books & collections:
heartbreak makes space for clouds
twenty poems under dawn’s crescent
balance not excess: a visual poetry book
the journal, organized by month:
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 punctuationa blank page offers imagination
green, go-ahead for JOY
words will fall off bleeding pen
to odd ever growing decanterwhat 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 lovewhat 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 shoulderPerfect 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, corrodedmold 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 morningsWeeks 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 timeThe 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 fearedthey 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 hercontrolling chaos, they say, is purpose
eternal struggle giving direction to sun’s shadow
losing ourselves, making nonsense of moon’s shineto 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 oncei 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 muchthis 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 selfby 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 blocksas 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 yeti 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 hearti 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 mei try to always walk up escalators
that is to say
i like to live life as full as my body will allowi 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 slurand you keep writing
and you cant stop
because the more you write
the more you writeand 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 matterso 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 risesfor 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 daygo ahead and stick out your tongue
your silliness
will heal long-petrified heartsgo ahead and be you
you will make up this world of minehow 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 tonightAs 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-stickdelight 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 sobswhat'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 latethere 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 stormi 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 volitioni 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 fingersi 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 sonot anymore, not like before
now i am in search of valley
my valley, not just anywhere pillow of grass
sinking just enough
to pause incessant thinkingwhere cliffs of mountains ive climbed
and those ill save for tomorrow
surround me, remind mei 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 stormi 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 rushthe 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 likingi 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 personi 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 handin 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 myselfwhat 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 onewe grapple with stories real and imagined
and what can only be classified lies
each for our own reasonswe'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 soulnext, melody of language unknown
will do equal parts fill ear and heart
accompanied by assortment
of fruits from fragrances forgottenafter 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 knotshowever! 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 ricethe 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 grateup the stairs
up the stairs
to the left
through a single door
then a double doorwalls of sunflower yellow
lit by doors open to a balcony
enough to sit three, just barelydented stools surround
metal tables
patiently awaiting hustle of lunch crowdsthe 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 timethese 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 momentsi stand here
right up against the curb,
shoes hanging over this mini-cliff
a small rock back and forthit'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 poresthen sound
then smellthen, after a few days
our blood runs mixed with water of this new place
our muscles fueled by new foodsbut 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
togethermy eyes see this city
through this focused lens
my heart at peace
amid the chaos
my mind occupied
in telling a storythe crashing waves of
motorbike motorbike
narrow alleys
pockets of music moments
smiles, tears, tension, and finally
we lean backwardfinally,
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 favoritemoments 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.
![](https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5e1a752cfd1969013baa7550/61c5dd24-ae46-47f4-b228-e5693c2e577d/UWU01003.jpg)
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 touchsimply 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 willsfor 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 momentat 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 heartsimply 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 scatterlet'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 friendthe
you disappeared off the face of this motherearthing earth
friendit'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 therei 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 itinscribed 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 pitynight 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 togethertonight 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 layeredloop loop
new rhythmsknot knot
new conversationsstitch stitch
new feelingsour 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 conversationlet'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 quietlet 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 replyi 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 willi 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 warmthan 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 greenlook 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 tooif 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 bodysunwake 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 gloryand 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 differentto 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, uncertainlyadrift 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 sandthe 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 fasterpart 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 puddlescompiled:
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 ropesjust your voice
even on a call,
intermittenly crackled and static
can comfort this crushing moment —
even round this wicked jag
even warm this midwinter mightyour 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 datewhat 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 lovethe former smokes wisps of overhope
with undernotes of optimism
fantasical fantasy of what is to comethe 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
irrevokablyand 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 mochajust 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 littlewe 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 meas 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 scarsevery 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 hopeall 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 awayWe 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 museSomething 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 faceor are
the clothes i wear
the colors i choose
a quiet and silent protestartifacts 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 reflectionis 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 Aliveeach 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 bodythe cup
assembled by the hands that raised me,
poured by the hands around me,
brought by my mere two hands
to parched and quivering lipsi look back up at the dirty mirror
and swallow. i am
every problem solver, confidently
never quitter, consistently
dependant of self, arrogantlythis is what i was trained to do
therefore this is who i am to youbut who am i to me?
the quiet thinker
who loves generously,
talks too little, sometimes talks too much
and misses fiercelyso 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 meit seems the antidote lies
not at the bottom of this amber bottle
but in the creases and wrinkles
of this cambred smilethe more poison i sip
the more poison i sip -
september 8, 2022 - 22:42
it hangs above
right above our heads
sometimes just inches abovetoday 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 inchso 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 embraceso 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 rainwe find ourselves on our knees
mourning the shade
as the sun beats us to submission
the dust slips through our pathetic handsreturning once again to peace
the void of nothingnessfor 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 forestlush with life
trees acquainted with themselves once again -
september 1, 2022 - 20:58
the goal is
not to be happy anymore
was it everi would just like to live more,
breathe a little less quickly
love a little more quirky
visceral dreams, insatiable desires
of the moments beforean 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 foamso 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 toso i go on a run
and i keep thinking
i keep writing
keep writing
the words come to me easily now
too easilyi 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 pointdo 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 thoughtsomeone 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 concretefor 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 upam i burnt out?
of course. for a while. it's all i know.
that was several chapters agothe 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 midnightso 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 fistsin-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 beforehowever
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 zerodo i really know myself more
than everyone and everything around me?
who is to saymy 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, reallyto 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 myselftired 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 windbut 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 alli just cant stop grinning
even sitting still
listening to the roaring
of this animal man-made sun-torchedfasten seatbelt while seated
tray tables in upright position
three letter airport codes
terminals that stretch on so long
they ironically never seem to terminatethe 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 particulari 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 beforefeels not unlike
unraveling intricate
and intertwined bedsheets
stained with blood of our corroded hearts
streaks of amber maroon redwading through endless waves
seafoam thick as fog
washing over our corrosive hearts
the water darkens a somber navy bluethe 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 againfinding 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 morebear 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 capacitydo 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 bedo 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 intentionsa 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 embracewe'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 matterhave 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 restit'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 resti 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 sightallow 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 mea 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 myselfthey say our footprints stay on the moon forever
the absence of the warmth makes way for the lunar infinitethe 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 sidewhat 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-lessanother dawn
another list
of which im already behind
better better
there alwayswhat'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 comprehendwe 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
hopehope
another deceptively simple word,
if you ask me.
to some extent,
hope is insanityhope 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 smilein fact, it will be a miracle to
end this cycle of despair
and have the courage to feel somethinghope 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 dontfor if i cover my mouth,
how will i shout
as loud as the lions roar
and thunder cracks
shout to make myself seen, heard, hereand 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 sidesand 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 sadso 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 lookingwe didnt really talk much,
we really didn't.
but when we did
our conversation pairs so wellshared bottle of sake
warm bowl of ramenwe didnt see each other often,
we really didn't.
but when we did
we pushed each other to be bettersaturday afternoon walk
sunday morning runthis will all be a memory soon enough
no matter how much we light
the pressing nightthe sun seems to always set quicker
on days that turn out to be brightest
today will be yesterday soon
too soonive seen hundreds of sunsets before
why did tonight's sunset
include rainill 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 towe drift closer and further from other leaves
all unique in some wayat 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 noteither way, it's something of magic
to get to know someone
what makes them laugh, cry, shout in excitementto 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 greythe perfect shade
devoid of color
yet pairs so well with anythe color of balance
a neutral
for im not as bright as a sunray
or in a bottomless pit of dismaysongs 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 toldgive 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 palmswhy? 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 youbut gained so much
a pedestal of assuredness in myself
confidence
appreciation for those i love around me
who love mereconnection with old friends
old habitsnew friends
new habitsa 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 balanceto 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 lifewhat 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, sometimesfinality to a feeling
confidence to a decision
weight to a memorywe 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 sureof 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 bodyi smile, relieved that now you're in
a better place
and im in a better place
or at least a different placeit'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 corestill, I wear my heart on my sleeve
wrapped as tight as can
wround the tattered shirtholes 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 againi 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 particulara 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 bluesometimes 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 insanityive 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, ruminatethe 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 someonemy 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 fuzziesa flock of geese?
2 mile fuzziesbut 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 needreach 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 isdoesn’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 forgiveeither 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 governmentsfloating among the clouds,
oblivious to the consequences of
rent hikes and gas pricesone 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 differentlet the change seep into me
until i believe it
until i bleed truth and return to this realitybut 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 dancethat is not to say the sun doesn’t
hide behind clouds on days
the moon doesn’t light up the ocean
other daysthe sun and moon
your sun my moon
your head covers my shoulder
my hand covers your handwe’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 fluxfeet 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 removedIn 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 shoppans 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 teai 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 homethe swirling broth does equal part
fill her soul
alongside her appetitethe rice noodles, perfectly cooked with a bit of chew
and slurpable as can beoutside, 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.