blurbs
I wrote this for myself
there will be a time when living won’t equate to dysfunction
and there will be a time when love will be a glimmer of hope
i’m missing friendships that time still hasn’t ended
i think of what is left of me to be consumed by the man
as I’m left standing with loose threads waiting to be chewed off
Birdman
the birdman lives on my street
and he feeds my soul
there have been tornado warnings in my neighborhood
the sirens pound against the songs of the wind
i’m crouching underneath the securest foundation
i’ve been finding what feels wrong and carving it out
peeling pinecone’s sorrows
i’m reaping the destruction of others
the birdman lives on my street
and he feeds my soul
there have been tornado warnings in my neighborhood
the sirens pound against the songs of the wind
i’m crouching underneath the securest foundation
i’ve been finding what feels wrong and carving it out
peeling pinecone’s sorrows
i’m reaping the destruction of others
Untitled
“jesus loves you,” he said
i knew what love was
i’ve felt it before in the form of midnight calls
he rings and I’ll answer
i’ve sat here a while
“he knows your struggle,” he said
i don’t think he did
i recall the shiver of a cold touch
one you’ve left behind
“i hope you find peace,” he said
i’ve crawled my way here to find it
a needle pricking at your side
maybe it laid under the bench I sat on
“amen” they said
a prayer for a lost person
i’ll stay seated for a while longer
grasping onto what’s left of their punct words
“I don’t remember it”
I drop my gaze to the thought of once inhabiting a place I couldn’t return to. To know the way floors turn and contour but not know what colors the walls would come to be. To enter archways not bordered by doors for entry. The voices that inhabited that house are no longer there. The 7th year turns into the 8th and I can no longer recall the house inset on the side of the mountain. What remains behind my eyes is the impression left by affection. The humid smell of what the morning would bring and the sound my ears would become attuned to. I felt as if I had to relinquish that part of me who felt at home near the curve of the equator.
The dance of fruit flies in the kitchen. The strong smell of rain-soaked soil right behind the yellow curtain. The narrow entryway made fit to bruise any kid’s knees. The colors of the walls here change with the shade of the season. There was the old static TV that couldn’t withstand the force of familial opinionated voices. The sound pinches your brain and yet you settle into its comfort. The torn painted straw chairs with cavities in the seat. The small house keeps cool with the grey stone floors. I keep cool with the stone grey floors beneath my bare feet. The metal gates are ornate to the eye’s edge and come to a spear at the tip. I hope they guard that house even now. The cliffside’s edge, hold strong the roots that tie me back to my mother’s land.
8 years later
Imagine a daughter without her parents. And a son who only gets to see his mother now. Carried on a warm breath, we arrive here and see our family again. Can you imagine it all, flesh and bones, eight years later? Eight years with just a window to look through and an ear with a glass behind the door. We’ve all been touched by age here and I find myself struggling to brush cobwebs off my tongue. You all, whose faces I knew so well, have changed. There it is again, that child-like ache.
Our feet planted not on our native soil, but by the neighboring bend. Our friendly peace treaty. Our safe familial haven. Ribcages compressed against each other as if it could possibly make up for the eight years in which we took our separate paths. In the midst of this reunion, I feel like a traitor to my tongue, to my country, to my family. I think about the terror of my condition, to understand a language I will never fully overcome. I can keep up my passive smile, and nod with naive familiarity. I’m older. It isn’t fair I say. This space, this extended breath that keeps us further and further apart.
Goodbyes aren’t forever, just the space held between them
What is a pearl?
the shiny object of my desire
a glistening sphere made from the hard crescent of your mouth
you spoke in that tongue, mother
biting ivory between your teeth
i wonder what’ll really become of my foreign palette
nature finds a way to reject my birthing place
for you’ve planted a precious material like a seed
and expect some new growth to follow
the shiny object of my desire
a glistening sphere made from the hard crescent of your mouth
you spoke in that tongue, mother
biting ivory between your teeth
i wonder what’ll really become of my foreign palette
nature finds a way to reject my birthing place
for you’ve planted a precious material like a seed
and expect some new growth to follow
3rd floor
delicate natures find ways to
create bruises between us
pollute me
between (your fingertips) (my legs)
bring out the sadness in my left hand
line my ribs with your sorrows
and create your home inside me
melancholy boy
you rest the weight of your hands against the structure of my frame
till it rots or breaks
Whittle
it’s been a while since the touch of your
presence has felt like home
you press against me like a bruise
scrapping against an open wound
you’ve come to weather my skin with your downpour
and inside me echoes the same drifting storm
one you only witness from the eye of a hurricane
i’m inhabiting a ghost, I swear
for your touch, your presence,
doesn’t recognize me anymore
i’m just a sheet now
bone white, bare
it’s been a while since the touch of your
presence has felt like home
you press against me like a bruise
scrapping against an open wound
you’ve come to weather my skin with your downpour
and inside me echoes the same drifting storm
one you only witness from the eye of a hurricane
i’m inhabiting a ghost, I swear
for your touch, your presence,
doesn’t recognize me anymore
i’m just a sheet now
bone white, bare
untitled
when will waiting be enough to fill an empty promise?
prophesying pain before the collision
i’ve dreamt of a man who is beautiful and full of monsters
and call him holy
when did guilt start to feel warm like a fire?
charred fingertips on the prowl for its source
you’ve become smaller, digestible, a palette cleanser
you’ve become
too barren
when will waiting be enough to fill an empty promise?
prophesying pain before the collision
i’ve dreamt of a man who is beautiful and full of monsters
and call him holy
when did guilt start to feel warm like a fire?
charred fingertips on the prowl for its source
you’ve become smaller, digestible, a palette cleanser
you’ve become
too barren
Swift Endings
speckling red, glimmering in your void
ivory bone teeth in your mouth
sink into and find a way to maul me
find me setting sail to sea
you are the pale blue
i’m the quiet deep
beyond horizon’s double sided line
a fugitive crossing the county sign
no I won’t be going back to my hometown
i’ve grown weary of being haunted
you are the object of
and I’m only the desire
speckling red, glimmering in your void
ivory bone teeth in your mouth
sink into and find a way to maul me
find me setting sail to sea
you are the pale blue
i’m the quiet deep
beyond horizon’s double sided line
a fugitive crossing the county sign
no I won’t be going back to my hometown
i’ve grown weary of being haunted
you are the object of
and I’m only the desire