day 365

19 in 4 parts

i.

on your birthday,

you were sound asleep in Autumn

with the boy you swore you would marry

and a mattress that didn't have the arms to hold you.

the first time you tried to escape,

you picked up your passport an hour before your flight

and found yourself in the cold of Toronto.

all pigeon and black squirrel

not enough clothing or warmth

too many streets you did not know how to pronounce.

you became gypsy queen

desperately trying to find your purpose in life

in a city that wanted to swallow you whole

ii.

during the first snowfall of December,
your heart sang its final battle cry
with fingernails sprawled across his skin.
when you became knife
you became machete
and ax
and heart attack
you became the first drop of blood
the last time you would ever throw your body at something so monstrous
you became savage
all that barbaric prison
sadistic lover
no more excuse to keep killing yourself.
when the cops refused to come
when your neighbors didn't bother to calm your screaming
when he tried to heal your wounds with booze
and lies
and more women,
you cried.
for the first time in this skin,
you let them know that you are human
and all blood
all warrior
all woman.

iii.

when the first flowers came up for breath

you found your smile the most comforting song you could ever sing.

with a mouth filled with softness

all the sweetness you had been missing

when you realized you became queen

you became birthday

everyday

stronger swimmer

drowning in forgiveness

a lot of tears

a lot of being born again

you found your voice

learned how to speak

learned who to speak for

let it heal

let it out

let it breathe

let them hear you

don't let them touch you when you cry

pick yourself up again

and again

and on the days you think you cannot

you continue

wipe that sadness off your body with a rag

refuse to become one with the broken

the worn out

learned how to separate yourself from who you used to be

iv.

when the girl of your dreams

found out how to hurt you

to leave you with jaw broken and head still high,

you let her leave.

let her think of you when her new girlfriend scowls at your name.

when you cannot bring yourself to love the boy

who loves you back,

you question your intentions.

when everyone is asleep in their beds

dreaming of smoke and prayer

there is a god within you

pushing you to love

to breathe again

for yourself.

inside of you,

lies a thunder so unsettling

a sky ready to erupt

the patch of skin waiting to become whole again.

inside of you,

there is something greater.

there will always be something to grasp onto

something that needs you

someone that needs you

somewhere that is waiting for you to claim home

inside of you,

lies a goddess.

ready to love.

to heal.

to come home.

day 364

Nineteen wants to say hello
rest your head comfortably this time
tell your inner goddess to burst
you are made of river rock
and all the waves that push you down
when the sea salt smooths your skin
this is how it feels to save yourself

Nineteen wants to sing
in a sun shower
the devil is not beating his wife
she left him
for a better lover
she is crying for joy
for
I've found better for myself
for today I am more alive than I've ever been

day 363

Lost doesn't know where he wants to be

Lost doesn't know that I'm serious

that my body is not open invitation

I am not the girl of his dreams

Not willing to fall asleep on backyard hammock

We will not share the soft summer wind

or the hard glare of winter together

We only share quiet

and uncomfortable

And I am avoiding you for a reason

Lost doesn't know how hard it is to tell him to fuck off

Lost doesn't understand that he is suffocating you

Trapping you in your pleasures

Simple trips to the grocery store

To class

To the library

Lost doesn't want you to speak to anyone else

Even if you are speaking to somebody else

Anybody else

Like it is a cry for hope

His body is fly against stadium lights

We all watch how much he likes to burn

fizzle

Turn to ash.

Lost,

I am apologizing to my own skin for wanting to apologize to you

I am tainted

And blotted with fear

it is etched onto my skin with sharpened bamboo

Call this what we call prayer

Drilling ink inside ourselves for protection

This is how my blood does it.

I am searching for ways to become safe again

in my own skin.

day 362

I.

In this dream, I was driving down an orange grove as the sun was setting. I ended up at my friend's boutique. She lives in Singapore. I tried on her jewelry and she dressed me like she didn't have enough use of her hands. She was warm. I needed that.

II.

I met someone with a garden and we just smiled without showing our teeth. Too many secrets underneath our tongues, waiting to dissolve. Maybe I'm not ready to love you. I don't think that she wants me to.

III.

Today my doctor asked me what I was studying. I told him English. He asked about my plans after school.

"I want to teach English in Spain. Maybe Portugal. Or Guatemala. Or maybe even Japan. My family thinks that I'll be kidnapped and sold as a sex slave. I hate that I have to worry about that."

IV.

"I think you should go. The world is too small for your potential."

V.

In March, I'll be visiting my friends back in Toronto. I miss the air there. The cold and the subways. I miss how tall they make me feel. Bigger than my own skin. I am sprouting mangos and stretching roots underground. Sometimes I fall in love with souls in other countries. Sometimes I wake up in a cold sweat and realize I am settling for bodies. Just arms and throats. A lot of angel hair and glowing skin. I let out a sigh. The world is too small.

day 361

"we all make mistakes/ we do/ I learned from you"

how many times have you given your soul to the hungry in the park? when the streetlights flood the pavement like learning how to swim for the first time. after your kayak flips over and you are stranded in lake without the safety of life vest. of nothing to hold onto. of my hands are so bare today, where are you headed, why aren't you any closer to communion. the first time i prayed to God, i prayed for forgiveness and asked to be held by a body that did not know my name. he sent me water. he sent me bathtub and red sea. the buoyancy of salt water. mariana trench. the feeling of not touching the ground with your toes. all calloused and worthy. when was the last time he kissed your feet? when your dirt was his gold? how many times will you jump off diving board backwards just to face the truth? we can't see underwater without help. without protecting your vision. i've become a martyr for not worshiping this lack of jewel. there are not enough miles to swim. there are not enough depths of you i'd want to explore.

day 360

You can search throughout the entire universe for someone who is more deserving of your love and affection than you are yourself, and that person is not to be found anywhere. You yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe deserve your love and affection. (Buddha)

Maybe this was all an accident.
We forgot to press pause to cherish the moment.
We've forgotten whose birthday we're celebrating.

When you wake up with hands filled with toxicity and a sunken mattress,
how do you stop yourself from crying?
One night I dreamed of driving off a cliff.
I toppled over and woke up in a stranger's bedroom.
I rolled over and woke up in a puddle of my own fear.
I am learning to control what I have no control over.
Learning to become one with my phobias,
bad loves,
those I cannot bring myself to love.
Allowing myself to forgive myself.

day 359

Things I need to do before I turn twenty:

sleep in

paint myself

paint myself naked

paint myself while being naked

rub my dog's belly

soak in the cold sun

start collecting children's books

give my mom something she will be proud of

write my first script

change my bed sheets

stop slouching

fight the nerves

be more bitchy

be more kind

be more kind to myself

appreciate my friends

stop forgetting about those who actually love me

stop comparing myself to other girls

stand taller

stretch completely

get picture frames

tell my mom I love her

stop asking my father for material things

continue to stop holding back

live my own life

forget about the past

completely

or try to

just breathe

love my sister

tell my brother I miss him

take a break

remember that my happiness is in front of me, not where I force myself to be

day 358

mum's advice:

don't compare yourself to anyone
don't worry about the success of others
their beauty
their money
their luck
their blessings
focus on yourself
how can you become a better you today?
when was the last time you made yourself happy?
don't rely on others making you happy
don't allow anyone to rely on you to become happy
be happy for other people
if you give good, you receive good
if you give bad, you receive worse

day 357

I had a dream that I was being stabbed with needles. I woke up in a cold sweat and searched up the meaning behind it. It says that I'm thinking too much about a damaged relationship. I'm not sure which relationship it is referring to. Today I thought of you and we ran into each other. I'm pretty sure my dream wasn't about you. Not because I'm not thinking of you, but because I am sick of doing so. If you've ever had a real wake up call, you'd agree that your dreams are the closest you are to the truth. There are way too many dishonest truths underneath my fingernails. I am cringing at all the love I am losing. I miss you. Not like water, like blood. This is a poem written in one part to too many people. I need to finish dreaming.

day 356

There's so much I want to say, but I'm not allowed to on the Internet. Not for anyone, just my thoughts. When you become the void in your own body, you try to find ways to become your own god. My stomach is grumbling. Eyes bloodshot and arms limp. What am I trying to say tonight? Just wishing you a good one.

day 355

In my mother's kitchen,
the speakers are filled with the swish of rice paddy fields
and the sweet June tune of survival.

The first Cambodian song I ever heard
was my mother's battle cry.
I was seventeen,
sitting at her bedside,
nestled in between breath,
and the art of choking back tears.
This is where I first learned how to stop being a body
                                                                      an empty closet waiting to be filled with apologies.

My mother's second husband was just that.
I only remember arms strong enough to become branch
and the laughter of cicada.
Loud.
Everlasting.
What you think of when you hear summer's wind.
The twirl of hair around my mother's smile
and the subtle scent of peonies on the granite counter top.

On his drive to work,
he played his favorite song.
                     louy, louy, louy, louy
                     louy tinh snaeha
The woman sings about not being able to afford love
like it is the ax that keeps the men away from our forests.
What you don't understand about the generation before me
is that these souls watched their own sweethearts
be stripped of honey.
                           Watched their jaws unhinge and
                                          their stomachs fill with vinegar.
                           When their skulls pop open,
                            the villages ferment in blood and unsung hero.

I've never seen my mother and her friends drink red wine.
They don't celebrate the holidays with fireworks.
They like to swim.
Their bodies have become memoir of Mekong River,
lily pads,
and lotus flower.

On the Fourth of July,
I share the bed with my mother.
She asks me why I make so much noise when I move my body;
                    why my skull has become the soundtrack to the cock of a gun.

I don't reply.

She's still running away from the war.

day 354

first day of classes

I remember what I wore on my first day of grade 8. I don't even want to think about it. Think about channeling the early 90s in the almost new decade of the 2000s, the bright tights, a lot of pop punk girl bands, weird hair, but really nice teeth. In grade ten, I got braces to fix my overbite. Five months later, I had to get them removed. Not because my teeth were already fixed, but because my health insurance changed.

Today, I began my third semester of college. It's technically my second if you count the first semester. I don't. I dropped out and flew out of the country. To follow my heart. To feel cold and bitter and immerse myself in numb. I learned not feeling anything all at once is the biggest burden. You wake up in your own bed, in your hometown, and wonder what you just did. I am a huge dreamer with lips that kiss fear on the mouth. With tongue. A lot like grade 8. I am a wandering body with a new soul. I am always born again on important days. I live my life like everyday has a purpose. I will say that everyday does, but sometimes the purpose of a late morning is for being trapped in your sheets and letting your anxiety tear your flesh from the inside out. I don't know where I am going with this, but I will soon. Isn't that everyone's excuse?

day 353

How young is too young of an age to want to feel sexy?

said fifteen year old me.

This is for the broken curfews

teenage ignorance

all the fuck ups and sleep deprivation

The times I lied and told someone I've loved them

just because I didn't want them to go to bed upset

The girl I never said goodbye to

The boy I don't want to say hello to ever again

My bitter,

malleable heart.

My porcelain brittle of a soul

A spirit

Every ounce of life I lose when I sneeze

For not having big enough arms to give you home.

Distancing myself. 

Detaching. 

day 352

1
Googling "how to stop myself from hating someone I don't even know"
has become bedtime ritual.
I am trying to remove this demon.

2
I am not a body filled of turmoil
or oil spill.
The mornings I become ghastly,
I hold my breath.
Sometimes I try to stop my senses all at once.
I want to blossom
when I am stuck in my own filthy thoughts.

3
efflorescence
means to flower.
It is the state of blossoming.
Growing within yourself.
Branching out.

4 I need to grow larger than this hate.
The filth.

day 351

You say,

"do not apologize for the thoughts you have no control over."

Our fingers have always found a way to tangle--

all knot and mouth.

When we kiss

I forget how we even met. 

day 350

I've forgotten how funny my mother is. I take pride in being fun and clever.  It didn't hit me til now that I am my mother's daughter. All smooth skin and big smile. Short temper. Tiny people. We are so tiny. With big hearts. And fists of iron. Strong willed. Survivors.

day 349

*
while making spaghetti for my best friends, one of my ladies says, "hmm.. we could check if the pasta is cooked by throwing a strand onto the wall. if it sticks, that's how you know."

**
if all the words you say to me
stick
to me,
what do I know?
I don't know what to do.
you want to "resolve."
not with me.
with a ghost that overpowers my efforts.

***
it makes me sick to my stomach.

****
I don't want to speak to you ever again.
but
what do I know?

day 348

words I abuse:

love
blessing
warmth
comfort
peace
happy
laughter
my mother's laughter
daughter
sister
love
love
love
love
love
love
love
in love
tired

day 347

In the fifth grade,
I taught my arch-nemesis how to fold a paper plane.
Now what you probably don't remember about fifth grade
is that everyone is maniacal.
One day during recess,
my very own Doctor Doom lodged a paper plane so far into my hair
I swear the school nurse had to surgically remove it.

I couldn't look at a paper plane for years after that.

Fast forward six years
and I am on a plane heading for California.
The baby next to me laughs like she has just created the ultimate plan to take over the world.
We spend the next thirteen hours harnessing turbulence
and shifting our bodies to prepare for zero gravity.

I look at her and can't help but wonder if babies dream of flying
and if they do,
do they fly with wings or with what they are given?
I pluck an eyelash and wish her a lifetime of safety.

In Japan,
there are 10 year old girls learning how to fold origami cranes for the first time.

Legend has it that if you fold one thousand cranes,
you are allowed one wish
or a happy marriage.
I am the daughter of my mother's trial and errors.

You see, when you fold a paper plane,
you fold the paper vertically down the middle.
The first time I flew on my own,
I cried in the international terminal for a good half hour.
The feeling of home always feels so much warmer
when you are 30,000 feet off the ground.

Last night,
I had a dream my home caught on fire.
I couldn't scream,
but I didn't want to be heard anyway.

What I'm trying to say is

They will try to burn you
but you will not become ash if you do not want to crumble
When winter comes and kills your garden,
you are not wilted prom corsage
You are not first date bouquet
                   the waiter messed up your order
                   today, the sky is gloomy and I do not want to care
                   the girl you love moved far enough for her to forget your touch
                   you washed your cigarettes with your laundry
                   your cell phone is dead
                   you never call your mother
                   your parents are dying
and you have just become a puppet to hands that only want to fuck you

If any of you have ever folded a thousand origami cranes,
did you wish
to fly?
Are your feet still planted in the dirt
like your teeth
and mouth
and tongue?

Today,
I taught a child how to fold a paper plane.

What you do not understand
is that you don't need a thousand of these babies to conquer the dark
and the subtle unknown.
You must have forgotten
that you will never forget what being alive feels like
dancing
on the tip of your tongue.

day 346

sweet dreams Amber.

I refuse to actually say goodbye to you. We will still speak to each other from the miles apart. There is nothing left for us to think of. No more bed to share or cold winter apartment. I am myself now. You are finally beginning to find yourself. And that's all that matters. You will find love, find life, and breath in yourself. The warm sun and your voice. Beautiful voice. That is who you are, Amber. Free and full of new chances. Second chances. A brand new chapter. I will miss you, but I've missed you for months. This won't change anything. We are growing apart. It happens. It already happened. I just wish you the best, the worst, the challenging, the happiness, the growth. Tree sap and fossilize us. 

day 345

Things you should take with you when you leave

Your broken heart

The ability to read

and feel

Your calluses

The will to make something out of yourself

An escape plan

The years we spent trying

The years we spent not trying

All the hate we've given each other

The only times we've loved each other

when we weren't together

A camera 

The two photos we have together

A sense of togetherness

Unity

Not being so mad

So crazy

The willpower to not go insane

Sanity

Sanity

Sanity

day 344

twenty one days to go
my 20th birthday wish list
part II

1.
the boy I've loved since I was thirteen
is moving back to our hometown
in three days.

not exactly Long Beach,
but close enough to call home.

2.
at thirteen,
I was best friends with a boy who wanted to love me.
sophomore year
we become soul mates
trapped in bodies yearning
for the touch of
our closet skeletons

3.
in eighth grade
I kissed a girl by accident

freshman year
I kissed the girl of my dreams
she was with the girl of her dreams
and I was truth or dare
spin the bottle
queer girl wants to hold hands with you
love experiment

4.
sophomore year summer
I fell in love with a woman that everyone hated
I fell in love with a boy who loved boys
sophomore year summer
who the fuck was I

5.
today I share a bed with someone I love

6.
I am sure I am a kleptomaniac
and a fragile heart
I am not immune to heartbreak
or falling in love
I am surprised each time
I talk so freely about love
and loving others
and falling in love
like it is something you can check out
wasting time in public libraries
with a lover you won't love in a month
or
stealing junk food off the shelves
of grocery stores
just the thought of having something to hold
or read

let the lines be bare

7.
I am a jealous stomach
with an appetite for too much

too many nights alone in bed
or lunch dates for one
not enough shame for two
or embarrassment

8.
I chop my hair off every time a lover does me wrong
I call it salvation
and liberation
and the unity in between my cheek bones
a smile, perhaps
I've had short hair for so long
I don't remember how it feels to feel pretty
I am always grungy
or 90's pop rock garage band bass player
just dirty

9.
purity

day 343

part1

rude girl

with a big stretch for good mornings

with strangers

who are

half boyfriends

part2

That used to be me

it's still somewhere inside

shut that channel off

sometime within the past season

day 342

I didn't respond to your email.

Not because I was angry at you. I was at a loss for words and slowly losing my character. I live my life recklessly and with pride. Full of bad decisions, tearjerkers, bad jokes, boys who only know my name, and girls who know much more. There is much more to me than mushy brain leaking from tiny nostrils.

You know when you drink too much and you're forced to throw up? You know that burning in your nose? That's how I feel. Everyday, often, sometimes not at all, sometimes all the time. Like my brain is melting. Sometimes it's melting from too many awesome thoughts and ideas and being overwhelmed. Other times it is melting because my autopilot of a life has suddenly come to a halt. No more cruise control and driving without a windshield. Or seatbelt. I don't know. I didn't respond because I know everything you say is true. I also know that everything you said is false. I also know that I don't know much, but I know enough to be content with silence, and the ringing of a blind argument. You don't need to take care of me anymore. I hope that summons the hallelujah of Michelangelo's chorus of angel babies. A sweet relief. I'm not mad at you or angry or anything other than okay.

I am just that.

day 341

For my 20th birthday

I
Fists of iron
A coat hanger
Better hand eye coordination

II
You're moving across the universe
with shoes made of braille
and a loose tongue that doesn't know how to speak to new strangers

III
Aphrodite pricked her foot on a thorn
while trying to find Adonis

IV
Seventeen was a year of being saved
Finding myself in your mouth of an ocean
and the callous ignorance we named ritual

A habit
of being lost

Of losing myself

V
Maybe I'm still lost
Two years later
A better sense of direction
Broken magnetic compass
The will to fight

day 340

symptoms:

- blocked ears
- stuffy head
- serious case of acne
- fever
- wow I think I am dying in bed tonight and I have no idea when things will get better
- things will get better
- it will heal
- I am not broken nor in pieces
- just really hot and I can't hear
- or breathe
- relaxing
- trying to breate

day 339

To the boy who drives 40 miles just to see me on a Tuesday night:

(Tu :)

When kissing someone for the first time
is a sweet reminder of being able to breathe again.
With arms stretched
and backs a little less stressed
I have become wishbone lover,
newborn believer of fate,
and a girl with a lot of hope.
A lot of determination,
persistence,
sparkle eyes,
jumpy heart.
It dances for you now.
With the rhythm of all the seasons.
We are two summer lovers
preparing for all the cold.
I want to hold all your worth on the tip
of my tongue,
you are all the words I haven't thought of yet.

day 338

Wants

Disappearance

Not of self

Of person

One body

Nobody

Feel sick today

Two bodies too far

Too close

Annoyed

Go away

day 337

Penumbra

Half shadow

Your silhouette imprinted on mine is the ultimate awakening. After you sleep for years, it feels lovely to find your shadow. To see all your dust and dirt and all the identity. This is how you breathe. How you sing after seventeen years of being born. Cicadas dance underground until the anniversary of their birth. They come from the dirt. They rise. From all the sea in your shake and the mist in the musky smell of abandoned attic. Do not forget where you stand. High and chin up. Limp shoulders and all that woman in your fingers. You are not hanging by a thread. You are breaking loose. Becoming one with your darkness. 

day 336

In 1975, my 12 year old mother was stripped from her city home in Phnom Penh, Cambodia and confined to a concentration camp in the jungle. Our history books merely touch on the subject and we never talk about the two million deaths of our ancestry.

The Cambodians were divided by age and sent to work to death. If you were an intellectual, a businessman, a Buddhist, or a foreigner, you were considered rotten. My mother's group was assigned to harvest apples.

I do not ask my parents questions. I do not ask them why they are divorced. I do not ask them about the genocide. When I am hungry for more answers, I do not ask them to feed me more of this abandoned textbook glory. When everyone asks me if my name is my real name, I do not ask them why they named me Princess. In the fourth grade, when girls learn the art of being catty, I learned to hum along to the tether of a metal bat against my head.

My parents do not have an ordinary love story. My mother's father was shot in the head for being a man of higher power. While harvesting apples, my seedling of a mother ate a bruised one. A soldier caught her in the act and dragged her by ear miles through the dirt to shame her. I am the daughter of a survivor. I am the granddaughter of a man who died for his beliefs. When people tell me they don't believe my name is Princess, I scream loud to drown out the ringing. 

After an open mic, I told a boy to give me space. When I talk about my rape, I am every mile of dirt my mother was dragged through. He responds with a rape joke. Like it is a silent prayer to somehow wake up in bed with me. My parents tell me I do not know the struggle of surviving. I do not ask them how it feels to compare a rape to a genocide. I speak softly. I do not ask them how it feels to have the culture stripped of you before you learn to say your own name in native tongue.

My Cambodian nickname is Kabee. It translates to baby. It is pronounced like cubby. Like cubicle. But I am not an open space for questions that I do not need to answer. I am a mouth filled with angry tongue and all the buzzing of killer bees. My given name is Princess. I am the heiress to a survival game. I come from a family of survivors. Even those who didn't make it. If you ask me if my name is real, I will respond again and again to drown out the ringing. If you think I am a liar, I will rise from the dirt. I do not hear your bullets. I do not hear your bullshit.

day 335

I am young. Very young. I do not imagine you to remember how it feels to first speak their name. On the tip of your tongue, a newborn mountain. The size of an avalanche. It is wearing its own destruction. Singing its own funeral song. When you first teach yourself to ride a bike, you become every pedal and coast and cruise. I am young tonight, as young as I'll ever be. I am the first snowfall in late autumn. I do not know where I am going. I am just mouth of shambles and rotting roof tops.

day 334

Shame yourself for not giving them your name. Your temple. An excuse to love your body and claim it home. When you shy away from strangers, you realize you do not have a mouth for trust. A smile without teeth, just lip and face and cheek. Turn your face away from introduction. Leave before hello. 

day 333

I've been thinking of a way to write this poem all day.

Last night, I ate a brownie. And I thought I was okay. I ate another brownie. And I spent my night in Harvard Square high off my mind. It's a crazy feeling to panic, and freak out, and know where your heart is. My boyfriend and I took the train home. We got off a stop early. I threw up all the cheese I had earlier. I'm lactose intolerant. I think he believes me now. I slept until 4pm today. My boyfriend is the best. It's very irrelevant to the poem, but he is. I hope you understand how relevant you are to my life. At this place and time. 

day 332

Tuesday

It doesn't matter what the situation is, or who the people are, what kind of friends they have, or even how in love the both may be or have been. It doesn't matter. I will rest my head on his chest tonight and feel on top of the world. Hands loose and bodies nimble. Just the way it feels to let the tides wash you a few feet away from the shore. When your feet are hovering and you forget what grounded feels like. Her friends will tell her it doesn't matter. I don't matter. I am just the summer he missed out on and the stinging song of a regret. She will feed off of them. Have them call me small or simple, or boring, or ugly. Maybe I will listen and feel small. And simple. Boring. He will still call me beautiful. In our summer mornings and we will both wonder what happens next. Why her heart is still tied to a noose and why she has taken up the role of ghost. Of poltergeist. I want you to leave. Whole heartedly. And to take the broken wings with you. Drag them if you have to. Through dirt and mud and a whole lot of rain water. Tread the sea like you don't have a purpose. I don't know you. I don't want to. I know it doesn't matter. My friends will say the same things about you to make me feel bigger. But my skin is in his palms and I don't plan on shrinking anytime soon.

day 331

So today I've got a mic for y'all to use

With whatever words you choose, y'all can cruise

Punch it in the face

Give it a lil bruise

C'mon baby, you've got nothing to lose.

Matter fact

Fuck the bullshit

Cut the violence

This one roof, we call it poets asylum

So go head poet

show us why you stylin

So go head poet

show us how you wildin 

So go head poet

Here's your mic 

Just dive in

Show the world why we out here strivin

Wake up early just to work that 9-5 and

Still make it on time to the open mic line and

Sign your name for your three minutes of shine and

Who the fuck says vitamin D is a sure in?

The sun in your soul is a sure win

I'm sure that all poets make their way to heaven

So be honest, poet

Give us all your love and attention

Don't be nice but be kind

and eccentric 

And thank god

for this life that is so god damn

exciting 

day 330

so what if today isn't your birthday
declare it the first day of your life
no hand to hold
or pinky to surrender promise with
today is the first track on new mixtape
all scrr scrratch scrreeech and scream
we shout at the top of our lungs
forget we are summer love young
and punch love drunk
all the world at the tip of our knuckles
and all the angst in any face of threat
on my sixteenth birthday,
i shouted, fuck the free world,
i didn't know what it meant
i didn't care to find out
today i am thirty five days away from twenty
from september
all that autumn in my mouth
i sleep half with my head in my wall
and the other way falling off my bed
the dreamer in me must be on one hell of a drug
the boy i am in love with must not exist
on Sunday nights
on Sunday nights, I take lavender baths
filled with eight year old innocence
a bath tub filled with breasts
uneven curve and bounce
the smooth of skin
dead sea scrub and new life
bringing breath to water
learning to swim again today.
waking up
in a wave of awakening
revival
cleanse
deep breath
inhale
exhale
deep breath
deep sleep
declare today the first day of your life
every time you wake up
every time you learn how to breathe for the
first time.

day 329

wearing clothes that don't fit you

part 1

this is another part of growing up. And I just want to show my stomach. Some waist and a shy kiss of hip. Love being held in places where skin is colder. Fits easily in his hands. We are puzzle piece lovers and part time close to finished. 

day 328

Happy birthday Adri

With many wishes for safety. The thrill

of growing up, and a whole lot of love.

warmth

blessings in all your endeavors. 

Youthful, brave, adventurer.

Sixteen more candles to celebrate. 

day 327

Everyone tells me that I am emotionally explosive. I don't talk to anyone. No one tells me this. Just the flicker of a whisper in my dangle of an ear lobe. Not stretched with half truths and whole lies. We lay and watch the meteor shower. On your sixteenth birthday. The one I missed. As well as fifteen. And fourteen. And thirteen. And twelve. Stop myself from celebrating age and growth. Hard to cheer yourself on when your mouth is filled of poison and your angel has been tainted. On my birthday last year, I was in bed alone with no one to love me. He loved me back but it wasn't summer anymore. No more heat. Just a lot of autumn, changes, death. A lot of missing my mother's laughter, feeling weak in the knees and pinching the insides of my stomach with butterfly feet. Dainty and free. 

day 326

ode to the fuck youz

fuck

not being able to curse

to curse bad luck upon other beings

to not being good enough

for your blood

the thick water and the musk

the cave and the street puddle

pot hole

crooked road

unpaved pave way needs some saving

save the way, pave the

way

the wrong way.

the one ways

the claustrophobic two ways

the two way streets turned no way

waiting by the phone for the voice of your lover

that doesn't love you back

for thinking he still loves you back

for not wanting him back

for her wanting to be friends

and him coming off too strong

pop one off with your teeth

alcoholism

prohibition

tax free weekends

nothing is ever real, ever cheap, ever worth it

the worthless price tag 

the worthy priceless vandal

street graffiti and the thoughts you let rot in your dome

the head game

the get ahead of the game

the playing the game to win and winning nothing

the bittersweet feeling of losing

of dying

of not breathing

the breathless sigh of a goodbye

and the see you laters

see you tomorrow

Saturday, Sunday,

don't wanna see you Monday 

the I don't wanna see you this week

let's run

limp legs and numb organs

playing your wedding song at your funeral

in the chapel

married six feet underground

poor excuse to spend the rest of your life grounded

being held back

tied down

anchored

letting someone sink your ship

declare this a battlefield

name this your the next war cry 

keep it in your shoe

close to soul

and heal

day 325

I said, don't worry,
   maybe we really will find each other again.
   Wouldn't that be grand?
   We can live in each other's mouths again. All
   gem  and  jewel.
Used to wake up to your sweat and dirt
on the other side of the mattress.
   Cloud sweet and sun showers.
   I always wonder what happened between us.
Two tragic lovers trying to find peace of mind
in broken pieces of each other.
   I found myself by stabbing and stabbing.

You are too afraid to go to bed with the new
   girl you find yourself wanting to hold.
I said, maybe she's the girl
   maybe she's the one with the bittersweet brand new
   sense of innocence.
You say, I'm excited for all of this.
   I am leaving.
I think, I wonder how it feels to have you leave.

day 324

How the fuck am I supposed to love you
How the fuck am I supposed to love you
How the fuck am I supposed to love you
How the fuck am I supposed to love you
How the fuck am I supposed to love you
How the fuck am I supposed to love you
How the fuck am I supposed to love you
How the fuck am I supposed to love you
How the fuck am I supposed to love you
How the fuck am I supposed to love you
How the fuck am I supposed to love you
How the fuck am I supposed to love you
How the fuck am I supposed to love you
How the fuck am I supposed to love you
How the fuck am I supposed to love you
How the fuck am I supposed to love you
How the fuck am I supposed to love you
How the fuck am I supposed to love you

How the fuck am I supposed to love you
How the fuck am I supposed to love you
How the fuck am I supposed to love you
How the fuck am I supposed to love you
How the fuck am I supposed to love you
How the fuck am I supposed to love you
How the fuck am I supposed to love you
How the fuck am I supposed to love you
How the fuck am I supposed to love you

How the fuck am I supposed to love you
How the fuck am I supposed to love you
How the fuck am I supposed to love you
How the fuck am I supposed to love you
How the fuck am I supposed to love you
How the fuck am I supposed to love you
How the fuck am I supposed to love you
How the fuck am I supposed to love you
How the fuck am I supposed to love you

How the fuck am I supposed to love you
How the fuck am I supposed to love you
How the fuck am I supposed to love you
How the fuck am I supposed to love you
How the fuck am I supposed to love you
How the fuck am I supposed to love you
How the fuck am I supposed to love you
How the fuck am I supposed to love you
How the fuck am I supposed to love you

day 323

So this is what the weight of a million shattering hearts feels like. On the edge of your tongue, the sharp glass and broken concrete. Scrape a bit of your kneecap and learn to scab. Learn to heal. Not to pick at every single attempt to heal your broken skin. We want to free ourselves, we say. We learn to fly without compass and distraction. When your heart falls to the pit of your stomach, you tell yourself this will indeed get better by tomorrow. You will wake up in the morning and feel the warmth of a shy sun prying itself out of monstrous clouds. You will laugh at the thought of being shard. The thought of being another drought. Another day without root and balance. Tomorrow you will wake up and stand tall. With your back against the wind and your palms reaching for the tide. Tell the ocean to wake up, stop carrying the sadness away with its bellows, learn to sing with the whales, the bottom feeders, the sand. Learn to sink. Slowly. Without your will. Lose your power. Stop trying so hard to be the wave. Be the crash tide. The salty sadness and sweat. Drain yourself of all and any possible ways to stay afloat. Teach yourself to drown. Stop trying so hard to tread against your newly lost lover's breath. His scream. His desire to harmonize with your gasp of a breath. Sink. Completely. Immerse yourself in lost cause. There is no familiar cry to sing. Our lungs are filled with shrapnel. Battlefield litter and the torn limbs of your past lover's voice.

day 322

I kept it a secret because I was really young. It led me to a long road of self destruction and self harm. I was killing myself and I did very inconsiderate actions that not only affected my life, but also those around me. It wasn't until I was 18 until I decided to talk about it. I was becoming reckless and I finally sought comfort to my sister. Now I write a lot of poetry about it to speak out for those who don't have the voice yet. I suggest you speak when you are truly ready. This is your story and no one can tell you to share if you aren't ready. I hope you are reading this with a warm heart and I am sending you a lot of comfort and love. You are a survivor. 

day 321

reversal

(Friday)

you give back what you receive. my lover's favorite word must be reciprocity. what you know, you teach. what you teach, you learn. what you learn, you love. you share. you breathe, live around, surround yourself in a forest filled of broken hearts and man made river. learn to swim. grab the tide with your fingertips, let it absorb you. drown, learn to float. learn to breathe underwater. to swim again. find the faith you've been ignoring. summon it with the voice of your abuser. the person who hurt you the most. yourself. learn to forgive. 

day 320

future

growth

lover

friend

sister

daughter

teacher

poet

truth

strength

survivor

woman

feminist

Home

warmth

Lowell

voice

day by day

artist

believer

prayer

faith

open heart

open mind

body

soul

day 319

The son of a single vessel called me a loose canon. Said,

   I wouldn't understand the strength of a curse.

I breathe. 

There is so much to say and I cannot find the words today.

   Give me light

   and the power to forgive

   The sharp shrapnel and the tainted metal in my limbs

   Tell me

      confused boy,

      please,

let my body,

all scratch and tear

and broken battlefield bloody,

   about this curse

   about the loss of a breath

   about the words you think I do not have the soul to body. 

day 318

push
comes to shove
comes to better yourself
help me better yourself
better myself
us
together
growth
growing together
and apart
becoming a part
of
something
greater
I call this love.

day 317

I will not wait for you, break for you or let you tell me how you want me to make you feel. I will not bend over backwards and sideways and do somersaults in your mind. I will not sit, mouth stitched, and fingers magnetized towards your skin. Will not touch you will not let you make me object. Will not slander your name against my tongue. Will forgive will forget will heal will not let you be a part of this joyous celebration.

day 316

baby,
the chandeliers are dancing for us tonight.
there is no more high to breathe in.
we all look like broken diamonds from the ground up.
don't bust your fingers open
on the shards of this relationship.
let them dissolve
into sweet ocean and the spit shine of a goodbye.

day 315

Mom loves you. She'll understand if you tell her. She won't hold it above your head. Like noose and broken bottles in the cellar. All that mold you hold dear inside your mouth, open up, and let the moths finally spread their wings. Let them cuddle cocoon fingers and stretch your skin. Tough but silk and rough and harp string. These are the ways I think of up. Of flying, waking up better, stronger.

day 314

sad me goes to bed alone again

wakes up to your face

in the spur of the moment,

we smile

forget that I fell asleep on our date

you guilt trip me into falling into this trap

you came to bed when I was vulnerable

I don't want to be wrong for loving 

day 313

Dumbing yourself down to make a man smile makes me cringe. After high school, all the boys who made fun of me for being geeky or nerdy or called me a major dork wanted to date me. In high school, I learned that boys develop character much later than girls. The girls I've spent time with after school spent a lot of time perfecting their fake laughs and push up bras. Like the higher your tits were determined your status to heaven, with all the fake glory and quick divorces. 

day 312

falling pt1

The slight wink and stretch of an arm in an audience filled with sad people, and happy people, and people you don't really care to ask about their day. You roll your eyes at the beauty on your right who keeps asking you how you're doing, if your name has changed, not about the girl on your arm or the woman you're making love to. I don't know how to approach her. I just know where we sit and stand and all that in the middle. 

day 311

Sharing the sheets with your skin is my favorite blessing

6am waking up to your face

your voice and all your mouth

just so precious

just the right amount of give and take

push n pull

slipping my way into your life

you stand closer

today

day 310

open letter to a passive aggressive teenage girl
sup girl

wonder what runs through your mind on the daily
hope you got enough sleep last night
rested your soft hardheaded skull onto pigeon feathers
did you dream of flying?
did you dream at all?
close your eyes and it's all black
all dark
all hard to distinguish goals and the hustle
stuck in the struggle of it all
what color lipstick to paint your mouth with
what top makes your breasts seem more plump
which shorts give your ass the right amount of round
because these all matter, girl
they do
i'm not saying they don't
we appreciate you
all of you
and your crew
and your men
and your drunk sitting slouching grabbing someone's dick
through the humidity of a dark room
no pictures please
unless you are powdered and pretty
and not so swollen faced
swollen bellied with punch drunk baby
i laugh in all your faces

day 309

learning2loveu

always so defensive
           so sensitive
           so unprepared for your next move
your mouth
 and the absence
 of light
 in that caved in prose
both are slowly shifting me into different directions
    want to learn to be one
    difficult when i don't understand you
        you don't understand me
    and how i think
        prick my fingers on a needle hay stack
        leaving myself a trail to follow
    in the morning
    wake up next to you
  with my mouth open

day 308

reasons why I don't get along with my Aquarius lover

Part 1

you are all the words I'd hate to describe you with. I am slowly coming to realize that these over truths can be said way more softly. No more brashness and bad endings. Just want to forget about the differences. You flow with water in your veins and I don't want to sail on this coast anymore. Too much wind and not enough body. Don't know how to talk about sad with you. Only know how to be sad with you. 

day 307

I stopped ignoring her calls once I turned eighteen. I'm not scared of my mother anymore. Hide a whole lot of bitterness and lost light for years. We have an unhealthy relationship. I don't try to fix it anymore. Run away for what seems like a lifetime and mother probably feels heartbroken. I don't know how to be the light anymore. I am so tired. So sad and so upset with too much. Myself maybe. I'll keep the blame to myself. I am trying to be better, mother. I am trying to forget. And heal. 

day 306

Miss you half asleep, sharing half your ocean and a whole lot of mouth. Sometimes forget that I can share too much harsh, too much rasp in my voice. Ignore you for hours to avoid confrontation. We both are learning to hurt each other. We both already know how to love. 

day 305

My birthday is in exactly two months.

I'm not as excited this year.

I hope mum is nicer to me.

I hope I am nicer to mum.

I want to stop being bitter.

I hope I am not in bed with anyone but myself.

My family stopped celebrating birthdays years ago.

I am learning to celebrate myself.

day 304

I don't have a healthy relationship with my parents.

1.

who does?

2.

I'm still extremely bitter towards my mother. We compare sob stories and all I want is for her to accept that I'm not okay with my rape. I wish she would stop blending marble counter tops and porcelain bath tubs into my dinner. I am so mad at you, mum. I am so angry. I cannot tell you I am angry because you will ask me why I am being ungrateful. I just wish you would stop having dinner with my molester's mother.

3. 

I only call my father when I need money. He's broke. Poor soul. We have dinner and he just tells me about all my half siblings who I've never met. I don't want to meet them, dad. Maybe you should. You really don't understand that people get genuinely hurt. People do not want to forgive you after twenty years of abandonment. I don't want to be your daughter. I forgive you because I know how it feels to hurt and be abandoned by someone you love.

day 303

you make me feel so new. feet off the ground
one second hop
elevator no gravity zone
just contained floating
similar to swimming
and learning to tread water
just to stay cool
with you
maybe learning to drown
pull my feet closer towards substance
feel a bunch of everything
no breath
no breathing
no gasping for air
no surprises
we are growing gills
learning to love underwater
under wars
battlefield mine crafts in your hands
building a way to trust you
without blowing up
triggers pointing to my head
a simple boom
a big bang
close to death
you make me feel different
just different,
maybe a tad bit odd
i haven't felt like this in awhile
a long time
this time will be new

day 302

my stepmother must really hate me/part 1

"You should talk to your father more.

You know he loves you,

right?"

I nod my head.

Eyes rolled to the back on my scalp

I pretend to shoot missiles across the dinner table

from my eyes

project project project

your voice

is a weapon

So I scream

so silently

SURE.

"Okay, okay,

Alright."

I talk to my father when I'm dead broke.

Lost the feeling in my wrists.

He asks if I wear the watch he bought me for graduation.

It's a pretty watch.

It's an expensive watch.

I wear it when I need to buy more time.

Wonder where childhood went,

I must've missed out on all the fun everyone talks about.

"So I heard people tell me about your poetry,

they say you're really good. That's good.

I'm so happy for you"

I nod my head

and bite my tongue,

silently drowning and I don't really want to be saved

This has got to be a dinner from hell.

I wonder if they tell you that I write poems about you.

Bad poems.

Daddy issue poems and abandonment poems.

I look for love in the arms of the wrong people

I fell blindly for someone who reminds me too much of your wrong.

You called him handsome and he smiled.

You want me to be with a boy who reminds you of yourself.

I drown.

day 301

use my body for turn table/ a poor excuse for making love with bad music on

1
new york smells
really bad
I think it's because I haven't lived there
or have stayed there long enough
to get used to the stench of
garbage, sweat,
and the butts of fireflies
cigarette smoke
ash

2
it's nice to see us all growing together
growing up
together
you were my first poet love
it was magic
and a lot of anger
and I was never the prettiest girl in the room
or the most poetic
or beautiful
or both
you ask me out on a date
I hesitate
we are so close yet two whole worlds apart
I tell you sure
we have always been
so distant

3
you kiss me on the cheek
again
and
again
and
again
and it is so sweet
I return the favor
we plan a trip out of the country
hopefully this will happen
and we will be stars
they will probably not remember our names
but we will remember each other
as we have
for years
and that's all that matters to me right now

4
I miss the girl that has shown me the skyline
the sweet silhouette of a city that is starting to
introduce
itself to me
i say hello almost everyday
it is summer
I just want to see you close your eyes
and open them in the morning
next to me.
your eyes are so pretty.
I see the silhouette of a city that is starting to
introduce
itself to me.

day 300

coolidge center

driving 90mph on a dark highway just to find the light in your touch. taught myself how to get to you without any direction. brain memory. remembering how it feels to lay besides you and laugh. feel good laugh. from your stomach. good posture. we watched a midnight screening of a horrible horror movie. i fell asleep in your arms. warm and all that lovey dovey. you watch me sleep and i dream of just being with you. it is the most satisfying feeling to have the person you love love you back. we wake up back to back with our bodies slightly touching, i remember how it feels to fall again. arms high and head tilted. to the right. both faces and pairs of lips. i find more of myself when you fall lips first onto my forehead. lay awake for five hours past midnight just to hear my stories. they're all sad. you know this, but you still ask. i fall asleep talking. we wake up worn out from already missing each other's company.

day 299

mum doesnt like to take pictures

the only photo we have together is of us on our front steps

me,

   in my prom gown

her,

   with the biggest I've ever seen her smile

her porcelain is something I was born into

fragile and small

easily broken

we repainted the whole entire first floor last week

mum took the family photos off the living room walls

we stare at the new blank state

I want to teach her how to love herself again.

dad is in three photos

he's holding me in all of them

   he is helping me pick apples today

He whispers, let the fruit fall from the tree

   if it spoils before you can bite into it,

   let the seeds plant life right in front of you. 

I've been trying to grow myself a father ever since. 

dad has bad teeth

I'm convinced he is a mouth full of bruised apple

   and blistering ego

my parents met during the genocide

dad inherited a jewelry store in his dirt rich village

mum was a pretty city girl

it was the glory years

   the ultimate love story

   find a lover your age and run fast enough to plant life before they catch you

but they never taught me how to love

   they only taught me how to fuck like I will run out of life

mum collects porcelain figurines and fancy China sets

she calls it her hobby

she leaves them all in display cases in the dining room

we haven't eaten dinner together in years

on the nights when the house spirit doesn't scare me bad enough

I kneel down and carve my fingernails into the flesh of the living room walls

my therapist says family photos are my instant triggers

when I date someone who comes from a big family,

I want to turn them all into ghosts

   the boys I have loved all come from big families

   they invite me for dinner

   I try my best not to turn my knife into a battlecry

I sit still and smile

   carve my fork along the blues in my arms

   trying to trace back to where my parents met

   and disassemble their paths before they even cross

mum still hasn't put the family photos back onto the living room walls

I say,

   let's fill the frames with baby birds that jump to their death

   and the song cry of an abandoned bee

I hear the house spirit screaming at me through the walls

I keep it trapped inside a home that will never learn how to sing its name

she frowns

   cries at the sight of me performing my own autopsy

   stretches her arms across the walls

I ask,

   isn't this how a family photo works?

   we plant each other onto the walls so strangers can envy us,

   right?

She whispers,

   honeybee,

   where'd you get those teeth?

   you look so much like your father with that smile. 

day 298

dear,

summer

falling

you are October

cold

warmth in your palm

tap me on the shoulder

we 

do

not know how to

sleep without each other anymore

day 297

can't wait to be held

by something other than

the suction cup of my

flesh

sometimes

I miss you so bad

I wait for my nude to

scream from

the loneliness'

suffocation

day 296

in the game of slam,
you play to win.
you don't recite your secrets
and spit up your blood
just to become friends
with people.
if that is the case,
you would've settled
for a spot
on the
o p e n
mic.
when i talk about my
rape,
i risk the chance of
drainage.
a slow slither and
tug
    and
pull
of my soul.
the loss of a slam,
to me,
feels like
i didn't have the best
sob story.
because that's
what
it
really
is
in the end.
we are all
comparing
sob stories.
                 your rape poem was the best rape poem of the night
and i will
smile
but i am secretly
screaming
inside of my skin.
there are knives
taking turns
at playing darts against
my face.
STAB
you were molested when you were 11
STAB
he didn't stop until you could decide you didn't need a babysitter anymore
STAB
you're just another my babysitter raped me poem
STAB
your mother is insensitive to your assault
STAB
your ex boyfriend used to hit you
STAB
boo hoo, another woman empowerment poem
STAB
more fuck the patriarchy poems
STAB
STAB
stab

day 295

you will s h o w e r                     and
wonder why your body aches

it wants to hold something that will make it whole again

grab onto all the flesh and nude you are allowed to
                    all
honeysuckle stomach                 and
sweet,
s w e e t collarbones

day 294

Slouched down on this futon in the dark

I don't have an AC

mum bought me a window fan

I installed it myself

Slowly sticking to the leather

The dried skin

The smooth and peel of my body 

Trying to maneuver myself into your life

Smoothly

Peeling myself against the grains of sand

Sinking with sandbags

Eating sand from the sandbox

Sometimes the kids can be mean

Pulling myself away from the glow of your text message

Beginning to tan from our late night conversations

They will explode

"You're perfect

You're perfect

You're perfect"

day 293

I am not sad today.

The other side of my bed is still empty. He asks if he could hold me. Just for a second longer. I tell him no. I don't have time. The girl I want to learn to love is a few hours away. I learned that she likes sunflowers. We can actually marry each other if things work out. He introduces me to his friends. I drink some beers and fall in love with how reckless this girl is. I do not want to lose myself in her mouth or her arms. I do not even want to fall asleep next to her tonight. Waking up tangled in sheets and hair and I don't think I am sad today. I had a bad hair day, but aren't we all feeling some sort of messy? 

day 292

magic

sip a few brews on the roof of your new friends' apartment 

watch how much higher you are than the fireworks

you are a few feet away from calling yourself god 

share your heart and heritage

prick your fingers with tar

be glad you aren't dripping in sadness tonight

for once

you are happy and not in the arms of an unruly boy

or girl who wants to know your name

day 291

loving you is like driving after two beers
I feel good
you feel scared
we both lose ourselves in our words
and stares
and a whole lot of being young
there is too much tension in my voice to go to bed with you tonight
we sleep with our mouths open
i sew them together
all jaw bone and broken tooth root
sweet cavity all in your head

day 290

I miss all the beauty that used to find its way into my life

Your voice used to be so precious to me

I would go to bed at night with your fingers in my hair

strumming our heart beats together

Perfectly tangled in wrinkled sheets

You'd always sleep until noon

Wake up, smoke a cigarette or two,

we'd go out for hot coffees

We lived so hot in the wintertime 

so cold in the summer

One time you burned your back against the radiator in your sleep

I wanted you to melt

The last time we fought, it was the beginning of winter

I've felt that cold for a year already

I wrapped my fingers around your face and slapped you

over and over and I couldn't stop and I didn't want to

I was stuck between the idea of warming up my hands

and spitting up the fire you've left in me

When love gets passionate,

no one wins... We are both still so sad.

day 289

Mum bought a new scale for the bathroom. It's automatic. I hope it's a liar. Yesterday I stepped on the scale for the first time in a few months. 108 pounds. Sad. Last night I stepped on it again. 107 pounds. This morning, I weighed myself again. 106.2 pounds. Skinny fat. One of those fat days. I wonder when all my curves and woman came in. Knocked me upside the head like plastic surgery and now I'm a tiny Asian girl with big tits and a round ass. Mum is four foot nine and round. She's plump. She doesn't like to take pictures. This morning I went for a run. It's hard to go fast when your body jumps out of its skin at you. When I lay down with a little lover, my chest kisses my own neck. Curvy is beautiful, I guess. But not when you're not used to it. My older sister is about two inches shorter than me and she weighs ninety pounds. I hate being the big sister. 

day 288

mum's still friends with my abuser's mother

I wonder if she thinks any differently about her after I've confessed

mum came home from grilling steak and veggie kabobs

families grill on hot summer Sundays

felt very distant from mum today

I wonder if she thinks I think any differently about her 

I'm not as angry as I should be

just a little sad

sometimes I think maybe this wouldn't have happened if dad were alive

Oops

but he is alive

more like dead beat for the past twenty years

dad doesn't know my sister's birthday

he tells me he's sad because she ignores him

I wonder if he knows the difference between ignore and neglect

abandonment

day 287

1 

Sippin fourties and going to horribly humid bad punk shows must be the bane of my existence. Why can't we all just be friends? Bring a boy to another boy's invitation and hold my breath for the tension. Passive aggressiveness must be one heck of a disease.

2

Summer time heat forces me to do my duties in the sun in tank tops and lace brassieres. Boy number one gets caught staring at my cleavage. Boy number two catches boy number one and the immature passive aggressiveness begins all over again.

3

Step out of my car in jeans and a tank top. Childhood friends whisper to themselves, damn, when did she get those?

4

Sippin coronas across the street. I friendzone myself. These girls cant hold a conversation without grabbing someone's dick. I drink to that. My friends like girls that are racy and kinda dumb. All over the place. I wear a bra to prevent that. 

day 286

White men only dance with me because they've dreamt of this moment

Asian woman hand in hand

Keep me at home to clean a household

Mold me into incense candle and Buddha statue

The suburban white woman did not want to sit next to me on the subway

You could almost smell the fear on her skin

Please don't sit near

She moved over

I don't understand why my skin is a controversy

Mum uses skin lightening soap

It's made of tamarinds

 I used to eat tamarind candies and hope to lose my teeth

White man makes love to me

or wants to.

I'm sure it is because I am what dreams are made of.

Signed, Asian wife.

day 285

choreography for bees
part one

mum calls me baby
i smile with bastard child etched on my skin
sometimes i don't bleed
most of the time i try not to

daddy got sick of his little girl
sent me away to wherever i wanted to be
no discipline for an 8yr old with no discipline
you tell me it's hard to love someone who does not listen

big mouth betty,
i've always given myself that nickname
dump the ashes on my dumb tongue
i forget why i wanted to speak to you

dad has rotten teeth
from sweet talking every woman besides mum
cheating is in my blood,
i tell that to my assigned SAT teacher

2200 on my SATs
not sure how i got that high
my friends ask me to smoke a joint with them
i bluntly tell them to stop asking me

2200 is 10pm
i dated my Marine friend to break up with my ex boyfriend
i broke up with my friend at 2200
i'm single

i've been friendzoned via text message
the buzz is a pest
Budapest is the capital of Hungary
i stomach my own tongue and choke on bad pronunciation

mum calls me bee
my family calls me baby
it's an anglicized version of Kabee
it's my own Khmer nickname

sometimes when mum gets mad
instead of screaming, PRINCESS MOON CHAN
she will scream KABEE
and it will ring like the tether of a metal bat against my head

i wasn't a child of domestic abuse
my parents believed in spanking
they must have practiced during conception
just a lot of hitting and violent kissing

i don't know how i ended up letting myself become so dirty
i never bothered learning how to scrub bastard child off my back
i let it burn in me
flick a convenience store matchbook onto my hands

no trail of evidence for this trial and error
click here for a free trial of being my girlfriend
or my boyfriend. or just a friend.
those don't exist. friends. just friends.

my middle name is moon
some people still think it's Maria
imagine the buzzing of name calling in your ear
it rings and rings and rings like cyber bullying

i am shy and i lie a lot
i scare myself into thinking i am somewhat schizophrenic
h y p o c h o n d r i a c
diagnosing myself with mild abandonment issues

don't leave me lonely for too long
loneliness feeds my ego
i begin to feel too lovely
love birds are not doves or swans or hummingbirds

love birds fuck up the maps to your mum and dad's honeymoon
they dance so you can smell the shit on your precious flowers
teach me how to dance, honey
bee

day 284

I drive a 1997 Toyota Avalon. My mother bought this car when we moved to Lowell. I remember driving to our new apartment when I was four. When my older sister got her license, she was in between jobs and high school. She was kinda like my father and my mother's husband. When my brother got his license, he worked at the grocery store down the street as a manager. Our father bought him a Volkswagen Passat in deep navy blue. One time my brother walked to the thrift store about three blocks away from our new home. We moved into this home when I was in second grade, in 2002. My brother came home with a bunch of hand me down sweaters and shirts. My mother thought it was cute. I felt sad because I always wore my sister's hand me downs and my sister was kinda like my father, but she didn't have any handle downs for my brother. When I was in high school, my brother enlisted into the Air Force. I thought it was cool. He didn't tell my mother and I wasn't allowed to tell her either. When my brother told my mother that he wanted to fly, my mother cried because she didn't want to make another angel out of her son. Our older brother died before we were both born. He was reincarnated into a painting. One time my mother swore the painting spoke and it was my older brother. Sometimes my mother thinks my brother is the reincarnate of our older brother. I think that's why he's the favorite child. Maybe it has something to do with the absence of men in our lives. My brother doesn't fly planes. He's a linguist. Maybe he is learning to speak to my mother in different tongue. Maybe it's a trick to make her feel like there is more than one man in our home. 

day 283

a list of what has ruined my past relationships, spring flings, summer loves, autumn falls, and winter warmths:

Infidelity

Bad sex

Bad morning breath

Eagerness

Not being ready

Too hot

Not enough arms

Bad mattresses

Loneliness

Suffocation

Bad boys

Being gay

Jealousy

Bitterness

Absence of heat

Of light

Of love

Wanting too much

Having to lower standards

Wanting too little

Fate

day 282

1.

I've waited three months to see The Purge. We saw the 9:40 screening in big comfy chairs.

2.

The neighbors were fueled by jealousy. 

3.

On the drive home, two cars tried to race us. You were unbothered. You are used to it. If the purge happened, we would be screwed. 

4.

This means that I am contemplating a future with you.

day 281

Today, daredevil Nik Wallenda successfully walked across the Grand Canyon without any nets or a harness.

The Navajos speak:

You've taken the safety from our land and turned it into shambles of lottery. Forcing men to place bets on your survival. We built homes and kept our tongues wet in our culture. It is a shame we have become victims of homelessness. It is another shame that we have seen this coming.

day 280

He asks me about girl crushes. I tell him the only girls I've ever wanted to love were one city bus away. They are always one jet plane, one train ride too far. A mile too expensive and a suitcase too small. I tell him about the first girl I haven't been able to get over. The sun in her being and how she is just too cool for me. She lives her life in a city parallel from mine. I laugh at myself and remember my first girlfriend. I was just her social experiment. She used to kiss me with the blood on her lips from her varsity football playing boyfriend. When I cut all of my hair off, he was the first boy to ever call me a dyke. I laughed, because I know he doesn't know that I slept with his girlfriend.

day 279

I'm here

I'm queer 

Get over it

Pt. 2

I've told her she's beautiful everyday since the first day we met. I don't know if she crinkles her nose when she laughs, but she asks to take me out for some spaghetti. I told her I would clear my schedule. I am trying to clear my schedule. I am trying to make her know I have the time for her. I am afraid to give her the time of day. The last girl I gave my heart to swallowed it whole and uses my blood to finger paint. She's bloody beautiful and I've always let her know that. I hate her now. And I hate her even more when I realize she's the first girl I've ended up bruised and broken tripping for a kiss.

day 278

I am wings length away from catching myself. I don't need to fall in love, so I will fly away as soon as we get close. We touch skin and open mouths and wait for our hearts to climb through our throats. I shove my tongue down your throat because I want to stop you from getting closer. We are playing roulette and you think I'm protecting you. Maybe I am. Maybe I will after I realize how hurt you are. 

day 277

Wednesday

online dating part 2

When the only girl you've found interesting asks to hang out, say yes. I don't know why I said no. Maybe there's a part of me that's afraid to hold you. In the flesh. With soft fingertips and all the possibility of rejection. 

day 276

The day my mother finds out I am on a dating website, she will kill me. The day my mother finds out that I am queer, she will summon me from hell and kill me again. As an attempt to protect my rights, I will tell her, "Well... At least I set my location in New York!" She will contemplate her parenting skills and realize that not sending me to school in New York was the best idea she's had in my lifetime. The day my mother found out her friend's son molested me, she sat in shock, told me it was okay, and asked "What did you do for that to even happen?" As an attempt to protect my rights, I will tell her, "IT WAS NOT MY FAULT!" and she will continue to pat my back and tell me it is okay. A year ago, I had planned to go to a university in New York to study film. I wanted to capture the embarrassment of all the boys who have ever kicked me deep enough into the dirt that I found family in wilted flowers. The day my mother finds out I was a mistress to a pretty girl in my freshman year of high school, she will kill me for breaking up a home. We grow up with our roots entangled between strong men with calloused hands. When my therapist tells me I am healing very well from sharing my writing, I will ask her if people ever come to her to share happiness. She's a gentle woman with strong morals. She reminds me of my mother. When my therapist asks me if I have anything else to share, I bite my tongue from telling her I am deathly afraid of men. She will ask me if I am seeing anyone. I will say everyone that is anyone. I like to find pretty girls through dating websites and tell them that they are beautiful. I wonder if their mothers have already summoned them from hell. I break my teeth amongst the steps of my keyboard. I trip from confessing too fast. My feet are always ten steps ahead of me. When a girl I've met through a dating website tells me that I am beautiful, I will bite my tongue from asking her if her father is a silent walker and if her mother sleeps in bathtubs filled of nails. I will stop my ears from bleeding when she tells me, "It was not your fault" and I will build her a home out of dirt. I will tell her, "When I lose all my teeth, bury me underneath the floorboards. Do not patch up the ceiling when the rain finds its way inside our home. You've given enough closure to grow a garden out of me."

day 275

I fall in love with whoever talks to me with mouths filled of honey. I want to kiss the sweetness and build honeycomb homes with you. You've become the closest thing to a bee sting. We can call it a fatal attraction.

day 274

Adventures of the hopeless romantic pt I

"Finding out your poet crush is an asshole"

I met him towards the end of a long winter. It wasn't snowing and it wasn't that chilly either. He caught my attention from across the room and his soft stare burned fires in my hair. I gently ran my fingers through the tangles and walked in his direction. His team mate stopped me and we chatted, but I was awkward and he was awkward, but he was brave and it was cute. Awkwardly, we looked in other directions. Well, we looked in other directions to find a different direction to look at. I locked eyes with the one and only, my very first poet crush. We spoke and I wanted to hold all his words in my mouth and I wanted him to hold all of me in the delicate callous of his hands. Maybe I said I love you with my eyes, I don't think I did, but I probably did and he probably realized.

I Facebook stalked him for about three months.

I met him again towards the end of a long spring. I was so sprung and ready to fall into his arms. We spoke. I wanted to set him on fire. He's such an asshole, man.

We added each other on Facebook. I Facebook stalked his girlfriend for about a week. I'm over it now.

day 273

I smell you on my sheets from time to time and I wake up hating myself. On the nights I hear you without a doubt, passion ridden with a slight stench of alcohol on your breath, I can't bring myself to walk away. I've trained my lips to kiss you to reel you back in. I've become broken bait, dirty and low, just itching to drown in your being again. I know you still love me. I know you'll still hurt me. You know I still love you. You know I'll still hurt you.

day 272

The skin on the back on my past lover smells spineless. We had spent years trying to build a home out of brittle bones and bony rib cage. At night, I sprawled myself across the void we called comfort. I didn't want to be alone, but we both didn't know how to love me. There would be a thick musk in the air every time you opened your chest and I mistook it for higher being. I prayed, just to live in this attic. To sleep underneath the slant of a crooked smile and pretend the ceiling would accidentally cave in. I wanted to die as close to the clouds as possible. We had become swollen from sleeping in each others' oceans. I remember when you asked me if I knew how to swim. I lied to you and told you that I did. I didn't want you to save me if I drowned in your own misery. There are times I miss the buoyancy in your screams so bad that I've learned to tread water like I know how to fly. You told me I sing like an angel and I told you to go to hell for not loving me like I dreamed. I've spent years trying to build a home out of your sweat. I know a couple that wears the stench of weariness like they're too exhausted to change. I pray, just to live in their attic. Have them mistake me for a god as I show up in their dreams. I know they only share a mattress just to fill the void they feed between their limbs. They sleep on each others' arms until they grow numb. They wake up and forget the way their bodies naturally cave into each other. They've settled for humidity when they only wanted heat.

day 271

A woman walks into a bar with all of her children

The bartender tells her that there are no pets allowed

She says, "You've got to be kitten me!"

day 270

Hello, tonight the Sports Center will be commentating the final round of our competitive Non-REM Sleep Cycle!

Please welcome our fellow world renowned professional sleepers, Jack and Sally!

As the referees check in with each other, our volunteers have made our competitors feel just at home. With pillows filled of melted clouds and mattresses of your mother's arms, we shall let the games commence!

Stage 1: Polysomnography, also known as "sleep reading"
Oh alright, Jack has gone into a state of weariness in just a matter of seconds. THIS HAS GOT TO BE THE WORLD'S RECORD. This just in... the officials have just informed us that Jack has just stolen the title of "quickest to knock out."

As Stage 2 creeps up, Sally has slowly fallen into a state of slumber at about 6 minutes and 04 seconds.

Stage 2: Jack and Sally's bodies will now prepare their bodies for deep sleep.

Although Jack has had the one up on Sally for a solid 6 minutes, Sally is winning back the show as her body enters complete relaxation. We suspect she is dreaming of having her cake and eating it, too. Jack is however, twitching and rustling in his sheets.

Sally skips Stage 3 as she quickly advances to Stage 4 as she is sleeping as solid as a pillow case filled with bricks.

Jack enters Stage 3. As you can see, his eyeballs are swimming in his skull.

As we anxiously wait to crown the biggest dreamer, here is a word from our sponsors!

day 269

birthday

you will wake up on a bed of your own pieces. stretch to break some more and yawn to suck it all up. this is how you wake up reborn. like the sandman found a way to bring the ocean to you and you've never felt more excited to dive right in. when i woke up crying, the sunlight sang to me good morning. told me she's been waiting to wake up to me all night. as i blow my wishes on my eyelashes, i throw away all i've seen yesterday.

day 268

So there I was, in the bunny suit again. She had asked me for my name and I asked her for her hand in marriage. This was a summer ago, when we were both in love. She said yes and broke my heart the next day. When you're with someone for that long, you don't just give up. You say no before hope begins to fly. She was the giant with a mechanical hand and she smacked me straight into the ground. I had never wanted to be so close to hell. To build her a throne out of the firewood and watch her skin radiate against the flames. She was the devil. She wore her sins so proudly and she always looked so god damn good. When she asked me for my name, I lied. She broke up with me because she thought she was too cool for me. I grew up as the loser with the triple-dog-dare-you girlfriend. I told her my name was Get The Fuck Away From Me. She giggled. I was always a joke to her.

day 267

Valentine to Edgar Allan Poe
In the voice of first cousin and beloved wife, Virginia Clemm Poe

After father died, mother swallowed the fists of his memory without any water. Our throats were machines of disease. We Poes were born gargling blood. It allowed us to speak doll-like and sing pretty.
When Eddy moved in with us, I learned the meaning of man. Of shouting at the top of your lungs and letting your neighborhood know which boy is yours. I was seven. He was seven at heart.
The day I learned that grandmother fell in love with holding her breath in her sleep, I held my skin even closer to my body. I shivered at the thought of flesh falling into the mouths of dirt eating worms. When cousin Neilson wanted to put a home around mother and I, I cried. I cried until my feet sunk into the mud and my eyes became spineless. There was something in the air that suffocated my conscience. When Eddy wrote to mother, I learned the meaning of man. Of shouting at the top of your lungs and letting your neighborhood know which girl is yours. I was born with a neck filled of butterfly legs and they constantly itched to fly.
When Eddy wrote to mother, I learned the meaning of man and wife. Of letting the hairs on the feet of the butterflies melt into your skin. They only taste with their feet, you know. I was thirteen. We were still seven at heart. He built bookshelves around mother and I and I learned how to sing. I sang until the butterflies drowned in the broken rivers in my throat. When Eddy saw that he taught me to build my own destruction, he cried. He cried because he tried to save me from the body we both shared. He must have forgotten that we Poes were all born gargling blood. He drank his sorrows like water and I drank his tears like ocean. We forget how to swim when the eyes of your lover become spineless. The side of our bed became the shoreline at high tide. He just wished for the waves to wash over him. I never wanted more in my life for our bodies to become eaten by grains of sand. We both sat and watched as our flesh became bits of hour glasses. I held my skin even closer to my body. I shivered at the thought of flesh falling into the mouths of dirt eating worms, so I sang. Like he taught me to sing. And I sang until I bled. Til the side of our bed became home to my ghost.

day 266

Your father told me you only really loved me because I am sweet. 

i.

We weren't alive to attend your parent's wedding,

but they told us we would've been the envy all of the punk rock angels left behind at their church reception. Your father baked the triple layered chocolate cake.

Your mother refused to eat any of it.

Said, she didn't want to grow sick of the sweetness so fast.

ii.

When you heard your parents in the next room planning out their divorce speech, you swore it sounded a lot like your suicide letter. You burned a mixed CD filled of Amy Winehouse and The Smiths and tried to play God. Proving that two completely different cries can still make other people wish they owned somebody else's shoulders. When you realized the other boys teased you for being a late bloomer, you hated yourself for letting them clip your wings before they even sprouted.

iii.

I learned that I wasn't ready for marriage when my 8th grade science teacher kept me off the honor roll. I kept trying to prove that my potential energy just grew in me and never became momentum. I refused to let my life turn into an amusement park of inertia. When your father helped you build a volcano out of baking soda, my father fed my fear of flying from quick changes.

I kissed a girl for the first time that year. I asked her to sing me to sleep. Her voice was the cry of an ancestry of dead addicts. Her tongue tasted like the stab of sea glass and syringe. She was quick sand. And I still hate myself for weighing 90% heavy heart.

iv.

We met at a college basement punk show. Our bodies hovered over each other, but we never touched. You call this the first time we made love. You told me I had glass eyes and I knew you wanted to save me. We watched the drummer break his drumsticks until he had nothing but soft palm. The guitarist stopped playing mid chord. The vocalist hung himself along the noose of his microphone.

The bassist kept playing.

You looked me straight in the eyes.

Told me,

this is why I want to die. You are only heard when the screaming finally disappears.

I didn't know what to say. I didn't want you to grow sick of my sweetness so fast.

I just smiled. And helped you unclip your wings.