    i try to always listen with both headphones in
    that is to say
    when i do something, i do it with both ears
    and ten fingers
    and all of my heart

    i try to always splash in puddles until my shoes drench
    that is to say
    when i step into these streets
    i can do little but
    sink into asphalt
    as much as the asphalt sinks into me

    i try to always walk up escalators
    that is to say
    i like to live life as full as my body will allow

    i try to always feel the rain on my cheeks
    i try to always pause to watch the ripple of waves
    i try to always love how my mind thinks, how im sad sometimes,
    so overwhelming happy other times
    i try to always love to live, in all the ways i can think of
    and that, i think,
    is a fundamental rule
    that i will always try to carry with me.

  • feb 18

    i only write in pen
    you know those moments
    when your pen just bleeds ink
    so you keep writing, script only,
    because the letters slur

    and you keep writing
    and you cant stop
    because the more you write
    the more you write

    and you keep a loose wrist
    and grammar goes out the window
    because who has time for that?
    my heart, my mind, it's overflowing!
    where did the cap go?
    doesn't matter

    so you just keep writing and writing
    and drawing and filming and photographing
    and breathing and living
    and dreaming and doing.

    so please dont hold your work too close.
    go ahead, please
    add your letter to this bonfire
    any note, big or small, will only feed
    soon it’ll burn so bright
    we cant tell what color it is
    because it's all of them.
    even some made up one like purpleen or magenteal
    soon it'll burn so bright
    we cant tell when the sun rises

    for us, we, as a people,
    this is a creative renaissance.
    so please, keep writing.
    keep writing in pen.

  • feb 14, 2023

    go ahead and giggle
    your excitement
    will make my day

    go ahead and stick out your tongue
    your silliness
    will heal long-petrified hearts

    go ahead and be you
    you will make up this world of mine

    how do you even cram
    so much "you" in you, anyways?

  • feb 14, 2023

    "can you help me carry
    some of this for a bit?"

    of course my friend,
    im glad you had the courage to ask.
    what's in these bags, if you don't mind me asking?

    "heavy hearts and broken promises"

    i understand.
    let me help you lighten the load
    while we walk. after all,
    we have a long journey ahead of us —
    around mountains of rain
    under canopied leaf clouds
    across bridges of crumbling seasons

  • feb 14, 2023

    on Some Days i love humans so much.
    these are the days where
    a simple conversation with a stranger
    can feel so nuanced and delicate.
    i feel an overwhelming and endearing
    want to be wanted;
    even a simple smile can warm my heart.
    or a hug, however long or tight,
    just feels like a big bowl of warm soup.

    on Other Nights i just want to be left alone
    hide in a field of haze
    be nobody, nobody, not even to me.
    the ego, the vanity, it's all so loud
    and so annoying.
    i find myself filled with hate,
    or just filled with nothing.

    however, on darkest nights i still appreciate that
    Other Nights will make Some Days brighter.

  • feb 12, 2023

    these streets beat to their own drum
    determinately self-reliant
    and determination to their selflessness.
    these sun-soaked dust-tented market-cities
    are alive and well.
    proof that the way of our people
    are well and alive.

    our compass has more resolve than ever.
    we will follow this river of motorbike until dusk.
    for the moon will rise from the East tonight

    As night falls, a new constellation is revealed
    “balance not excess”
    i whisper
    “balance not excess”
    to this half-moon

  • six afternoons of the week
    im all for constellation of conversation.
    but on Tuesdays, purple days, sadder days -
    i find a recharging comfort in Solitude under Sun.

    observer observer!
    i walk with three simple rules:
    map less, forwards only, music optional.
    To seek the most ordinary place this city offers
    I am passing breeze. I do not pass as anything.
    Separate self from ego, body, destination.

    For pace, of someone in no rush -
    just fast enough to still be considered passerby
    just slow enough to catch falling leaf
    never garner a glance for longer than two candle-flickers
    never pause for shorter than a candle-stick

    delight delight!
    oh to be a memory soon forgotten,
    a lingering feeling you cant quite place,
    déjà vu herself.
    I can almost convince myself
    time doesnt exist
    neither do i

  • february 10, 2023

    goodbye's are hard -
    there's the kind of goodbye
    harsh like today's sun
    a fiery crash of heartbreak and sobs

    what's worse are the soft ones
    a hole we dont notice in our sash
    as we leak friendship and lose our memories of togetherness
    and fade smiles of joyfulness
    just little by little
    unnoticed until just too late

    there will be no tears,
    for when we notice we are too different
    you or i will not care anymore
    there will be no goodbye
    no sorrow, or "i wish it wasn't like this"
    simply... nothing
    sparse text replies
    a quiet sunset we dont notice
    as dusk settles on what was
    the most delightful friendship.

    "what a shame"
    says no one.

  • jan 7, 2023

    come, be my guard
    defend this fort,
    my love.
    be my comfort

  • these circle days fill
    with relentless tangents
    clutter dreams of
    concerns and contemplation.
    in neverending storm

    i have a few choices:
    lose myself more,
    orient pattern to cloud direction,
    or simply make sense of
    where wind gusts
    will take my fragile heart

  • feb 4, 2023

    i used to think
    i was tasked with
    exploring the corners of loneliness
    with my allocated seventy-or-so years.
    turns out
    loneliness is easy to come by,
    these roads are paved twiceover.

    instead, i would love
    to share secrets with you
    "i've never told anyone else this…”
    to jump into trust
    "i feel so comfortable with you already..."
    to love perhaps irresponsibly much
    in impossibly short time
    despite protests of past.
    perhaps this is the meaning of it all,
    at least that's my current hypothesis.

  • feb 4, 2023

    i hurt you
    by my own indecision
    and you hurt me
    by my own volition

    i cant control fate,
    so why do i try?
    well, there is comfort in control
    and chaos in chaos, to tell

  • feb 4

    i can feel us slipping
    with my hand in yours
    lost grains of sand still find their way
    between tiny ravines between tiny fingers

    i know we agreed to let gravity do its work
    so if we find ourselves with empty hourglass
    i know we agreed
    we'd let sand settle.

    but please
    hold me tighter.
    please,
    i love you.
    please,
    don't let me go.

  • feb 4, 2023

    hello, hi
    i'm searching for peace,
    you got any?
    i just want one absolute truth
    i'll also take a half morsel

  • feb 3

    ive been climbing mountains
    peaks past and present fill dream
    do well to satiate me so

    not anymore, not like before
    now i am in search of valley
    my valley, not just any

    where pillow of grass
    sinking just enough
    to pause incessant thinking

    where cliffs of mountains ive climbed
    and those ill save for tomorrow
    surround me, remind me

    i am safe
    i am home
    i can rest now

  • feb 1

    these circle days fill
    with relentless tangents
    clutter dreams of
    concerns and contemplation.
    in neverending storm

    i have a few choices:
    lose myself more,
    orient pattern to cloud direction,
    or simply make sense of
    where wind gusts
    will take my fragile heart

  • feb 1

    what has happened (past tense)
    is brandished to my milk tea skin.
    i have crossed the fence
    to no surprise, grass is greyer here —
    a one-way door, once again.
    i cannot return
    for that is not how time works.
    time, an absolution stronger than absolve.

  • feb 1

    (i will)
    like mountain waits for sunrise
    like shell waits for wave
    like cloud waits for wind
    (wait)
    it may take a few clouded days
    or a dozen starry nights
    or even a handful of seasons
    (for you)

  • my pronouns are he/she (gender neutral)
    i love this sky (gender pastel)
    this tree hugs me (gender earth tones)
    im lost in this city maze (gender neons)
    these colors blind me (gender primaries)
    the shadow draws just as well (gender shades)

  • feb 1

    we begin with two colors.
    perhaps three, perhaps eight billion.

    i dip my frayed wetted brush
    into light-floral-pink first,
    and pull-pull-pull across
    the plastic white of pallette
    directly into twilight-green-blue
    push-push-push
    back to light-floral-pink
    in this manner i move brush
    forth and back, in no particular rush

    the objective —
    create Blend.
    come upon hue not seen before
    unapologetically a mixture
    of all colors we are made of
    and yet something entirely new altogether.

    the hope —
    at a certain point in time
    hopefully long before sun sets
    we lose track of original colors altogether.
    light-floral-pink and twilight-green-blue
    are blends as well, are they not?

2023 jan

  • you say
    the first thing you noticed about me
    was my gaze.
    the way i looked at light,
    held a bird in shadow
    and smiled as it hopped into the light.

    the first thing i noticed about you
    is how you care.
    the way you look at loved ones
    around you.
    tend to them, water their souls,
    with a touch so gentle
    it'll heal withering petal
    haze halation on setting sun.

  • jan 22, 2023

    yours, heart of gold
    mine, a bruised and patinaed copper
    perhaps dented
    upon inspection, scratched
    i speak as if, i dream as if
    mine is gold too.
    but gold is solid, i am not sure if i am even solid
    perhaps i am cloud? today, i will be copper.

    the beauty of being metal
    is that i can melt myself a few times
    reform myself twiceover
    shape and grind and polish myself
    once again once again
    until i am to my liking

    i can even coat myself in gold —
    in essence, i can gild.
    however, i cannot be.

    but maybe it's time
    i embrace my corroded edges
    perhaps dulled
    upon inspection, misshapen
    from who knows what,
    why would i know?

  • jan 18, 2023

    clouds are quiet mysterious, aren't they?
    in a moment i'll be all different, won't i?

    i said cloud, certainly not loud
    in fact, silent. not visible.
    doing its own thing.

    the wisp of smoke lingers

  • jan 18, 2023

    it feels it was only a matter of time
    when the "i like you"
    turned into
    "i miss you"
    and
    "i wish you were here"

    and it feels like just yesterday
    when it was
    "i love the way you work"
    and
    "i love the way you feel"

    my heart overflows now,
    i feel the today will be soon for the
    "i       you"
    and
    "i will       you forever and ever"

  • january 17, 2023

    at any given moment i can be doing
    a hundred different things —
    productive, creative, logistical things.

    instead, i choose to sit here and look out the window, sometimes to think
    but usually just sink into warm pile
    of freshly washed emotions.
    i am simply grateful that
    i value these quiet moments.
    and i mean the really quiet moments.
    of nothing and longing for nobody,
    not even myself.
    free from vanity and all-the-same-ity
    free from labels
    free from any place or thing or person

    i am lost, and i smile because of it.
    i do not know who i am,
    and i am happy for that
    and this is the greatest lie i tell myself,
    over and over and over.

  • jan 17, 2023

    here on this street corner
    i hand out pamphlets of trust,
    morals of immutable scale
    shouted thru loudspeaker in hand

    in this manner
    i stumble through these days,
    only to fall short of myself these nights.

    but there will be no excuses,
    only apology.
    but apology is not enough,
    it really isn't.
    so i try to explain,
    still not enough.

    but still, you forgive me.
    still, still, you care for me.
    still, still, still, you believe in a me
    better than i can imagine myself

    what butterfly did i save to deserve this?
    what sunrise brought
    your twinkling eyes into my tuesday?

  • jan 15, 2023

    shall i conjure
    the confidence of a dragon
    the voice of a lion
    or breath of a bird
    or just give myself a hug
    a big warm one

    we grapple with stories real and imagined
    and what can only be classified lies
    each for our own reasons

    we're all humans
    and should be judged as such
    each with insecurities
    iris clouded by delusions
    we're all just humans
    and thereby, not just.

  • jan 15, 2023

    once again i am in a
    creative space of unfamiliarity
    with fellow creative folks.
    i make a rather small observation —
    all creative art, in fact its inherent value,
    is in our abstraction from reality.
    our packaging of Truth,
    whatever that may be.
    our extraction of Truth's Essence.
    our wrangled twisting of Truth's Strands.
    day-out and about and day-in and in-zone,
    we hammer examples of this:
    composing photos, editing films,
    various writings, discussing ideas,
    embracing our distinct processes
    to voice thru creative execution.

    what i find intriguing more so
    is similar observations between all our work;
    all of us from vastly different backgrounds and frameworks with which we construct our art,
    and yet still appreciate similar things —
    like parchment haze in a distance
    like amber clay rooftops
    like teal of alleyways with secrets untold.

    in a similar way, i extrapolate
    as i feel alone and lonely as ever
    comfort in similar conclusions despite varied paths. comfort in this
    shared appreciation of sunset,
    of light sculpting
    of lily under passing shadow
    of tense yet cathartic
    working together towards common goal.

  • jan 14, 2023

    i will not ask all of you
    (i'm talking about three of you)
    what i cannot do myself.
    so here's a poem before we begin.
    it's 11 am, opening time. flip the sign.

    we are here, we are here.
    the four of us and a few cameras.
    we are here to tell a story.
    for us to do so, we must first sacrifice.
    time, blood perhaps, emotion we are not yet ready to discuss.
    and so i ask of you,
    now is the time.
    lay our working manuscript on the table,
    let's turn the page together.

    go ahead and sharpen the knife.
    incision right under collarbone,
    cut southeast.
    we'll pour our hearts out
    for all to see.
    there is no other way.

    you say you want to tell meaningful stories?
    you say you want your story to inspire?
    this is the price.
    a fair trade, in my humble opinion.

  • jan 13, 2023

    momentarily i will notice
    the eyes exposing to dawn light from this new angle.
    i will certainly not notice
    sticky air seeping into my open pores.
    like condensation of ca phe sua
    with too much ice,
    sweat and dirt from where i came
    will begin leaking from soul

    next, melody of language unknown
    will do equal parts fill ear and heart
    accompanied by assortment
    of fruits from fragrances forgotten

    after a few days on foot,
    our blood will run mixed with water from this new winding river
    of depths unknown
    our muscles will be fueled by air
    of dust that has travelled as far as we have
    that is all to come.

    but first,
    first i will notice the way the sun
    greets the edges of my nose
    wraps my imperfect cheeks
    in motherly embrace.

  • jan 13, 2023

    the thoughts rush by the window
    window that gaze upon
    pedestal of clouds or pedestrian crowds.

    all the same to me.
    this wind rushes the window
    i rest my forehead against the window
    now, a mere six inches from my eyes,
    six inches between neverending thoughts
    and neverending streams.
    neverending and everlasting.
    it's as certain as death,
    i have ascertained.

    my attraction to cafes, ive found,
    is simply as emulation to planes.
    a plane where we convene,
    certainly we hold a boarding pass.
    perhaps there exists a destination.
    certainly direction moves us.
    perhaps we appreciate this.

    direction is an interesting one for me.
    say, if we are to snapshot
    each individual's direction on this plane
    we'd find that for this brief moment
    say, two, maybe three hours,
    we are strapped and thrust in the same direction
    a sense of togetherness, no less
    it's the treasure these clouds hide in their infinite knots

    however! however.
    the moment we touch earth again,
    we must go our separate ways.
    how exciting!

    but we've moved together,
    we've touched blue expanse together,
    even if ever so briefly.
    perhaps we are alone again.
    certainly not lonely again.

  • jan 11, 2023

    pigeons on wires.
    we are people on stools
    in sliver between shops
    in crack between concrete.

    upon arrival,
    we choose between two lowtables
    just tall enough to reaches lowknees
    as close to alleycat as one can be
    complete with aroma of soups and banh mi and rice

    the dust feels different from this low
    what has particulate done to fall this far?
    nothing. simply adrift, like us.
    weighted by dense baggage.
    heavy with story worth telling.
    diluted only by reflective conversation.

    for sound, the trickle of water
    meeting awning. we meet at dawn.

  • jan 10, 2023

    the little doorway is unassuming to most
    chipped paint covers a metal grate

    up the stairs
    up the stairs
    to the left
    through a single door
    then a double door

    walls of sunflower yellow
    lit by doors open to a balcony
    enough to sit three, just barely

    dented stools surround
    metal tables
    patiently awaiting hustle of lunch crowds

    the menu has eight items
    on a styrofoam plaque
    noodles, noodles, noodles, noodles
    noodles, noodles, noodles,
    and (tucked at the bottom) noodles

  • jan 10, 2023

    when i return,
    i am ready to make a promise to you.
    why not now?
    circumstantially,
    i cannot.
    circumstantially,
    i must be here in all aspects
    i must keep my promise to myself first.

    so for now, all i can do is
    spill my heart in rain
    hope winds will carry them faithfully
    across the pacific,
    carry it to your doorstep.

    that'll have to do until im in your arms again.
    time has always been a foe, hasn't it?

  • jan 9, 2023

    "what's your favorite thing to do when travelling somewhere new?"
    i asked someone in an interview recently.

    me personally?
    i like standing on street corners
    chaos with the intention of passageway
    a hundred negotiations without
    a single word
    short of breath, short of time

    these datums marry
    two (usually) perpendicular paths
    singular and stationary space
    add a million or so cityfolk
    notably not singular or stationary
    and we get a time and place
    generous with moments

    i stand here
    right up against the curb,
    shoes hanging over this mini-cliff
    a small rock back and forth

    it's the start of today's light
    i only slept three hours,
    but i'll stand here for a little longer.
    what's the rush?

  • jan 9

    the eyes expose to sunlight from this new angle
    the air seeps into open pores

    then sound
    then smell

    then, after a few days
    our blood runs mixed with water of this new place
    our muscles fueled by new foods

    but first, first come the senses.
    this new sun lights my skin a new color
    a new color i’ve never seen before.

  • jan 8, 2023

    our first day.
    we lean forward
    together

    my eyes see this city
    through this focused lens
    my heart at peace
    amid the chaos
    my mind occupied
    in telling a story

    the crashing waves of
    motorbike motorbike
    narrow alleys
    pockets of music moments
    smiles, tears, tension, and finally
    we lean backward

    finally,
    a moment of breath,
    accompanied by beer
    at a round table
    the satisfaction
    of a day of creativity

  • jan 7, 2023

    Now sitting at Gate B23
    with a bag of very carefully selected and arranged camera gear
    and a bag of snacks from my mom
    three handmade fan tuan with pork floss, my favorite

    moments ago, my parents insisted on driving me to the airport
    and still, after I had spent all day cleaning my apartment,
    said it wasn’t clean enough.

    now, i carry six cameras on me,
    a lucky number in Chinese culture.
    my main camera, Lilac, two action cameras,
    a point & shoot, my phone, and my eyes.

    moments ago, my mom waited halfway through security with me
    because she wanted to make sure I was ok
    despite my insistent proteests.

    Now I carry with me
    a bag of squished blackberries
    (because of course the blackberries couldn’t make it through security unharmed)
    two clementines,
    a bag of haribo gummies
    a bag of dried mangoes,
    a bag of dried plums
    (of unknown variety),
    and one note - like i’m in elementary school again.

    and of course, of course,
    a big bag of cut fruit
    Asian pears, complete with the aftertaste of a salt bath
    used to keep them fresh.
    oh to be 23.

2022 nov

  • november 23, 2022

    in this, the prologue
    littered apartment artifacts
    have already started to smell like you
    a honey scented chamomile,
    naturally sweet and warm to the touch

    simply put — this weekend
    ive fallen in love, halfway or so.

    however the hour is not quite right.
    you, me, found in the light of a sunset before sunrise.
    the kind where cloud,
    feeling out of place,
    borrows color of gradient sky
    the kind where cloud,
    against navy black of early morning,
    floats where wind wills

    for right now i need to be lost;
    confused enough to question everything
    and know nothing.
    to be one with air, leaf, sky above, not ground below.

    simply put — this weekend
    ive fallen in love with you,
    but i have yet to fall in love with me.

    so together lets put in this cassette
    but before we light the engine
    fast forward a couple tracks
    there's this one song in mind
    the one where i know myself,
    gathered a sense of self, bouquet a scent of rose
    answered enough of my questions
    to be at peace, if only for a moment

    at this time we will turn the volume up
    sit back, close our eyes,
    and fall halfway more in love.
    butterfly earrings sway as we listen
    to trickle of melting heart

    simply put — this weekend
    we fell asleep to jazz
    and woke to dreams of us.

    we cup our hands together - your left, my right
    warmed by tea and what can be
    let's start with a seed
    add water, drop by drop
    it sprouts as i breathe
    oxygen, mixed with particulate
    do well to light a soul
    mix well with meaning to all this scatter

    let's plant this budding flower
    and walk away for now.
    when we return, what colors will we be?

  • november 7, 2022

    i dont want to, but
    im the catch up friend
    the i havent seen you in so long friend
    the where have you been friend
    the were you lost friend

    the
    you disappeared off the face of this motherearthing earth
    friend

    it's only a matter of time until
    i will charge forth once again
    with reckless abandonment of those dearest
    recut scars here and forget to smile there

    i dont need anyone
    i dont need anyone
    , right?
    i need myself, at the very least
    at the very least, a sense of it.

    when i return
    all i can offer is this bloody and bruised soul
    tumbled to knees
    at doorstep of your discretion
    please accept this offering
    of spent limb and hollow husk
    it's all i have left
    it's all i have
    , right?

  • november 4, 2022

    buried and dead and past
    we made sure of it this time
    alone and apart and all
    the better for it

    inscribed in serif in stone
    "you'll dig up nothing"
    us, we, our
    these are words
    vanished or banished or tarnished

  • november 12, 2022

    we are each but a pile of wool.
    each of us a ball of fluff with uniquely vivid
    dreams of love and stories of heart.

    we, wool, shaped as nothing in particular;
    tied together by nothing in particular.
    much like cloud, or cloudlike, or cloudy
    one might say.

    day by day, Shepherd of Time
    finds us in our self places
    sometimes stuck in our self habits
    motioning through our self cycles
    filled occasionally with self pity

    night by night,
    Shepherd will peruse the field of wool
    and pick us at random —
    certainly not a carefully curated ceremony
    just to see if we blend well together

    tonight Shepherd picks
    me, you, them, them, them, them,
    and also (a last minute addition), them.

    what comes next we cannot predict.
    "so what comes next, then?"
    an amorphous tapestry.
    made of our bodies but now something entirely new.
    knit and crochet
    and sewn and stitched
    and wrapped and layered and layered

    loop loop
    new rhythms

    knot knot
    new conversations

    stitch stitch
    new feelings

    our bodies, once wool,
    have now become something entirely new.
    this tapestry, created by us and Time,
    appears to shift in both form and color.
    unbound by (rather dated and confining) laws of physics.

    let's label this "friendship"
    or simply "a connection"
    or maybe "love" is more accurate
    let's go with "all of the above"

    "so what comes next, then?" we ask
    anything. nothing. everything.
    lets burn this tapestry,
    see how the smoke tints this star littered sky
    lets wrap ourselves with this blanket,
    two per, wrapped tight in conversation

    let's put this canvas in a museum,
    complete with an incomplete placard.
    let a thin layer of dust settle
    let strangers reflect upon our intertwined bodies
    let them come up with their own stories and endings.

    it's even difficult for us
    to describe our interwoven story.
    for it changes day by day by day, for a myriad of reasons:
    sun angled a smidge this way.
    wind pulls a smudge that way.
    the fish decides not to take the bait.
    the tide decides not to rise after all.
    the poet descends into nonsense...

    night again. like clockwork.
    The Shepherd returns again
    to add or remove wool to this tapestry.
    we cannot wait to not know what happen next.
    exhilirating, isn't it?

2022 oct

  • october 31, 2022

    someday, eventually, indeterministically,
    there will be a last crash.
    when this crash, well, crashes,
    i wont get back up.
    not anymore and not evermore.
    melt with dirt; meld with quiet

    let grass be bed
    let crumbled bone be frame
    let shredded skin be duvet
    let trail of blood be
    "a splash of color!"
    me, on the ground
    me, at peace finally
    me, burnt out —
    determined no more,
    terminal this time.
    this time, mine to take again.

  • october 28, 2022

    we are quite the fragile temporary things, aren’t we
    come and go thats all we know
    but i know not. i know nothing.
    au contrare, metal
    will come but will not go.
    metal has been melted
    and hammered
    and frozen
    and dented
    and shredded
    and so on
    and so forth
    and so we cannot complain,
    when we compare ourselves to metal.

    "what wisdom do you bring, metal?" i ask
    "what begins will end" i say
    "what end will depend" i reply

    i am copper. ill patina, sure.
    make occulent green from shined sheen
    carry with oiled fingerprint
    of everyone who has touched me
    for me to be loved, i uncoat myself
    strip to nothing, nothing, bare
    be the love of another
    my skin is metal my skin is raw
    if it's oxygen i breathe, it's oxidyze i will

    i am aluminum. 6061, 7075.
    alloyed and alluring and anodizeable
    friendly and filled with stress (sometimes)
    i fly the skies, lighter than air.
    that is all to say.

    i am steel. forged by hammer.
    i am scrap metal once deserted in chrome desert.
    jagged, bent, arbitrarily angled.
    what i was once is irrelevant now.
    i am simply scrap: nonunique, nondescript.

    "light the forge, a heartfire to melt this scrap and to make something new. new! and alive."
    for kindling, torn letters once wet with tears
    for fuel, check the pile for memories
    already split and dried
    for stock, we can make use of my torso
    of cracked steel and holed plate and bent rod
    for weld we collect whatever is left —
    the spared-moments and pauses-between-parts.

    with mixed metal we will build a mixed metal mixed creation
    so immaculately cobbled together and
    all carefully carved to be combined and
    intended to resemble our likeness.
    half-a-plane over here,
    quarter-sword over there.
    "go ahead and climb" i mutter,
    with a blatant disregard for my wellbeing.
    my torso is immediately torched,
    for the metal is still fresh from forge.
    days-old heat stored in its grey bounds.
    "ahead i climb"
    i believe i am metal.
    so i continue to torch myself, the hotter the better
    followed by quench, the faster the better
    now, i am blade but i will chip i have shattered.

    "flesh is not metal."
    moreso - it is humorous to even make the comparison
    i have forgotten that flesh is easily cut
    and hurt
    and scarred
    and so on
    and so forth
    and takes a while to heal.
    flesh is not metal, after all.
    flesh is withering petal.

  • october 27, 2022

    a root will crack the asphalt
    no matter how often they pave over us.
    so go ahead
    and grow to be the tree you want to be.

    our shield, ellipsis of spotted leaf.
    our sword, thorns versions of days past
    our armor, certifiably huggable bark.
    our flesh, sticky sweet sap of love.

  • 10/18

    what’s the aesthetic to be today?
    glad you asked
    the aesthetic is comfort in who i am
    not a drive, not a search, not a yearn.
    to just. be.

    the aesthetic is me.
    playing the titular role of myself,
    for an audience of i.

    to know oneself, it seems,
    is to develop a set of values.
    give color to a choice
    so these sunsets will, by themselves,
    paint-by-number.

    for me, this aesthetic
    is to make an intentional choice
    to surround myself with
    fellow artists, poets, makers, lovers.
    this sentiment is magnetic.
    this moment soon to be nostalgic.

  • 10/18

    with doors open
    how quickly the cold rushes in
    fills lungs with icy breath
    fills heart with rather impressive breadth
    blinds shuttered candles extinguished
    cold no warmth cold no warmth

    an inexcorsisble part of all our selves - vicious
    the malice in this soul - viscous
    razer black poison seeps through
    cracks of heart
    blacker than midnight
    thicker than ink

  • 10/17

    look up. up more. examine the tree.
    one leaf bold enough to change colors
    and break free before all others
    a speckle of red yellow
    among a sea of green

    look down. down some more.
    we have fallen.
    trampled and rotting and torn,
    burned at the corners.
    nowhere left to go but nowhere.

    ahh, burnout.
    we meet again, old friend.
    punctual as usual,
    as sure
    as wither of autumn.

  • 10/12

    today is shaping up to be
    quite the cerulean sunset.
    so you ask
    how i can attach such vivid emotion
    with a particular color, shade, hue.
    i ask
    how can you not?

  • relinquish relinquish
    plunge the paddle deep into the river
    let the riverbed rocks crush and churn us too

    if we capsize we’ll float
    probably
    if we don’t, we won’t know, will we?

  • 10/10

    cozy fall moon on chilly eve
    new words with new friends will
    warm the soul
    aged liquor with old friends will
    warm the body

    sunwake before silent crowd of cloud
    listen carefully
    listen to this quiet city
    i am sole
    i am body

  • october 8, 2022

    imagine we wake up tomorrow
    chrome dreams monochrome
    and the colors have all shuffled
    trunks glow a river blue
    sky purple, sunset red
    and we forgot what they were yesterday
    so we just admire the colors in all their glory

    and so this is how i choose to see the world today
    to love the tree green of grass
    the blueberry sea of sky
    for tomorrow it might all be different

    to know a color
    is to know myself
    there on the floor
    there i am — therefore i am
    i am but only me
    it is not enough to believe
    i must be. for tomorrow i might not.

  • october 7, 2022

    where do i belong?
    i ask myself pertinently
    certainly not here
    certainly not over there
    nor back over there, uncertainly

    adrift and amiss, all too familiar to me
    set asea before i could walk
    sets precedence — nomadic by hand and in search of land, my land, my sand

    the land of my mother, lush
    but her mountains are not mine too, no no.
    the petrified frozen grass i step on now, mush
    poison white is unwelcoming to someone like me
    as long as my blood drips, my body flows too
    adrift from here to there to over there,
    which is neither here nor there
    where? where?

    and so then i desparately, naively,
    try to ground my roots.
    spread wide embrace around this city
    under streets of joy, avenues of wealth
    over river named charles
    find my family, tend to a fire desparate to
    pitter patter, dither faster

    part of this is my fault, isnt it?
    of course.
    a friend made is a friend i must part with soon
    not by choice, certainly not.
    by law.
    as certain as water fall
    i keep friends close,
    not to a loving embrace,
    but close to an arms length.

    so its all the same
    ends before beginnings
    goodbyes no see you soons
    this is my nature, child of world

  • october 4, 2022

    note: tonight i stumbled upon Katherine Yang’s code-poetry language, coem! and tried writing a poem in her syntax.

    https://www.coem-lang.org/

    code:

    let rainfall be “in puddles”
    let lo(ved|st) be “lone”
    let ti(me|n) be “rust”

    say—rainfall,time— † in puddles rust
    say—“we will be”,loved— † we will be lone
    say—rainfall, rainfall— † in puddles in puddles

    compiled:

    in puddles rust
    we will be lone
    in puddles in puddles

  • october 1, 2022

    just your voice
    call of bird song of dream
    even muted and so far away
    between us exists a city
    of rushing cars flashing lights pouring nights.

    just your voice
    can wake me from these bleeding and brooding ropes

    just your voice
    even on a call,
    intermittenly crackled and static
    can comfort this crushing moment —
    even round this wicked jag
    even warm this midwinter might

    your voice echoes and lingers,
    a sunflower scent that won't wash out.
    like my lipstick remains on my mask
    long after I’ve taken it off to kiss you
    like your favorite photo of us tucked away
    in a drawer to be found at a later date

    what we had is boxed up now
    tucked away in a closet, dated, filed.
    but what we carry forth
    is having learned love that can,
    though countless account of pain,
    remind me of the paper petal yellow of summer.

    it's raining now.
    the vicious relentless rushing of cars
    as i stand up against the curb
    one step from broken heart again, certainly
    and yet, the feeling lingers and
    i hear your voice so so far away.
    like a polaroid lost in yesterday.

2022 sep

  • september 20, 13:29

    again here, by candlelight,
    as i did yesternight and most these summernights,
    i write yet another love poem.

    to be older is to know
    the burn of new love
    and the scent of burned love

    the former smokes wisps of overhope
    with undernotes of optimism
    fantasical fantasy of what is to come

    the latter carries weight of history
    a puddled candlewax mixes so well
    with liquid poison of solid words we regret.

    and i think —
    i was the problem, wasn't i?
    i think, plagued by a mind that never stops burning
    and a heart that never stops melting
    i just wasnt who you wanted to be around.
    not you enough, not fun enough,
    not enough enough. never will be, will i?
    as with us all,
    the contours and valleys and ridges
    of my rose scented wax figure
    can be shaped and molded.
    but do i even want to, for any other purpose
    than to be better for you.
    not a me better for me.

    "what is fun but the thin layer of paint
    that glosses over rusted connections,
    concealing broken promises"
    thoughts like these that corrupt a mind
    do well to solidify a hypothesis.

    so why was it so beautiful, the two of us
    why did it feel so right - at least at the time.
    we say "i'll always be here for you"
    that is not to say that you havent hurt me
    irreparably
    and i havent hurt you
    irrevokably

    and i think —
    that's the answer, isnt it?
    that love is not a candlefire, after all.
    not something that can be subdued by pinch or dismissed by handwave
    it may act similar,
    an amorphous body in need of tending and burning to dance.
    however, love is not the fire.
    love is the wax, which when resolidified,
    can be recollected and reconstituted.

    and so, with resolved absolve
    i say again "ill always be here for you"
    because love is not tied to a sunset shared, season wandered, or moment passed.
    like the interwoven fabric of time itself.
    love cannot be past tense.
    an eternal incense.

  • at this table for two
    your latte, my mocha

    just as this coffee will cool,
    this moment will pass.
    this love was temporary too, after all.

    it burns then cools under breath
    heat wicked away by convection, conduction, and sparse conversation

  • september 17, 2022 - 9:29

    under streetlight of fading sun
    i walk with a friend. shared discussion
    of our obsessive ambition and love for craft.
    refreshing. feels like taring of heart.

    on steps littered with midday sun,
    sandwich in hand. i eat lunch with a friend.
    we're sharing similar stories
    of bandaged cheeks and tearing of heart.

    we all crave to feel understood,
    do we not?
    to untie the knot of insulation
    and find that electric connection.
    lose ourselves in the maze of easy conversation,
    submit to the allure of a good wander and wonder.

    in more ways than many
    shared thoughts, shared mind
    more intimate than shared sheets
    each burning soul, no longer sole
    a little more full, just a little

    we know this, we do. yet here i am, alone.
    it seems
    im all too serious these days
    im all too delirious these nights.

  • september 14, 2022 - 21:39

    this cut on my knee
    stubborn, like me.
    wont heal, wont even make the effort.
    maybe i dont want it to.
    wear this red proudly
    proof of growth, proof of a new me

    as i tread step by step
    my legs drip this deep not blue
    staining newly trodden route.
    soon to be dried remnants,
    to mark the path of whence i came.
    tired of hiding under bandage and shallowly scabbed.
    truth is,
    this cut runs as deep as the heart's been stabbed.

    they only heal under cover of words i write.
    so i hope we hang onto this night
    under cover of these stars
    just long enough to heal my scars

    every stumble, even a little scrape
    would cut this wound open once again,
    as if it never healed.
    surely this time
    surely this time the gauze will hold
    just long enough to protect me
    i know it wont, i still hope

    all this
    hidden under loose clothes,
    tattered friendships.
    we push away those closest
    so as not to stain them too.

    the red that falls
    matches my freshly painted nails
    matches the cuts on our lips
    carved by words we shared months ago
    varnished by the kiss
    we tendered soon after.

  • september 10, 2022 - 19:37

    written in collaboration with aidan hwang, selima chan (tag team poetry!)

    Brisk air on a summer’s day, wishing the warm air away
    Falling into the scholar city fray, The blush of the leaf in full display
    Red as rosy cheeks freshly kissed.
    Red as the sun and its passion’d flame
    Red are the petals, that slowly dwindle away

    We walk this dirt path littered with color
    Young yellow flowers, aged like fine wine
    Orange are the eyes of the camera, as the shutters blink shut of the sight
    the sound of midday blues blend with hues of my midnight muse

    Something there like a bird leaving flight
    The red wind pulls the kite.
    Before we go, let's watch the falling leaves red sky for some time.

  • september 10, 2022 - 11:05

    is it as shallow as the skin
    that bubblewraps my body
    is it as brittle as this mirror i face

    or are
    the clothes i wear
    the colors i choose
    a quiet and silent protest

    artifacts borrowed from a future me
    in which i feel finally free
    to be more me than i, i than me.
    to know this is to stand
    on my own two feet,
    face the wind of unknown.
    the wind who borrows my breath
    and refuses to return it.

    or is this self reflection
    a path to obsession?
    pouring of varnish layer by layer
    that solidifies the heart,
    unable to reach what i used to value.

    tread carefully,
    it seems this may be
    a mirror that blocks reflection

    is it vanity or a path to insanity
    is it self love or all of the above

  • september 10, 2022 - 9:31

    uncertainty
    food for the soul.

    i hunger a path of Different
    i dream of the New
    i crave to feel Alive

    each moment standing on its own
    released from shackles of expectation
    the fear of losing it all is the wind i face, who borrows my breath
    and refuses to return it.

    promise in stability
    replaced by promise of instability
    wings spread now spread wider
    bondage previously unnoticed
    its draw, intoxicating
    now all the more noticeable
    in this moment.

    this moment.
    this one right now,
    is unlike other moments ive felt before.

    when the trajectory we've always known
    is thrown in question,
    we're released from the crushing weight of its history
    to reach this may take a lifetime
    a lifetime more to decide to change direction
    but it'll all be worth it in the end

  • september 9, 2022 - 00:45

    i sip this ambition, a poison
    that has long since corrupted my body

    the cup
    assembled by the hands that raised me,
    poured by the hands around me,
    brought by my mere two hands
    to parched and quivering lips

    i look back up at the dirty mirror
    and swallow. i am
    every problem solver, confidently
    never quitter, consistently
    dependant of self, arrogantly

    this is what i was trained to do
    therefore this is who i am to you

    but who am i to me?
    the quiet thinker
    who loves generously,
    talks too little, sometimes talks too much
    and misses fiercely

    so night after night
    i drink this poison
    to forget and forgive myself
    i drink this poisonous poison
    to no avail, for the antidote is not more me

    it seems the antidote lies
    not at the bottom of this amber bottle
    but in the creases and wrinkles
    of this cambred smile

    the more poison i sip
    the more poison i sip

  • september 8, 2022 - 22:42

    it hangs above
    right above our heads
    sometimes just inches above

    today it falls
    crushes my paper body with ease
    no warning or apology
    i cannot see under this cast iron
    i cannot think clearly
    breathe and try to lift it
    unliftable
    not even an inch

    so i sit here outside work
    at my favorite park nearby
    and let it all fall.
    luckily,
    our office still wears masks
    so nobody can see the tint of red on nose
    or the brunt of the day on shoulders

  • september 5, 2022 - 23:56

    this long summer comes to a close

    the razing of a rich and historied forest
    trees we've loved dearly
    makes room for saplings
    so tender and loved
    whose roots will spindle deeper and
    whose branches will grow and tuck
    and wrap me in their tight embrace

    so go ahead
    burn burn burn down this forest
    right to the ground
    the smoke mixes so well with today's clouds
    the ash mixes so well with today's rain

    we find ourselves on our knees
    mourning the shade
    as the sun beats us to submission
    the dust slips through our pathetic hands

    returning once again to peace
    the void of nothingness

    for sentimental reasons i capture a bottle
    just enough to pinch between my hands
    i will look upon these grains with fondness
    memory of a once blossoming forest

    lush with life
    trees acquainted with themselves once again

  • september 1, 2022 - 20:58

    the goal is
    not to be happy anymore
    was it ever

    i would just like to live more,
    breathe a little less quickly
    love a little more quirky
    visceral dreams, insatiable desires
    of the moments before

    an awkward encounter always seems to happen
    moments before a great story unfolds
    the kind that i tell over and over again
    like a dad, to whoever will listen
    i’ll trade a momentary awkward for a forever story any day
    well worth it, if you ask me.

    the moments of silence between you and i
    tallying the seconds, feeling the space between.
    moments before i ask to kiss you for the first time
    a bit awkward, perhaps
    well worth it forever.

    when i soak in the emptiness of nothingness
    negative space, a numbing agent
    knowing it’s only
    moments before it all rushes over me
    and drowns me in sorrow
    kind of the good kind,
    the kind that makes me think a little,
    ask a couple medium questions,
    leads me to a few big answers hopefully.
    usually not, but well worth it regardless.

    the moments of drifting
    preludes a solitary sense of self
    a peace with myself so incredibly comforting
    never felt before
    a bit painful, perhaps
    and well worth my while.

    i wouldnt have it any other way
    to frequent this space that happiness doesn’t
    however momentary, however momentous

  • september 1, 2022 - 21:10

    the noise the constant noise
    its all too much
    but if i stop, there will be nothing
    itll be worse
    the quiet will make way for emptiness that will fill the hull like silence fills a room
    no better way to drown the soul
    rushing and twisting
    turbulent foam

    so i clutch my camera just a bit tighter
    fingers wrapped around the shutter
    familiar and at home
    and i keep making films
    and i keep pushing myself
    and i cant slow down
    dont know how to, dont know if i want to

    so i go on a run
    and i keep thinking
    i keep writing
    keep writing
    the words come to me easily now
    too easily

    i havent been sleeping well recently
    wouldnt call it sleeping really,
    more of a crash when my body simply cant take any more and falls
    my days spent careening to this point

    do i love this or do i hate this
    i cant even tell anymore
    the familiar numbing i cant seem to shake
    no matter how many
    walks walked runs run thoughts thought

    someone asked me how many hours i work every week
    i said something like 60
    truth is, it's been every waking minute
    in my nature or have i surrounded a tree with concrete

    for if i stop, i know what awaits me
    if i let go of this hand that clings so desparately
    ill fall down the cliff i stare down every day
    i fall
    and i wont get back up

    am i burnt out?
    of course. for a while. it's all i know.
    that was several chapters ago

    the familiar pressure on my mind
    stress, the tension. it's become the only thing that holds this mind together
    if not it would be a million shards
    dust in wind
    a candle at midnight

    so i grab a coffee
    sit on the dock
    and cry

  • september 1, 2022 - 21:56

    the sapphic allure
    extrinsic or intrinsic, who is to say
    my dreams fill
    scent of petals pressed in-between pages
    spent sunset flares puddled in my balled up little fists

    in-deed, i allude to an in-between
    or is it all in-my-head
    a little bop here and there
    where i feel more like myself than ever before

    however
    its hard to feel it's all wrong
    everything i’ve known everything i’ve been told
    there's only left right black white one zero

    do i really know myself more
    than everyone and everything around me?
    who is to say

    my masculinity
    a conflict un-a-men-able.
    or will it simply take a few more
    tears in the charles
    poems of posterity
    sitting on my favorite dock
    alone, invisible, and more myself than ever before.

    like my writing
    not pressed for the right words right away
    puddled questions left unanswered

  • long days, longer nights
    it seems these 25 hour days gift
    a balance i previously thought
    impossible
    to be so vibrantly social and still tend to a quiet heart.

    the feelings as of late
    both those pleasant and less so.
    more noticeable,
    a numbing subsided.
    i feel recently it's
    just me, more so.
    than ever before.

2022 aug

  • i fly west
    not too west, to reach the east,
    to my second home.
    that'll be for another time.

    away from the streets i know better than myself
    away from the people who know me better than myself
    away from myself, really

    to find a dear old friend
    adventures untold
    the sun hits the horizon different from this angle
    colors feel different somehow -
    similar, with a hue shift
    it seems
    i'm in search of a new hue myself

    tired and tired of good old me
    not unique at all, really
    for who isn't tired of themselves?
    must be the air here
    because i already feel renewed and real again

  • for as long as i can remember
    and long before
    ive been one with clouds
    looking out little ovalline windows
    conversing with deafening wind

    but for two years,
    ive been clipped of wings
    now, seven hundred days later
    i return to my first home
    the one in the sky
    the one tethered to nothing at all

    i just cant stop grinning
    even sitting still
    listening to the roaring
    of this animal man-made sun-torched

    fasten seatbelt while seated
    tray tables in upright position
    three letter airport codes
    terminals that stretch on so long
    they ironically never seem to terminate

    the all too familiar lurch of lift up
    to thirty five thousand
    traverse space at five hundred
    im just happy to travel again
    wear out these shoes on streets unpaved
    destination nowhere in particular

    i dont mean to be too sentimental.
    just forgotten how well
    my blood mixes with sky metal

  • i havent seen you in thirty suns.
    thirty days is thirty one nights
    enough time for the moon to
    shine, wither, and shine again
    brighter than before

    feels not unlike

    unraveling intricate
    and intertwined bedsheets
    stained with blood of our corroded hearts
    streaks of amber maroon red

    wading through endless waves
    seafoam thick as fog
    washing over our corrosive hearts
    the water darkens a somber navy blue

    the old blood now scrubs off easily
    not entirely of course
    deep gashes still havent sewn together, likely never will.
    cuts still a hint visible.
    but we've healed and hurt and healed
    enough to talk again

    finding the appropriate words recently
    has been a challenge
    the cup is empty
    but we still raise it to our cracked lips
    savoring the last drop
    as it slides down the throat
    hoping it will somehow lead to more

    bear the pain for the sake of
    seeing the sun rise tomorrow
    until the soul cuts again
    bleeds again and cracks again
    hanging on to what little sanity we have left.
    slipping again. 松手.

    listen, do you hear it?
    we're all twinkling stars
    lost and burning, teeming bright
    the kind that cauterizes a bleeding heart

  • snacks, such a wonderful invention.
    an indulgence with
    no functional reason, reasonable function.
    a fun sized foil wrapped feel good shot of dopamine.
    salty sweet goodness paired with
    notes of caramel and "i love myself."
    a silent (usually crunchy)
    reclamation of self love.

  • i carry into this week
    a deep and teeth gritting anger
    no particular reason
    i just dont want to be here
    in this headspace
    physical space
    running at pace
    at all, anymore, in any capacity

    do you ever feel unhuman
    your capacity for empathy throttled
    even the nihilism is hard to come by lately
    dull like the blunt pencil shoved to the bottom of your bag waiting to be sharpened
    grey like the wipe of graphite on the page
    ruining my sketch of what i want to be

    do you ever feel unkind
    not quite in control of things we do,
    words we say
    the ability to hurt and continue hurting
    against our best intentions

    a slow and very noticeable sink into
    pettiness, greed, then something less
    chasing the false promise of gilded joy
    nothing but gold coated nothingness
    the happy is hollow, as hallow as hell itself.

    i carry into this week
    a bitterness that wont wash out
    no matter how many laughs i fake
    or jokes i make

  • clouds have always cluttered the blue.
    but the appreciation of clouds is hard to come by
    cling to it desperately
    every day threatens to rip it from our clawing embrace

    we'll all see the sun rise tomorrow
    but no one can say if we'll still love its warmth
    try to pinch the shine between our fingers
    try it anyways
    no one can say if we'll wake up and still be alive,
    in the ways that matter

    have the conversations you want to have
    the conversations you dont
    listen to everyone
    spend time with those
    you care about most
    the ones who care about you too
    let go of the rest

    it's on these cloudy days
    that i find myself more than ever before
    to unapologetically fire on all cylinders
    until i close the front door
    and crumble on the spot
    let go of the rest

    i tell myself that it is at this point that
    i will be complete.
    perhaps beaten, likely broken,
    but complete, won't i?

    don't take it all too seriously
    do i think my thoughts are original?
    relax, love a little, live a little
    sit under a tree
    hang out with pigeons
    just eat a snack
    so im not so full of myself
    and get lost
    in a labryinth of mind
    uncovering paths as we go
    no end in sight, everyone out of sight

    allow myself to hang onto this cloud a little longer
    bring meaning to things which inherently lack it
    words location people, numbers
    what does 0.062 and 25.4 mean to you?
    means a lot to me

    a bet, all in on potential
    seek what can be, not what was
    all our hopes and dreams
    will be right around the corner,
    im sure. if not
    right around the next corner

  • the sun slips, leaving us with a handful of stardust
    slips between glass fingers
    make do with what we no longer have
    the absence of love makes space for new love
    or is this just another lie i tell myself

    they say our footprints stay on the moon forever
    the absence of the warmth makes way for the lunar infinite

    the quiet now
    the absence of music makes moment for your melody
    the kind that plucks at memories
    a chorus you just have to hum
    as you wash laundry, tumble thoughts
    over over over
    not unlike moon rise sun set cloud blush

  • august 9, 21:36

    i climb and climb
    top of the hill
    to see the other side

    what green is the grass?
    waves of rustling liquid teal or
    a shade so dark just north of night
    what sonnets birds sing?
    is it more of a chirp chirp tweet
    or tweet chirp tweet
    who can say?
    i havent reached the top of the hill
    have you?

    eventually
    slowed to a crawl
    hand over hand grazes blade after blade
    each cutting harder, sorrow fuller
    so unbearable even numbed
    lies of ok-ness shrouds truth of happy-less

    another dawn
    another list
    of which im already behind
    better better
    there always

    what's on the other side
    nothing in particular
    just scars from burns that wont heal
    the hill to die on
    and i chose wrong

  • august 8, 12:21

    sad
    really quite a compelling choice of word,
    if you ask me.
    a three letter intersection of
    generic and meaningful and versatile
    captures so much yet says so little

    "thats sad," we said
    but as are most things in life, arent they?
    "that's pessimistic"

    with that said,
    is happy not just the ignorance of sad
    or is sad the precursor to wondrous joys
    beyond which i can comprehend

    we bear this sad for the sake of
    a sense of self so stable it brings
    a peaceful harmony so balanced it draws
    a love so powerful it carries with it
    hope

    hope
    another deceptively simple word,
    if you ask me.
    to some extent,
    hope is insanity

    hope is to look beyond the valley of fire
    ravines of sin
    plains of nothingness
    and smile at what might be,
    knowing what you face now
    certainly does not warrant a smile

    in fact, it will be a miracle to
    end this cycle of despair
    and have the courage to feel something

    hope asks of me to smile in the face of unbearable and unrelenting wind
    the kind so sharp i have to
    cover my mouth to breathe
    but i dont

    for if i cover my mouth,
    how will i shout
    as loud as the lions roar
    and thunder cracks
    shout to make myself seen, heard, here

    and when i'm done shouting
    if i have any hope left over
    a grin
    bear my teeth bare
    dust and sand and wind pelting me from all sides

    and yet we stand
    what more do we have
    than a constantly wittled
    and forever battled
    set of morals
    to guide us towards the promise land of hope
    away from this wind of sad

    so we recollect ourselves and walk
    until our heels bleed heart torn hands cut
    no end in sight
    each breath harder than the last
    blinded, deafened, dark
    our own two feet
    only ever too weak

  • august 5, 22:33

    friendship happens in funny ways
    an unexpected connection
    when no one was looking

    we didnt really talk much,
    we really didn't.
    but when we did
    our conversation pairs so well

    shared bottle of sake
    warm bowl of ramen

    we didnt see each other often,
    we really didn't.
    but when we did
    we pushed each other to be better

    saturday afternoon walk
    sunday morning run

    this will all be a memory soon enough
    no matter how much we light
    the pressing night

    the sun seems to always set quicker
    on days that turn out to be brightest
    today will be yesterday soon
    too soon

    ive seen hundreds of sunsets before
    why did tonight's sunset
    include rain

    ill miss you.
    let's grab a drink again soon.
    day after today, 6:45?

  • august 2, 08:46

    floating on a gust of wind
    nowhere in particular we need to be
    nobody in particular we're tied to

    we drift closer and further from other leaves
    all unique in some way

    at the end of the day
    where we land
    is for sure not where we'll land tomorrow
    as another gust sweeps us up into the infinite beyond

  • that when we meet anyone
    for the first time
    they're just a name and a face
    the potential for something more
    or not

    either way, it's something of magic
    to get to know someone
    what makes them laugh, cry, shout in excitement

    to get to know someone and look back
    create meaning out of nothing
    teeming with emotion
    there is beauty all around us
    its appreciation is not trivial

2022 jul

  • july 28, 9:45

    all of a sudden
    i pick a new playlist today
    not blue, but grey
    grey on grey

    the perfect shade
    devoid of color
    yet pairs so well with any

    the color of balance
    a neutral
    for im not as bright as a sunray
    or in a bottomless pit of dismay

    songs about nothing at all
    better than songs that remind me of you.

    the tracks, vinyl-ey.
    a clear head, finally
    the turbulence, reached finality.

  • july 25, 3:37

    three thirty seven
    in the morning
    the sudden urge
    burning desire
    to drop everything
    give up everything ive built
    the people i love
    the stories we've told

    give it all up in the name of adventure
    of deepening self and maybe something else
    visceral dreams of new skylines
    cold wet of new rivers below my palms

    why? this city
    is everything i want in a home
    walkable, cozy, vibrant.
    why? i ask myself
    it was as if, before i could notice,
    a story was told and over.
    so at the very least i need to
    turn the page, mark it a new chapter
    at the very most,
    end my love with this city right now.
    tear it down, i will miss it dearly.

    it's addicting,
    the familiar immersion of unfamiliar
    streets i have yet to learn
    to know nobody, have nothing, be nowhere
    my heart racing, learning, new new new
    this feeling, i miss it like an old friend.

    i look to the stars.
    then i have to sleep.
    i have work in the morning.
    my dreams, they must take a number.
    three thirty eight.

  • i lost you
    our hands in the dark
    fingers intertwined
    slipped ever so slightly
    and i lost you

    but gained so much
    a pedestal of assuredness in myself
    confidence
    appreciation for those i love around me
    who love me

    reconnection with old friends
    old habits

    new friends
    new habits

    a rediscovery of my love for my craft
    love not for a person
    or persons
    love for ideas
    ideals, things we do, qualities we appreciate
    love for balance

    to give up such a core part of my life
    is simply
    to make room for myself
    and open my heart for a new part of my life

    what do we have but an increasingly wittled set of morals
    and values
    a pocket of time
    and to surround ourselves with people we found,
    memories of those we lost

  • july 8, 2022 - 17:12

    we were flightless birds,
    but we had each other.
    our world was grounded, too grounded.
    we forgot how to dream.
    one day you looked up at the infinite sky above.
    you never looked back down.
    from then on, you were a deflightful bird.
    just sometimes i get nostalgic for our shared memories, no more.
    just sometimes we still understand each other all too well, no less.

    do you think of me?
    i think of you.

    just know,
    i wish the best for you
    even when what's best for you
    is not me for you.
    i'm not ready to fly just yet.

    just know,
    im cheering you on from afar
    as you soar through the sky
    see the sights on bright days and long nights.
    i really am.

    just know, i’m trying my hardest
    to respect your dreams of microcosmos.
    so i try to stay out of your way
    as you spread your wings
    and take to the stars.

    but every so often i stumble.
    every so often i fall again,
    make mistakes,
    or just plain miss what we once were,
    what we could have been.
    sometimes i get petty, or jealous,
    or just plain not good at expressing myself.
    i dont mean to be,
    i mean to be anything but mean to you.

    i wander these plains alone now, a flightless bird.
    your tales of mystic mountains and fiery flames
    have inspired me to flap my wings too, in my own way.
    so i look up at the sky, no longer at the ground in front of me.
    i'm getting better every day
    but still have a ways to go.
    i hope you'll save me a sky dance.

  • july 7, 2022 - 16:25

    heres to the things we cant think through

    some things we just
    cannot convince ourselves otherwise
    it makes it more real, somehow
    keeps us awake, sometimes

    finality to a feeling
    confidence to a decision
    weight to a memory

    we cant think ourselves out of this one
    it simply will not work
    so might as well stare it right in the face
    give a nod and forge ahead.

  • july 6, 2022 - 10:20

    there was once
    when our better place was in each other's arms
    for a while, until it was all we knew
    until it wasnt
    you realized this isn't our better place after all
    not now, not ever, not sure

    of course i still remember
    we danced under midnight
    moonlight
    faces grazed by haze of young love
    we tumbled over blanket
    snow
    my heart warmed by your body

    i smile, relieved that now you're in
    a better place
    and im in a better place
    or at least a different place

    it's still raw, it feels too soon, but
    it's for the better, isn't it?
    we are better people
    we in our better place

  • july 10, 2022 - 16:23

    rough around the edges
    worn to the core

    still, I wear my heart on my sleeve
    wrapped as tight as can
    wround the tattered shirt

    holes and rips from years ago
    patched and sewn from days less ago

  • july 2, 2022 - 15:23

    sunburst clouds.
    a wave of tumultuous cumulus
    blots the sky, covers my world.
    only a few shades darker.
    barely noticeable, sometimes not even.

    "look for the silver linings"
    they say.
    the sun will come again.

    instead, as of late, i embrace
    the grey matte themselves
    the shadow floofs
    the sky dandelions.

    "no rain, no rainbow"
    they say.
    the sun will come again

    i step out into the down pour
    i look up, for
    as of late i savor
    the droplets sliding down my neck
    the added heft the rain adds.

    my clothes, my heart,
    dredged to the bone.
    only a few shades darker more.
    barely noticeable, sometimes not even.

    i start to notice its beauty
    the swirls and puffs
    and shades of white-grey fray-light
    it might be a good day after all
    not despite, but inspired by
    the cloudy clouds and waterfall

  • july 14, 2022 - 22:15

    make way,
    take me away.
    take a step back,
    back again.

    the quiet of self,
    the familiar solitude.

    me & my lilac roses
    me & some fresh soda
    me & a trashy romcom to cry to
    me & some time to be, finally.

    hi again.
    it’s been a while.
    welcome back.

  • july 16, 2022 - 5:51

    a cloud drifts by the periphere
    tails of whispy white
    wraps of cotton folded in on itself
    tied together by nothing in particular

    a bird of color cuts through my vision
    defying gravity with gravitas,
    changes what we know to be possible.
    carving its mark on this whispy white canvas
    changing direction as it sees fit
    gliding with grace and precision.

    even a leaf, ever so momentarily,
    an honorary sky thing.
    on an adventure, fluttering towards the ground
    but route undefined.

    all sky things at the mercy of the infinite wind
    all ground things at the mercy of overthinking.

  • july 15, 2022 - 15:49

    the fire burns within still
    a raging fire
    uncontrollable
    blots the dark sky
    lights my insides a pinkish purplish blue

    sometimes it comes out in different ways
    in passion, in love, in emotion.
    always intense in some sense.

    i cant always see it, but i feel it
    sometimes its just a flare
    for a few years here & there
    but a whisp of smoke
    or kindling on its last breath,
    leaning over the cliff of insanity

    ive been told to chill out
    nonsense.
    it’s not something you can blow out.
    many have tried.

    this fire will never be tamped.
    it will rage from the day
    i crawl til the day i keel
    in the white of snow it will not tire
    the black of night a camp fire.

    spitter and spatter
    good and bad
    neither former nor latter.
    it's intense, i'm intense.
    i say this in
    present, past, future tense.

  • july 15, 2022 - 19:00

    the more at peace i am,
    the stronger the current that pulls me back.
    wave pushes ashore pearls,
    receding almost immediately.
    i am left scrambling.
    they’re onto the next wave,
    i suppose i should too.

    what we had was a pearl of pearls.
    but even something as stunning as a lilac
    blooms and wilts.
    i mourn it for some time, reminisce, ruminate

    the truth is,
    they saw me as just someone.
    not their one, not even one of their ones.
    but i don’t want to be just someone’s someone

    my heart is done catching its breath.
    ready to breathe fire on this city
    and bloom once more.

  • july 16, 2022 - 5:21

    it's the end of the end now.
    the final page.
    it felt like the end earlier
    but that wasn't it, at least not yet.

    so long, it's solo from here on out.
    because it needs to,
    at least for me.
    it'll be better for the soul.
    to not be long,
    not stretch out the end of the song,
    carry you along.

    i close my eyes, lean back,
    and fall — in love with myself this time around.
    silence. the heartbeat stops humming its song.
    let's start a new song when we're ready.
    we’ll sing along as we write the lyrics.
    line by line, breath by breath.

    who knows when we'll be ready?
    who knows if we’ll ever be ready?

    we've reached the last of the last bar.

2022 jun

  • June 21, 2022 - 8:04

    when walking
    things you notice can be measured
    in the magnitude of fuzzies it gives you.

    for example, a cute couple hammocking
    is a quarter mile fuzzies

    a flock of geese?
    2 mile fuzzies

    but at the very top
    a marathon fuzzy
    a fluffy doggo making direct eye contact
    grinning solid for all 28.2 miles

  • june 13

    torn
    what i want and what i need

    reach deeper within
    and find truth and honesty
    with myself
    to live with it
    and breathe it
    until i believe.
    that i’m ok.
    but i’m not ok. who is?
    who is

    doesn’t quite feel like i’ll ever be ok
    again
    was i ever
    were we ever

  • june 20, 2022 - 19:51

    don’t get upset
    forgive
    get upset
    don’t forgive

    either way, this too shall pass
    as it always does.

    there will be more
    cotton candy skies
    sweet tooth tongues
    caramel hearts

  • june 20, 2022

    i smile.
    it feels like it’s been a while.
    i don’t know when i’ll feel it next.
    but today and right now and in this moment and by myself,
    i smile.

    alone and far from everyone i love
    lost and far from everything i want to be.
    i smile.

    maybe a sign.
    a piece of me must be at peace,
    right? right? right.

    i look forward to when i’ll smile next.
    hopefully sooner than later,
    but there will be a next time.
    right.

  • june 20, 2022 - 18:09

    oh to be a pair of birds
    soaring above the branches
    of bureaucratic governments

    floating among the clouds,
    oblivious to the consequences of
    rent hikes and gas prices

    one bird says to the other
    "want to get drinks sometime?"
    the other bird responds
    "no, im a bird chirp chirp"

2022 spr

  • april 2, 202

    our google calendar event cancelled

    3 year, 4 year

    each stung harder than the last

    every corner little things are gone

    a box here

    your soap you leave at my place

    missing, my home feels incomplete without you.

    your water bottle, left here, bright pink

    the one i gifted you last year

    the candle

    my valentines day gift to you that you said you'd bring home, on my bedside dresser

    but im happy for you, i really am

    proud of you for knowing what you want,

    and it's a testament to our love to be honest with each other

    up until the last moment of our journey -

    or at least of this act 1

    you lost your beanie on your way here

    and we lost our relationship on your way out

    i miss our slow dances

    i miss our walks

    i miss our little love story in the city kind of love

  • april 24, 2022

    to grow we need to let go
    let it float away into the horizon
    into the sea of memories
    but they're just that - memories
    we can reminisce but cannot revisit.
    it's different now, it's all different

    let the change seep into me
    until i believe it
    until i bleed truth and return to this reality

    but change brings opportunity
    for what can be
    to reflect on what was, a step back to see where the sun and shade lay.
    to improve moving forward

  • february 24

    we hope for clearer days.
    but tonight, the rain soaks my body.

    what more to do but jump in headfirst
    with a shout, as loud as i can.
    for tonight, in this city of soaked bodies,
    only the rain can hear.

  • march 23, 2022

    I wander and wonder.
    Hoping to be everywhere, among everything, all at once.
    Hoping to understand myself, understand the world around me, all at once.
    Hoping to blend in among everyone, where I am no-one
    Yet also yearning to be alone, where I am my own someone.

    This sole soul and associated pair of soles have found themselves
    around the block a few times.
    Still, there is so much to explore -
    For when the seasons change,
    which they always do,
    and when I change,
    which I always do,
    this whole city is new again.
    Like someone waved a magic wand.

    and I wonder, how the city changes so often yet stays so familiar.
    I like to consider myself quite the well-versed wonderer
    Maybe still an amateur wanderer.
    When asked directions I can offer little more advice than -
    The north star? That way.
    The pretty street? That way.
    The other pretty street? Also that way.
    The river? Really quite not too far away.
    But that’s because I’m lost in my thoughts
    and, more often than not, lost on my way somewhere as well.
    By the time I cross this bridge, day will have turned to night.
    I’ve crossed this bridge many times, each time a little easier than the last.
    My day, as easily taken as night easily found.

    In this city,
    I wander and wonder,
    hope and dream,
    ponder and blunder,
    all at once.

  • may 21, 2022 - 23:21

    we are
    like the sun and moon
    intertwined in their infinite dance

    that is not to say the sun doesn’t
    hide behind clouds on days
    the moon doesn’t light up the ocean
    other days

    the sun and moon
    your sun my moon
    your head covers my shoulder
    my hand covers your hand

    we’re perfectly different, you and i
    like puzzle pieces
    like the sun and moon

  • february 24

    driven, not driving
    following, not forging.
    what’s next? what’s more?

    that is to say, to be driven
    is to give up control,
    to be pulled in
    a state of imbalance
    heading somewhere else,
    somewhere not here,
    because here is
    not good enough.

    what’s more,
    gathering momentum
    and bound to a state
    of accelerating flux

    feet on the dash, i look left —
    im driven by a burning need
    to fulfill my creative ambition.
    it's never satisfied, always asking of me to
    make more learn more create more.

    to one day look at myself and
    be proud of the challenges solved, stories told.
    in other words, to arrive at a "here"
    where "here" is finally good enough.

    armed with a stubborn nature,
    i attempt to fulfill this ambition.

    the irony is that as long as im driven,
    it'll be a self fulfilling prophecy
    of constant unfulfillment.
    at best, with some optimism, half fulfilled.
    50% rounds up, after all.
    i'll take it. let's hope there's a curve.

  • march 10

    weather forecast rain
    it froze on the way.

    we are gifted
    flakes, slush, frigid sky of haze.
    our hearts, surprised, and ablaze.

  • march 3, 2022

    I do it all in a rush —
    One mind scattered
    Two steps removed

    In the heat of the week
    when time is more non-linear
    than uhh not-non-linear.
    It’s hard to remember

    “Conscientious Patience”
    Needed to mind my manners,
    more so to stick to my morals.

    “Conscious patience”
    A reminder more jolting than a quick face rinse.
    It’s been quieter since.

  • febuary 10, 2022

    it seems to stretch on forevermore,
    this magical land.

    a land flake with fiery beauty.
    a land smoked with ice.

    covered in a fresh blanket glimmer,
    places you’ve seen a hundred times
    now probably good for a hundred more.

    but we're getting ahead of ourselves.
    for as long as the snow continues falling,
    we hang onto this moment.
    a moment so quiet yet loud,
    so intimate yet grand,
    it seems to stretch on forevermore.

    it’s just me, you, and a city full of lights.
    we step again into the growing banks of snow,
    immersing our souls in the forevermore.

2021

  • september 13, 2021

    it's 7pm on a monday.
    i decide to get some noodles on my way home,
    but as does everyone in the city it seems.

    so here i am,
    waiting for my noodles
    in a packed noodle shop

    pans sizzle
    the motherly chefs shout across the kitchen, in their mother tongue
    little red chairs at the handful of tables clang and clatter
    everywhere it's friends catching up with friends
    smiles, laughter, and the spillage of tea

    i notice
    in the corner of my eye,
    in the corner of this noodle shop,
    at the littlest table,
    with largest bowl of noodles,
    someone sitting alone.

    she enjoys
    a warm bowl of noodles
    that reminds her of home

    the swirling broth does equal part
    fill her soul
    alongside her appetite

    the rice noodles, perfectly cooked with a bit of chew
    and slurpable as can be

    outside, sunset turns to dusk turns to twilight.
    but in this packed noodle shop
    it feels like sunrise all over again.

  • august 14, 2021

    i walk down this path, on a hot summer day.
    green leaves, green grass, greeny greenery everywhereeny.
    but a splash of color catches my eye.

    upon inspection — a budding flower,
    green on the outside but touting its colors just inside its delicate leaves,
    proud and vibrant.

    my flowers are a sunrise orange,
    sometimes a sunset yellow.
    their's are different,
    a purple pink bluish.

    sometimes we'll bloom, proud and vibrant.
    other times our flowers are just buds,
    hanging out on the branch
    amongst the comfort of leafy friends.

    but occasionally,
    such as on this particular summer day,
    our spectacularly unique colors
    splash through,

    a real treat to those patient enough to pause and notice.

    upon further inspection —
    i quite love your color green as well.
    i'd like to know what colors are your flowers are

  • march 30, 2021

    the seasons, like us, are at a crossroads. the intersection of world issues and personal struggles, of race and gender, of mental and physical health.

    at this corner of love and rage we stand, trying to understand it all. we're only a block away from the world's end but without the energy to get there.

    we're exhausted. every day it's a delicate balance — what issues to focus on today? where do we overload to keep things from piling up? at what point do we pump the breaks to take a deep breath? where are we going, why do we keep going, who do we want to go with?

    tomorrow we may heal, but we must make it til then. we must, for if we can weather this winter, our flowers will bloom brighter.

  • january 19, 2021

    a city defined by rich colors and even richer history.
    the streets littered with energy, always.
    a skyline littered with construction, always.
    the noise of 600,000 people
    milling about,
    all quiet from above.

    but with all this noise cut out, the rhythm is amplified.
    the ever-changing skyline is illustrated.
    it is clear from this vantage that boston is indeed
    a vintage city, with vintage colors, whose incessant bustling constructs the facade of a modern city.
    but, like the skyline, that too is subject to change.

2020

  • a scene blanketed in snow holds
    a certain magic.
    I think this magic is derived not by the beauty of
    delicately intricate trees,
    powder coated plaza,
    or even the whispers of the wind in passing.

    instead, i think this magic stems from the everyday structures,
    normally ignored,
    suddenly exploding with color.
    teeming with life,
    ripe with ~flavor~.

    my introverted self finds this
    phenomena intoxicating.
    consequently, i find myself empathizing with a tree,
    or a window frame,
    or a pole in the ground,
    these hidden gems.
    in the moment, it seems quite momentous.
    but thinking back now, this is the stuff of sitcoms
    "the one where he had feelings for a snow capped tree"

    still, this is me and these are my honest thoughts.
    so i take a deep breath and hold all that a
    scene blanketed in the snow
    will offer.

  • december 24, 2020

    Just as the snowflake drifts, falls,
    as do I.
    I fall to an indeterminate location
    seemingly permanently.
    But that too is indeterminate.
    Where am I now?
    Surrounded by the wintry wisps of a storm
    and with the company of snowflakes,
    It is here that I can begin to compose my Lessons from a Snowstorm.

    For we have weathered this weather for what feels like a year.
    I do not know whether I can weather on this weather for much longer.
    A forecast that summoned merely
    20 inches in 20 degrees
    could not have been more wrong; it has been so, so much more.
    Unforeseen, the snow has brought with it wind, cold, and a stopping of time.
    A yearlong mandatory crisp and cutting
    deep breath.

    In January, the snowstorm began.
    Immediately, almost immediately,
    snow piles and sky hazes.
    Immediately, almost immediately,
    we can suddenly see,
    perhaps more clearly than ever before,
    those who keep our society running
    those who save our lives
    those who work day and night to take care of us.
    We have denoted them “essential workers”
    but they are so much more than just workers
    they are heroes, friends, family, humans.
    And let it be known that they are the the only reason this whole
    “hole out at home until the snowstorm passes”
    thing can work.

    By June, the street signs are covered.
    These street signs, now blocked,
    can no longer differentiate between right from wrong.
    But we are not lost, no no.
    We do not wonder where to wander in this winter wonderland, no no.
    We forge ahead on the fresh layers of snow and
    navigate the storm ourselves guided not only by our morals.
    We too are guided by discussion with those around us.
    We too are guided by a genuine effort to unlearn and learn.
    Some, a little less genuine, a force of unwill or delusion.
    That is not for me to say.
    But our path, if it is indeed genuine, is on us.
    Little by little. Step by step.

    By December, a numbing.
    A distance for so long of so far having been in place, between me and you,
    you and them, them and me.
    Whiteout. I blink blankly.
    I now exist in my own blanketed void, a blank slate.
    Inside I am alone, but not lonely.
    You may enter, we may pass, but only temporarily.
    Largely however, it’s just the unrelenting wind and thoughts,
    to which I will not relent,
    to keep me company.
    This void serves as a real and raw reminder to hold
    those we love tightly,
    for that warmth can offer music
    to cut through the unrelenting wind and thoughts
    to which I will not relent,
    I will not.

    I hope for the day I have the privilege to hold your hand again.
    The colors that will saturate
    No - satiate my soul.
    Until then, all I know is
    This monochrome snow that saturates
    No - soaks my boots.
    But this monosnow chrome isn’t too bad either.
    For I am so deeply in love with you,
    you silvery sky
    you fervent flakes.

    So what has the snowstorm taught us?
    We ask again, as it rages still.
    For me, this has been
    a year of yearning
    a decade turning
    a lifetime ahead of unlearning and learning.
    A good deal of discerning our true characters.

    I think that these are my lessons from the snowstorm.

  • november 10, 2020

    like a wave the waves of work
    weigh me with worry, week after week.
    they beg for my submission, clouding my thoughts and shielding my emotions.

    "just one more week"
    i lie to myself, just like i did last week.
    ive gotten quite quite convincing at it.

    "just one more week"
    so convincing i almost forget that im
    one step ahead of collapse.
    two steps ahead of giving it all up.
    what am i afraid of?
    burnout, always has been.

    but now is no time for that,
    there's always next week for that.
    today, i have to get through that.
    will i find the will to push through another wave? tune in next week.

  • april 15, 2020

    we could give up

    or

    we could give more

    we are broken

    or

    we begin rebuilding

    for the dust must settle

    before the ground can be

    stepped on.

    so do not feel guilt for

    a moment alone

    a moment to catch your breath

    a moment to let the dust settle.

  • march 18, 2020

    i turn a corner — indecision.

    i turn another — uncertainty.

    convinced one of these

    corners

    will make this month a memory,

    i forge on.

    today's corner however,

    stealing a little more morale.

    these days morale is the currency

    and my wallet (read: patience)

    is running thin.

  • january 31, 2020

    it's going to be a cold one today, folks

    and no, i'm not talking about the weather

    the world itself is cold today

    as it was yesterday

    and the day before

    but we have to live in this cold world

    this racist

    classist

    sexist

    sensationalist

    injured world

    today, i'm sick of it. i've had enough

    and yet, i sit here on a cushion

    of privilege

    padded with dissociation

    grateful, but aware

    aware of the cold breath

    aware of the pain

    aware of the brokenness of the world

    it's going to be a cold one out there today, folks

    so layer up your morals

    wear an extra thick skin

    you're going to need it

    but tomorrow

    tomorrow will be warmer, i'm sure

    and no, i'm not talking about the weather

  • january 29, 2020

    a bustling city

    s’more when it snows

    an unbreakable spirit

    better when challenged

    an unstoppable train

    but slow, so slow

    time marches on

    but when the white falls

    time pauses

    before i march on

    the doors creak

    clang

    slam

    visitors pay patronage

    but pass temporarily

    the doors wait permanently

    and without company

    it is irony, that snow

    reveals

    not irony that my love for it

    revealed

2019

  • December 16, 2019

    To my fellow factory seconds, misprints, floor chopsticks:

    •

    a poem for you.

    Two inches left of my heart 心

    is a void.

    Always there, always has been.

    I've said hi, peered in,

    but havent fallen in.

    •

    To fill a void — work.

    A sense of purpose,

    the satisfaction of a job well done.

    It's still there.

    •

    To fill a void — belong.

    Others who can see a void,

    a longing to be accepted.

    It's still there.

    •

    To fill a void — love.

    The warmth of someone special,

    my better half.

    It's still there.

    •

    a poem for me.

    Maybe I cannot avoid a void, even as it grows.

    It's pull, a drive for more and

    a hunger for better.

    •

    But in my attempts

    I stand here having wronged and hurt

    myself,

    and those closest to me.