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.