poems.txt

sea storm
washed away
in a sea
i am swallowed
by the things
that are bigger
than me

*undertow
drowning in the ocean flow
we’re caught under
the undertow
twin hearts dragged out to sea 
how will we
return to shore

*hymn for the lost
eyes melt from their sockets;
hands cling to their pockets.
the world outside is unfamiliar.
the strangers you see,
are somehow stranger than your own head.
the friends you once loved,
somehow left you for dead.
off infinite paths,
you’ve tread once again.
singing hymns for the lost,
only my voice is left.

*an ocean drained
a writer
dragged along the knife of time;
my hands cannot sing
if my head is chained underwater

mellow sea, i could be
stories swimming in the
in-between 
among the sunstream
and evening rain
but my fluid dreams
dissolved in my sleep,
and i became an ocean drained

saltwater stings
bloodied cuts;
my mind’s eye
saw things she feared
and forevermore shut.

i lived some things that none should
my mother and father
a template of love forevermore
perhaps to an untrained ear
with certainty:
a tale as old as time
with certainty:
a tale of tribulations and vices

six years old
a vessel of air and a canvas of white
perhaps to a blissful ear
with certainty:
the first year of memory for a 22 year-old child
with certainty:
coming of age for angels tainted forevermore

at six years old
seeing double is the new normal
two eyes follow the floor
attentively, intensively
two eyes revolve the door
inwardly, outwardly
distractedly, there’s something else

it’s nothing much
it’s blurry caricatures and echoing voices
it’s my world split down the middle
i could choose the right side
but it’s not worth being vilified

at seven years old
school is flickering fluorescent lights and linoleum
it’s crisp autumn air and microdoses of life
the teachers say i’m silent
but my mouth is stuffed with lead
the teachers say they’ve called home
but home is what lives in my head
my sister was the only
one who could empathize
because the same secrets
were locked behind her ears and eyes

at eight i’m ready to become somebody
i’m a mother and a savior and
my head is filled with warrior plight.
onward we trudge and navigate and
forget. 
we forget the fallen to embrace normalcy.
we forget the present to become forward-bound.

over all the ribbon
when i’m old and brittle
i’ll burn the family house
so all the withered memories
become tulips in the ground

*song of the levant
i walked all the way
to the promised land
with a stake in my neck
and a child on my back
we drank from salt lakes,
mud gloving our hands,
and when the lakes dried
we stuck straws in the sand

*lullaby of the river
down the river, you float
reaching for sunken skipping stones
won’t save you
it’s the electric current
which chooses where you move
it’s the voice of the waves
that pours into your ears
it’s the helplessness
in your face
as you bob face-down
waiting for the creek
to stop playing with its prey.
how cruel it feels,
the hot sun on your damp hair
and the dampened sound
of children’s laughter
how ironic it feels, 
to ache for something free,
to gasp for something so plentiful
jagged little pebbles cut
your reddened heel
as you kick, kick away
but freshwater
won’t heal an open wound.
bubbles start to surface
you contemplate your purpose
this stream of consciousness
might steal away your consciousness
down the river, you float
drowning in your unfinished story

*gold panning
we burned our clovers
till the earth rolled over
till the soil bled black instead of brown
but i can’t drown out
the river banks speaking
when i’m gold panning
they’re always peaking through,
the pyrite specks of you

*crooked smile
you hide your crooked smile
but don’t you know
that it’s beautiful.
the chuckle that escaped your throat,
it bubbled up to the surface
of a bottomless ocean.
in the creases of your temple,
i see a red-hot swirling sun,
fiery
and impassioned
and all that you are
but cannot believe.
bare your crooked smile
let the light shine out your face

*yours
you wrap me in a cocoon of ribbon
and spin the golden walls
and i wonder
how can a soul be so sweet
and soft and tender
as yours

*headrush
there’s a tightening in my chest.
it seeks shelter in my stomach,
saunters across my heartbeat.
and clasps the wailing valves.
willow wind trees,
please crawl back to me.
there’s a tightening in this chest;
today i fell to
an eternal unrest.

*cain
voicemails from the past
(i’ve not replied)
letters at my door
(unopened, undermined)
you see a guise
but i’m not disguised;
in cain’s broken face,
you see abel’s eyes.
in my broken grace,
you testified.

you’re holding onto something
that’s killing you still
you said that it won’t
(i know that it will)
you know what i feel
(why not be released?)
you take it in stride
(your soul’s in retreat)

calls from the future
(i won’t reply)
letters decomposed
(couldn’t find the time)
i’ll be who i’ve been,
(i am who i claim)
i’ll steep in my sin
(there is no rebirth)
restless, defenseless
a wanderer on earth.

*letters from the confessional
let this conversation be not a game of stakes,
the death of trust,
or the last words that ever sailed from my lips to your ears.

i don’t wish to be sat in a confessional booth,
apologizing for being a flawed human,
stowed away under the black shadow of God’s iron fist.
but while i’m here anyway, 
i pray that a fracture could be temporary;
that weakness isn’t eternal damnation and
admission of it isn’t a bullet in the rifle of a confidant

i hate to be the destroyer of your fantasy,
the shadow on your memory,
or the extinguisher of your dream.
but i demand release from purgatory
would your world shatter if i told you something imperfect

so you promise to be a friend
you are soft, supportive, and unconditionally unafraid of the unknown
you are an agent of sensation but not of perception
you assure me,
judgment could live in your heart but not on your tongue
i assure you,
i could find that sufficient.

your gaze is saccharine sweet,
but your tone is telling me
that i’m a bad actor
well, you are too
there’s a distance in your eyes
the fault lines in your voice can only deepen

Henley said it best
i hate to be your mistake
but i would hate even more
to not be master of my fate
one captain of my soul
i’ll accept an eternity ablaze
if You douse me in gasoline
i’ll swim in the lake of fire
if You beckon me to dive

*all things do perish
bones crumble in soil;
blood spills to the sea.
whispers from the grave
are wind in oak trees.
all things do perish,
for all that we know
and i’m not afraid
of being alone.

i’m 22
and 83.
my midlife years
weren’t lost on me.
milky way bruises
from all that i touched
the violent firestorms
in “i love you so much”
the meteor showers
the freedom fire rush
the 61 sirens
haunting my hallways
the 61 nightmares
they followed me always.

i'm 22
and 83.
my body doesn’t
belong to me.
it’s reaching through
the ocean floor
it’s inching up
a blade of grass
and when our roots are intertwined
i’ll be preserved in present-past
through all that i suffered,
for all that it’s worth,
my soul will still orbit the earth.

*return address
i talk to you from the windowsill sometimes
tossing paper plane queries
into the night
so the wind can carry my words
back toward the moon
did you find enough time
to read my letters,
my dear?
did they crumble
in spaceflight
or in your hands
you could come back down
every once in a while
if you’d like
no, i’m not in my mind
check the return address
i’m living on the outside
i wait for you
in a celestial ocean
it's a place you might know
it’s my swimming pool soul
riddled with suns and stars
and sunken clay planets
Venus is on her third lap 
no, i’m not in my mind

*somebody else
you meet my gaze
and see the glassy apparition of your ex-lover
let’s not pretend this time around:
you're looking down at me
and you’re wishing i was her
don’t you know i wish i found you first
my paper plane pilots never quite survive
fatal landings in the frozen river
was our love was not clean and sweet
did you lie my lover
were you imagining her lips
the frigid night you kissed mine
i still remember the first time you told me i was yours
the silvery glow of the moon electrifying your pale cheeks
as you breathed those haunting words into my reddened ears
drawing a fire inside me you knew you couldn’t keep kindled
god save the victims of trigger-happy lovers
it means nothing to chase a girl’s shadow
and i refuse to stand in her’s

*candor
douse your preconceptions in permanence
and smear them across the small of my back,
letters large enough to read at a distance.
you could try to define me
rationalize me
other me into oblivion,
but you only discussed me.
and if candor slipped
from your poison lips,
it was only a collection
of half-truths.

*exiled to memory
haunting winter nights
flash frozen in the ice
summer heat thaws out
those memories of you and i

august blues amount to
me reminiscing on me and you
how frighteningly beautiful they were
the snow crystals melting in my hair
sly fractals promising me
that we, too, were infinite

we said our goodbyes on my doorstep
pretending not to notice the cold
so that we could drag out the words a little longer
oh, but my reddened nose
was giving us away

still pushing me down
amnesia, your remedy
i can’t help the feeling
i’m exiled to memory

*shower water
icy streams trickle down my calf.
primed by the numbing uniformity of laminar flow
and the steady sound of droplets pitter-pattering on the tiled shower floor,
i grab a double-bladed razor
and begin hacking away at my heritage.
dark hair slips down the silver drain
along with my mother’s warnings
that it’ll grow back twice as thick
and as monstrous.
forty thousand years before,
did she ax the saplings and pluck their roots
or did she fertilize the forest soil?
i glance at the shower head
and meet your silver face.
sister, 
wash my bloodied ankle.

*dead birds
feathers scattered all along your porch
it’s the season of dead birds
the kids like to play in the woods
sometimes they find red coats
buried in the leaves
yesterday they ran home grinning
because they won lost and found again
was she the one
you sold at my yard sale?
long dark plumes with wits about her
she was chirping for too long
enjoying spaceflight
in her birdsong
and if men are on the ground
she will need to come down
don’t think too much
it’s the will of a boy
a bird with wings stretched
belongs in his hand
rifles were made for shooting
don’t mourn a dead bird

*borderline
wildfire of the north
smoking and blazing and burning
the house i once knew
who does it matter to
it’s all the same to you
you don't mind my mind
you’d like it done on time
you don’t care for mine
i live along
the borderline

*prayer to a stranger
stranger’s silence
sounds much softer
when you’re sobbing on his shoes
i say a small prayer
try and curry god’s favor
but it’s you i’m talking to
i wish upon a star
send a letter to the sky
but it doesn’t reach the moon 
little stranger,
you’re not as strange as me
little stranger,
i write a thousand words you will never read

*ad astra
mourn the evening sun
falling back to earth
your peach sunsets
will soon bloom blue
my dear,
they always do.

the stars aren’t any more merciful
than my memory
they illuminate the blemishes
on your skin
and the melancholy in your silver soul
they draw out
the shadows
you tried so desperately
to kill

the dark suffocates your dream
and awakens your nightmare
i remember your bloodshot eyes
gleaming red in the black of the night
being you was never easy
your redhot supernova
set my ice planet aflame
desecrate me, elevate me
ad astra

*song of levitation
bloodshot eyes
drawn to morning light,
how do i escape the sun?
i’ve been levitating for quite some time
climbing white walls
to spectate from the ceiling
maybe i’ll be liberated
if i
rearrange the space i’m in
a departure from earth
to break free from the place i’m in
melting away in a bedroom wasteland
i’m melting away
in a bedroom
wasteland
dalí set the clock on the wall

*i’m not lost
i hid under the rose bush
where the ladybugs crawl 
yellowed spots fragile wings
we both needed shelter
from the evening rain
sometimes everything is gray
you go thundering
and i go kicking up my play pretend
i speak to the clouds and draw in the dirt
and dream in my head
that i’m not in my head again

that kingdom was always safer
water trickled sweet and slow
from cotton candy rain clouds
down the golden valleys
back when i wasn’t afraid
of feeling you on my skin
we were two kids
always home-bound
am i in my head again
i’m not lost
i’m only waiting to be found

*ghostface 
ghostface,
you haunt me too often.
and the faster i walk,
the closer you follow
your pale face in the window
making me feel seen and unalive
i don’t want to follow you down to the underworld
pacing pacing pacing
and the more you cling,
the smaller i shrink
you wrap white sheets around me
and steal me before a gasp escapes my lips

*night routine
wake up in a cold sweat,
cotton pajama top soaking up 
the aftermath of a midnight panic attack.
eyes roll toward a window ajar
as a prickly breeze coats my body
and the shadows on the wall
slowly creep toward my bed.
i try to pull myself out the damp mess
but my head is heavier than i am.
i try to call for help
but i cannot conjure a sound.
i try to think
but my brain is still asleep.
i sink back into bed,
waiting for the night to consume me.

*november
white autumn sky calls out to me
blunt and barefaced, weary and worn
sunken-eyed songsmith,
she knows why crows hide
and leaves crumble
in november.

*soul string
we decays to you and i
you and i decay to i
i decay to something small
to forget what once was we
i cleanse myself of
all the broken bits
yours and mine
until all that was
is all there ever
will be
and all i ever needed
was for you to
let go of my
soul string

*vertigo
on and on he goes
feeling all the vertigo
minute hands caress
his chest
begging for a moment
there's never any to spare
every breath in the wild
has already been claimed
on and on you’ll go
feeling all the vertigo

*zzz
i close my eyes and fall asleep
and you wait for me patiently in my dreams
but your silhouette on the door keeps me awake
it's not your bed in which i lay
someday we can number the stars
hands interlocked, 
you’ll be in my arms
and not the soil

*quiet eyes
eye-to-eye with the cavern wall,
i’ll spill my violet secret:
sometimes i don’t know
if you can see me.
do you notice my quiet eyes?
they mumble a melancholy chorus
they hum hymns of liberation
begging for release
from these limbs and this body
and these limestone walls
guarding my soul
can you hear my little voice
from mainland?
has it shaken the earth above
or dampened to nothingness
it’s the catch in my polite laughter
as i stew in mineral madness
and wait to be found
it’s the crumbling clay
besides my feet
as i dig my soles
into the earth.
have you felt the crook in my neck
from the small stones
lodged in my throat?
there’s dust in the airways
but sound is of no use
when i peer through
quiet eyes
can you still see me

*hunchback
piling stones on my shoulders,
taller and taller
i’ve not yet fallen
i am the hunchback
bent, not yet broken
and so i stand still

these nights are long 
they beg me to imagine
all of the things i could have said
all of the ways that i could have
finally made everybody happy
except for maybe myself

my back is caving in
the days are hot
and i am the hunchback
simmering into my slouch
i am passing through
a state of in-between
endpoints unknown
these stones of mine
are here by design
i am the hunchback

*the man upstairs
my diaphragm dissolves
and i figure
it must be the man upstairs
i don't know who’s inside of me
he wraps around my torso
it's nothing that i’ll mention to you
neighbors aren't supposed
to tighten my chest
and make me small
but i can’t evict
the man upstairs
he is his footsteps
tracking in black
and thumping on my spine
it’s a feeling thing
subtle when you’re carefree
and you wouldn't notice
words that don't
belong to you
seeking shelter in your chest
he won’t cause a ruckus
it's nothing that you’ll listen to
he's mostly harmless
when he's not living
under your eyelids

*am i what you are
am i what you are
because my skin doesn't feel
like it belongs to
the girl with my name
you’re so demanding
with your laughter and careless conversation
in a flurry like you don't mind
the fact that i am upside down
that i’m itching to carve
off a layer because
somebody made me
lesser
am i what you are
you don't look like you're
anything small
you look like you don't sweat
like you could step
on my fingertips
without minding too much
that's what it's like
when your voice
can't reach the outside
am i what you are

*pocket piles
straighten your shoulders
rest your gaze
unclench your fists
to release the
paperweights you’ve been carrying
dense and senseless
they don’t know you
empty your pockets
we don't need
receipts of your mistakes
all those times you were on the losing side
burn them to the ground
and paint with the ashes
we don't need
expired coupons,
crumpled in sweaty palms
present time is the only time
the bells in your ears
have chimed for too long
the strength is all in you
you can drown out their voices
you can speak your truth
you can be who you need
drop your pocket piles
because the shards cut deep
and you have to find 
a way to 
make your life work
somehow

*ex-lovers’ graveyard
take a walk with me
and i’ll show you around
the ex-lovers’ graveyard
it’s not a bad place
but you might cut your heel
on the broken promises
scattered along the ground
if you turn the bend
you’ll find marble tombstones 
marking all those who fell
in their grand pursuit of self-discovery
all those who stood
too close to their flames
until the charming embers
burned down our little wood cottages
don’t dwell too long
in the ex-lovers’ graveyard
don’t lose yourself
in the forest of names and dates
lest the trees wrap their weary branches
around your unsuspecting chest

*weeping willow
weeping willow calls to me
it's always been about you
i’ve been wishing on your leaves
mourning you and your mood

weeping willow, did i topple your roots
i’m the one you criticize
i forget myself in your truth
and remember when you lie

you hurt me when you hurt
still i seek your silver lining shade
you carved out my worth
now i can’t run away

wrapped up in your beauty,
strangled in your delirium
who am i if not your flower
weeping willow, don’t cry anymore

*heart wide open
set my heart on the table
so that you can see it too
take a look at what you sowed
because i cut it open for you
bloody gash erupting
scarlet sentiments spilling out
can you clean the mess for me

*nomads
my body is a state of in-between
a field where i hide
in the black of the night
aimless, nameless,
leave me alone
less

strip me down and rip me up
bruise me with your wooden club
like you don't care
my addiction and my parasite
do i want to forget you

morning sun rises
with my pulse
nomad heart
roams where it pleases,
don't blame me
lover
maybe you're one of me
maybe you lost me on purpose

tomorrow we’ll be somewhere else
treading daylight on our own
four wandering eyes
could never see as one
two wandering hearts
could never be as one
burn your image 
from my mind
i’ll surrender yours
to the ashes of time 

*not all things will get better
lately i’ve been
drowning in my lonely
while you're kicking
up the earth
beside me
you’re in your
sandstorm paradise
you’re in your
desert garden 
and no i won't be
beside you
when the dust settles

lately i’ve been
sitting in the rain
and watching the slow-moving cars
ache to be where they're headed
i don't remember
if you were next to me
when the clouds started
conjuring their soliloquies
or where you went
when their lavender love spells
came rushing down
i don't remember
if you were in the red buggy’s
passenger seat

lately i’ve been
shedding the excess weight
and i’ve been star searching
during the midsummer rainstorms
it’s not like me, no
to wonder how the water trickled so far
down basalt banks
it’s not like me, no
to let myself feel
all the wrong things
it’s not like me, no
to forget to
remind myself who i am

lately it's been overcast
all of the time
lately you’ve been
on and off my mind
lately i’ve taken
solace in my lonely
lately i’ve made peace with the fact
that not all things will get better

*tales of an invincible self
blemished skin
an aquiline nose
and clay eyes that melt toward her cheeks.
she is Venus on earth
and the reason why her mother
retakes the family portrait.
she heard tales of an invincible self,
of an unbreakable soul,
of an indomitable spirit
and chose to transcend.
she is the unkempt hair that whips in wind
and the strong, broad shoulders beneath.
she is all the colors and shapes that don’t need to be redrawn.

*atlas
sink into
the couch cushion
you reach out for my hand
but i’m hiding in the walls again
rummaging through the lack
and befriending all of the mice
who’ve lost something they can't replace
i lose something and i’ve lost everything
i lose one thing and it's the end of all things
floating toward the moon
it won't return
no matter how high i reach
no matter how far i stretch
even if i borrow your step stool
it shrinks into nothing
i follow suit

*harness
we like to play
with our harnesses off
soaking in our youths
drowning in our aggressions
like nothing could ever break us
like no one could ever scratch
a glass girl
back to the earth
soles to the sky
palms cupping the soil
clouds cupping the soul
it’s better without
your harness on

*asterisms
two stars in the night sky
you and i
could trace a constellation
lightyears away is not too far
for a flame in the dark

*class struggles
give me the troubled and the wary
the bleak and ordained.
give me the hunchbacked boys who were thrown to their feet
blackened by sewage and left to rot on the scorching pavement
who ran to petty thievery and distrust of authority
because you authorized their decay
in favor of glassy men with velvet bow ties
and porcelain skin and feathered bowlers. 
give me the acned girls with bony legs and stick-out rib cages
who ran from the brick schoolhouse 
because you placed a booksmart woman with plaited hair in front of them
and told them to become her. 
give me the kids who never rode in squeaky streetcars
i promise that i won’t try to wash the bottoms of their shoes

*it’s black outside 
it’s black outside
and all i can hear
is twittering sparrows
and laughing crows
shouting in the early hours
don’t they know
to keep their voices low?
sensation without perception
i listen without reason
to your choir
in my melancholy
i hear your triumphs and your urgency
you fill the empty space
so i don’t have to
i could sing along with you
if you’d let me
we can wake the neighbors
to a hymn of your design
it's black outside
but souls will still carol

*honeymoon phase
mom and dad and a fight in the car
one two three four
fingers around her neck
it was something about a broken coffee mug
i forget about it and watch the raindrops race on my window
pitter patter pleas as they sink
gasping from the passenger seat
five six seven eight
wine-colored splotches on olive-colored skin
and i count silently
all the reasons why i’m never getting married

*caution: fragile
you love to break a glass girl,
watching her shatter from the inside out
until you become whole again
i̇s that how you fill the holes
bored by all the ones who came before me?
all the little battles you make me fight
by myself, they mold me
into the survivor and suddenly
i don’t need you anymore
because i fell in love with somebody i could see
because your absence taught me how to be alone
because it hurts to hold on so tightly
to the boy who lets go without a second glance.
with every passing minute 
cracks under my skin deepen just a bit more
i rise with the sun
again i learn to live without you

*touch me
you touch me softly and sweetly
fluttery feathery familiar types of feelings
falling into my palms and
watching me kneeling you caress
me so slowly and suddenly so bubbly
and fizzy you’re making me dizzy and honest
and honestly i love you enough
to believe your touch is true
but it’s flimsy and fleeting
you imprison me in our drunken land of make believing

*gone
tear drips down
down
down
stinging the scar on my cold wet cheek
i see your face at the bottom of my coffee cup
floating on the surface of the lake
brown eyes upon mine as you drift down
a lazy river
they burn holes in my chest 
and suddenly you see right through me.
let me go
you feel heavy on my shoulders because i love too hard.
we’re two worlds apart again
off later and on now
i’m resigned to the fate of you’re gone now

*my skin is a storyteller
80-year old man
catches himself in the rear-view mirror
and counts the memories on his skin.
he reads the fables spelled out across his forehead,
fingers lingering on the braille creases.
what marvelous moments, he thinks,
were documented for all the world to see.
he studies the smile lines adorning his cheeks,
reaching out to remember every second he’d spent
grinning so hard that surely his teeth
should have fallen from his gums.
he recalls all the nights in his youth he adored, 
grazing the half-moons under his eyes
with the back of his thumb
and tenderly pinching his crow’s feet.
i crafted these narratives.
my skin is a storyteller.

*quiet hours
we like to talk about all the things
we never said
during quiet hours
when my voice is a whisper
buckling and guilt-ridden
and your words are still bubbling in your throat

8soldier
they're almost here and your shoes aren’t on and i hear them pounding
down the doors and they're almost inside
and your shoes aren’t on
but their rifles are and they're almost inside with their boots buckled and shined and they're shooting at the locks and they’re almost inside but you’re not lifting a finger and you’ll be dead in a second so shut up and fasten because his fingers are on the trigger because

*burdened with memory
my bones are hollow
as are your words.
my mistakes are several in number:
trusting that love is kind and good
and reciprocated
and worth making myself die and be reborn again like clockwork.
you ask if you did something wrong
i was wrong
were they feelings or skipping stones
(the fleeting playthings we chose to call love)
they sunk into my pond
they cut my heels as i tried to stay afloat
but you hold me down with my head underwater
why do you lie
you lie with reckless apathy
you lie like a gravedigger,
eager to jump into the holes you’ve created
second thoughts all abandoned.
it’s become a creature of habit
your second tongue, to curry a harmless fable
to believe that i am stupid enough to swallow your concoctions
as you force feed quick falsehoods
with an empty face
with expressionless eyes
front and center with monotony.
i push until you shut down
like a lock box that’s been open a bit too long
you’re uneasy
and now i am the culprit
for making you uneasy
i feel cold

*grassland musings
i dream of lying in an endless meadow
where the scent of wild grass
penetrates the pores in my skin, 
and the only item on my to-do list
is deciding whether the blindingly white wisps up above 
resemble a mare’s tail or a snow bunny’s fur.

i’ll sing myself to sleep,
harmonizing with the glorious cries of twittering songbirds
and gently tumbling down the rolling hills of vert.
rows of scarlet tulips and velvety marigolds break my fall,
pushing my weightless body back up to the shining peak.

a soft spring breeze
will hoist me toward the sun
so that i can sail through the sapphire sky
and claim my crown as queen of the clouds
in a land of my imagination,
i can’t ever fall down

*critic stew
chop up your scornful sentiments
and sprinkle them in my stew
finer, dice them finer
if they seem too coarse for you
drizzle in a few false compliments
to complement the crude.
nothing’s off the table
when we’re cooking critic stew.

just a dash of innocence
oblivious means sweet as can be.
a jarring pinch of pepper
because the salt needs some company.
bring the rusted pot to a boil,
it’s done from what I see.
after i finish my lovely meal,
the empty words move right through me.

*non-thinkers’ paradise
he says my mind isn’t mathematical
in the purest sense.
that numbers don’t flow through my veins,
dripping out of my skin when I cut
my wrist on scathing criticisms
about the type of work
that I was cut out for.
he says that I am suited for the prim and proper desk job
that I belong in the non-thinkers’ paradise
carefully storing starchy sheets of paper 
smothered in creamy black ink into perfect square manilla folders.
he says that I was born to mimic and document
not to reconstruct or rebirth
because creation is an art best mastered by the quick-witted
by the leathered men who speak in binary
by the metal men with metal lives who interrupt themselves five times per sentence
because their minds churn out ideas so quickly that their mouths can’t keep up
not by the ditzy daydreamers who scribble frilly words into their paperbacks
not by the little girls who embroider tiny roses onto their corduroy coat pockets
not by me.
he says that I am not a scientist
not an engineer or creator
or anyone that is branded into history’s back with a flaming iron.

*something profound
staring at a blank page,
i confess:
i ache to know of something profound.
i want to look up toward my bedroom ceiling,
listening to the songs of my soul, and
wonder if this was where i was born to lie.
to disintegrate into the hardwood flooring
and achieve something celestial
to recognize euphoria by the scent
of her skin.

*an abyss called lesserness
fingers suppress a gag reflex
when they graze my dappled skin.
would a glass girl learn to heal
if she’s broken from within?
it’s the never-ending push and pull
that we call loving yourself
and your self.
i’ve heard the words a thousand times over
and i know what they mean
but these scratches on the wall,
i’ve gotten used to seeing.
these scars from girlhood, 
we wear like badges now.
who am i
if not shattered?
it’s an age-old story:
we like to look upward
when at the bottom
of an abyss called lesserness.
strangers seem so demanding
with their bubbly laughter and carefree conversation
caught in a flurry like they don't notice
the fact that you are upside down
that you’re itching to carve
off a layer because
somebody pushed you
into an abyss called lesserness
yes,
somebody made you
lesser

*sheets of silk
she wrestles the devil
while nestled in sheets of silk.
weighted throws can’t smother night terrors

*hollow words syndrome
i hear myself speak and everyone can tell
that i’ve got hollow words syndrome.
hi hello howareyou how'syourdaybeen
wash rinse repeat 
repeat repeat repeat repeat
they don’t have a meaning
please don’t ask me how i’m feeling
don’t you know by now
i feel bad when i lie

*to hold and be held
bundle me up in the shackles of your warm embrace
i want to lay my head on your chest and listen to your murmuring heartbeat
i want to topple you over,
pushing you deeper into the suede couch
i want to desperately pull the satin blanket over our heads
and melt away into the cushions, 
becoming the sum of our bones
i want to glide my fingertips along your back
and envelop our fleeting minutes of togetherness
i want to suffocate in your warmth,
to drift off into an ocean of your divinity,
to sip ambrosia from your golden chalice
until i’m intoxicated

*on/off
binary boy
knows two modes
is fluent in on/off
flawless code-switching
in his transitions
when he chooses to change tongues
no inbetween
in that demeanor
no hazy lines of gray
just a cold response
hint of indifferent
maybe some crumbs the next day 
loves me
hates me
why’d-i-let-her-date-me
it’s all the same to me
tomorrow you’ll be on again
binary boy

*non-escape
i murder daytime
sunlight’s too revealing
seek protection
from your gaze
so i raise night sky ceilings
i scramble your face
to forget what you mean
disassemble your shadows
to dissipate in the in-between
no, i’ll not be feeling
and i’ll not be grieving
but there’s no retreat
when you fall asleep in your bed
and wake in my dreams

*cosmesis as metamorphosis
girl skip rocks on a shallow lake
to distort her own reflection.
observing the short-lived ripples, she detects:
ethnic nose, a birthday gift from her father
unruly eyebrows fading into her hairline
criminally low cheekbones
oily, inflamed t-zone screaming for accutane®
and an underdeveloped mandible struggling to surface.
walk home on a mudstricken path
she’s a stranger to her own body
she’s a victim
to the credit card hoarders,
casting dollars at anyone who promises to sculpt her bones
and peel off her skin
until she is born anew.
girl learns to call herself “woman”
with just enough pocket change and half-decent insurance
and schedules an appointment
with the man she had been waiting to meet
for the past fifteen years.
he encircles her with a focused gaze 
and diagnoses her with human.

*diary of a kitchen inhabitant
doting future mother-in-law
shakes my hand with both of hers
and thanks me for applying for the position of “her baby’s wife.”
I produce a suspiciously short resume and cover letter
and a shriveled hand gently accepts them,
knuckles weathered by decades of
dough kneading and deceitful grace.

doting future mother-in-law 
requests that I am fluent in cookbook,
for a soon-to-be wife must be good and true
and use fresh blueberries in her lemon blueberry pancake recipe.
for a soon-to-be-wife shows her appreciation for the breadwinner
by baking him decorated foccacias stuffed with rosemary
for a soon-to-be wife keeps to the kitchen
if she wants to keep her husband

she asks if I understand
because she would hate to have to turn me away
because the wife’s position is ingrained in the family crest
because she can’t risk a newcomer leaving her son underfed
I tell her that i didn’t think the role of caretaker was in the job description

doting future mother-in-law wraps a skinny arm around my back,
leads me to the door,
smiles wide enough to reveal a cracked premolar,
and encourages me to apply again when I graduate from womanhood.

*boyishness
father stares at baby boy
and offers him the appropriate tools
a little toy fire truck
superhero action figures
shades of blue and green.

*how to say my name 
chew up the consonants.
grind them to a thick, tasteless paste
flatten the vowels with your tongue
and stick them to the roof of your mouth in
a salivated swirl of disinterest.
floss with the syllables
to make them more palatable
to be soft and oblivious
instead of ignorant:
ambiguity tastes of honeyed ambrosia,
and you’d like to sip from the chalice.

to not know is to be well-intentioned,
to somebody stewing in their mother tongue.
he who does not know,
must always be benign
“clueless,” they correct — “not callous”
perhaps to an outsider looking in
but not to me.

no;
to not try
is to loathe,
to somebody simmering in the in-between.
the second-generation immigrant,
she follows the first,
and her name is the ancestral pendant
dangling from her neck.
it is her most valuable family heirloom, 
the one omnipresent reminder
of the people she left behind
it is her mother’s favorite word
it is the first thing you’ll learn about her,
and sometimes the last.

no;
say my name
like it belongs to the protagonist.
she’s well-written and complicated and
not just the supporting character for a picture-perfect lead.
say my name
like you’ve been writing a love poem
to the new girl at school
and i am the new girl at school.
and no;
i’ll never anglicize it.

*begin again
silence is the dagger
that cuts deeper than you know.
i don’t want to be a burden
so i don’t let the feelings show.
i think you’re halfway gone
so i’ll let myself let go.

i did my best to keep you full
now i'm dangling by a thread.
you left me alone so long, so lonely
so i thought about where you went.
you don’t really seem to care
so i’ll save myself instead.

i wanted affection, steady streams
and your hands were springs in drought.
i tried to tell you i was thirsty
but you couldn’t hear me shout.
i tried to tell you i was dying
but you just taped off the spout.

i can’t hold a grudge
so you can come back in again
maybe i’ll fix my glass pieces
before the mud tracks in again
i think you wanted someone else
so i make myself a stranger
and we’ll begin again.

*trespassers
ugly thoughts approach from afar
try as i might to not shake their hands
they waltz into my mind and grab
a glass of wine with conviction
telling me about how glad they are to 
have arrived; we’re old friends, you see
and they lounge on the couch
unwanted guests refusing to leave
and refusing to acknowledge that
they’ve overstayed
and they should go
before I do

*vital
take this withered heart.

its broken rhythm 
grazes your ears
and makes your lips curl
with a newfound tinge of regret.

sanguine wine
drips from these valves
with the peevishness of a
bedridden child, floating far
from the cage where he lies.

still, i only request
that you teach it
how to love again.

*arms of another
mirror paints me a portrait
of a boy i used to know
and he's entwined in the arms of another
tap his reflection
because i need somebody
to tell me how to feel
cold and colder
my fingertips quiver
they trace his embrace
the giggles we used to share
repurposed and replaced
until we’re worlds apart
it's a nonissue
it has to be
many may crack
under the weight of my words
i don’t want to want you anymore

*roadside assistance, form I
let’s dance along the edge of the highway,
gazing at the night sky, we’ll ask the stars for advice,
you can stand on my shoulders as the cars fade to gray.

alone with earthly troubles, we’ll let celestial motion lead us astray,
the ground grows envious as we swing without thinking twice;
let’s dance along the edge of the highway.

there’s no yellow taxi-cab to Heaven, no golden stairways,
nor a horn loud enough to swallow our selling price;
you can stand on my shoulders as the cars fade to gray.

spinning in our dancing shoes as heavy minds drift away,
letting go is our journey into divine paradise;
let’s dance along the edge of the highway.

tightly coiled strings of thought begin to fray,
leap over the guardrail, and the panic melts like ice,
you can stand on my shoulders as the cars fade to gray.

staring up toward the brazen crescent, we silently sway,
vibrations on the crumbling road dissipate with our vice. 
let’s dance along the edge of the highway,
you can stand on my shoulders as the cars fade to gray.

*roadside assistance, form II
let’s dance on the sunset
fall back on the stars
jumping jacks in a meadow
until our fingertips touch the moon
how small can you feel?

*hypocrisy
earth chokes you until
every breath becomes a new sentence,
and every blink becomes a new slumber.
watching the wilting with a pair of fresh eyes, you conclude:
death by your mother’s hand
sounds sweeter than it tastes.

blades of grass watch with disdain
whispers in the wind
turn to cutting criticisms

rivers stare as though 
you were a droplet of blackened water
in its crystalline pools
impure and imperfect

earth will gaze at you,
a child of its own creation,
as though you were birthed 
in the Garden of Eden
with lavender tucked behind your ears.

*cough syrup
sickly-sweet cough syrup
envelopes my tongue
volatile bomb bursting
force fed these bitter flavors
grapes taste like deceit
your honey is stuck to the
roof of my mouth