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