jasyours - Hello Poetry

I prefer water over air. Before my parents divorced, I was kept alive in my mother's womb by water before air even made a home in my lungs. I was born and baptized in water, water that the Catholic church labels as pure, pure like the tears of joy that ran down the faces of my parents on their wedding day. Growing up, I told them I wanted to be an astronaut so they took me to the community pool and I was almost convinced I was floating in space, but I could still hear their rings clanking though the water. Water kept the flowers alive in my mom's backyard and provided something to wash my dad's dog with Water brought him back when he went overseas and water was the only thing that could short-circuit his phone, where the text messages were sent through air. You see, air gives the privilege of flying away, air passes through my dad's lips when he whistles a song I don't hear anymore, it gives him the voice to say, "I love you" to his new family. My fondness of water grows from seeing old family beach photos, the ocean is captured like the smiles on their faces, air isn't visible Water makes the sky blue the same sky that ties together our broken family It keeps the wetness in my mouth so I can pronunciate the words "mommy" and "daddy" Water makes me float in zero gravity like their astronaut again Water is the familiarity in the old pipes of our house Water is mixed into the church wine we went to on Sunday's. It was my mom's safe substitute for alcohol when my dad left. Water quenched our family, but I guess drowned my dad.

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Nov 30, 2014

Nov 30, 2014 at 11:06 PM UTC

Blue

I prefer water over air. Before my parents divorced, I was kept alive in my mother's womb by water before air even made a home in my lungs. I was born and baptized in water, water that the Catholic church labels as pure, pure like the tears of joy that ran down the faces of my parents on their wedding day. Growing up, I told them I wanted to be an astronaut so they took me to the community pool and I was almost convinced I was floating in space, but I could still hear their rings clanking though the water. Water kept the flowers alive in my mom's backyard and provided something to wash my dad's dog with Water brought him back when he went overseas and water was the only thing that could short-circuit his phone, where the text messages were sent through air. You see, air gives the privilege of flying away, air passes through my dad's lips when he whistles a song I don't hear anymore, it gives him the voice to say, "I love you" to his new family. My fondness of water grows from seeing old family beach photos, the ocean is captured like the smiles on their faces, air isn't visible Water makes the sky blue the same sky that ties together our broken family It keeps the wetness in my mouth so I can pronunciate the words "mommy" and "daddy" Water makes me float in zero gravity like their astronaut again Water is the familiarity in the old pipes of our house Water is mixed into the church wine we went to on Sunday's. It was my mom's safe substitute for alcohol when my dad left. Water quenched our family, but I guess drowned my dad.

47

*fingers write fingers work fingers type fingers in skirt fingers chewed fingers picked fingers blue fingers make me sick fingers on hands not for holding fingers like guns always controlling fingers dig dig to the core fingers are not only just fingers anymore*

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Oct 16, 2014

Oct 16, 2014 at 11:17 PM UTC

Fingers

*fingers write fingers work fingers type fingers in skirt fingers chewed fingers picked fingers blue fingers make me sick fingers on hands not for holding fingers like guns always controlling fingers dig dig to the core fingers are not only just fingers anymore*

16

My lungs dangle on each breath. Cigarette ashes translated into words saying, "I cannot wait to be free from these ribs. I am tired of spilling through each crevice; the air you breathe is almost kissing my atmosphere."

0

Oct 15, 2014

Oct 15, 2014 at 4:50 PM UTC

Ribs

My lungs dangle on each breath. Cigarette ashes translated into words saying, "I cannot wait to be free from these ribs. I am tired of spilling through each crevice; the air you breathe is almost kissing my atmosphere."

16

How can I ever tell you that in the 21st century, as innocent as you are, you will be sexualized. It started with one peak under that skim cloth that made you an icon Halloween costumes turned your baby face into the mask of a "babe" There are no more dogs struggling to tear your short shorts now only mutts scattering clubs hands dangling onto your belt loops as if they were in the middle of a hurricane You, Coppertone Baby, didn't know any better you were minding your own **** business vacationing on the beach when somebody had the audacity to snap a picture of your *** Sweet little girl, you are us. You are society's expectations of innocent women so easily willing to publicize our bodies printed on billboards sold in magazines You put your hair up for vanity but we tie our hair back to avoid violent hands You, Coppertone Baby will never be known as Cheri, just like today, we are branded into the clothes made to hide our bodies but couldn't do it enough we are the voiceless We are the shadows hiding behind anatomy we are nip-slips we are on the front cover of ******* magazines You grew up not expecting it merely existing only knowing the words, "mommy and daddy." Welcome, Coppertone Baby, to the present, not so much a gift where your first words are now, "thank you" the camera is constantly pointed constantly asking you to sit pretty you will learn to avoid beaches and only buy the clothes that suffocate your skin I know you were meant to sell sunscreen but how can I ever buy your product if I can't even hardly go outside.

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Oct 14, 2014

Oct 14, 2014 at 7:54 PM UTC

Dear Coppertone Baby,

How can I ever tell you that in the 21st century, as innocent as you are, you will be sexualized. It started with one peak under that skim cloth that made you an icon Halloween costumes turned your baby face into the mask of a "babe" There are no more dogs struggling to tear your short shorts now only mutts scattering clubs hands dangling onto your belt loops as if they were in the middle of a hurricane You, Coppertone Baby, didn't know any better you were minding your own **** business vacationing on the beach when somebody had the audacity to snap a picture of your *** Sweet little girl, you are us. You are society's expectations of innocent women so easily willing to publicize our bodies printed on billboards sold in magazines You put your hair up for vanity but we tie our hair back to avoid violent hands You, Coppertone Baby will never be known as Cheri, just like today, we are branded into the clothes made to hide our bodies but couldn't do it enough we are the voiceless We are the shadows hiding behind anatomy we are nip-slips we are on the front cover of ******* magazines You grew up not expecting it merely existing only knowing the words, "mommy and daddy." Welcome, Coppertone Baby, to the present, not so much a gift where your first words are now, "thank you" the camera is constantly pointed constantly asking you to sit pretty you will learn to avoid beaches and only buy the clothes that suffocate your skin I know you were meant to sell sunscreen but how can I ever buy your product if I can't even hardly go outside.

56

I chopped my hair off before you told me about how much you love the cascading of locks down bony shoulders and now I long for the salon floor.

0

Oct 14, 2014

Oct 14, 2014 at 12:56 AM UTC

Yours

I chopped my hair off before you told me about how much you love the cascading of locks down bony shoulders and now I long for the salon floor.

7

The only reason I tear my skin is to free the feeling of you rushing through my blood

0

Oct 14, 2014

Oct 14, 2014 at 12:34 AM UTC

You Asked Me About My Arm

The only reason I tear my skin is to free the feeling of you rushing through my blood

4

The amount of similies in love poems are ridiculous. They always remind me of how his eyes are as green as a Christmas tree or how his hair fell onto his face like a shadow or that when he blinked his lashes resembled butterfly wings or that his smile was similar to a crooked coat hanger. They never mentioned how his fingers were long and shaky like branches in the wind or how his shoulders hunched over like a good game of jenga or how the curve from his chest to his torso was as steep as a hill or that when I found the bruises on his stomach, they were like ink splotches all over a beautiful poem. They left out that his dad hit him like a train or that his mom lived in the house like it was a bar or that it would hurt like 16 bee stings when I saw a line of 16 scars on his left bicep or that the gasps in between his cries would sound like drowning or that his eyes can ombre to be as red as an egyptian sunset. They never warned me that he would come crashing down like an avalanche or how his constant expression depicted a shattered stain glass window- every piece beautiful but still apart. They could've said that reading the headline "local boy commits suicide" would numb me like paralysis or that hearing his last words would echo in my head like screaming in a cave or that his funeral I would say "loosing him was like an overcast of rain" except I lied, because losing him was like a flood and that his grave stood out like a redwood tree carved of stone or how his dad looked at his own hands like looking at maggots. Love poems never said that I would miss him like being homesick or that the drive to the cemetery would feel like skyrocketing to the moon or that I would refuse to play jenga with my little cousins or how I would hate hanging my clothes without seeing his smile. The amount of similies in love poems are ridiculous.

0

Oct 14, 2014

Oct 14, 2014 at 12:29 AM UTC

Love Poem

The amount of similies in love poems are ridiculous. They always remind me of how his eyes are as green as a Christmas tree or how his hair fell onto his face like a shadow or that when he blinked his lashes resembled butterfly wings or that his smile was similar to a crooked coat hanger. They never mentioned how his fingers were long and shaky like branches in the wind or how his shoulders hunched over like a good game of jenga or how the curve from his chest to his torso was as steep as a hill or that when I found the bruises on his stomach, they were like ink splotches all over a beautiful poem. They left out that his dad hit him like a train or that his mom lived in the house like it was a bar or that it would hurt like 16 bee stings when I saw a line of 16 scars on his left bicep or that the gasps in between his cries would sound like drowning or that his eyes can ombre to be as red as an egyptian sunset. They never warned me that he would come crashing down like an avalanche or how his constant expression depicted a shattered stain glass window- every piece beautiful but still apart. They could've said that reading the headline "local boy commits suicide" would numb me like paralysis or that hearing his last words would echo in my head like screaming in a cave or that his funeral I would say "loosing him was like an overcast of rain" except I lied, because losing him was like a flood and that his grave stood out like a redwood tree carved of stone or how his dad looked at his own hands like looking at maggots. Love poems never said that I would miss him like being homesick or that the drive to the cemetery would feel like skyrocketing to the moon or that I would refuse to play jenga with my little cousins or how I would hate hanging my clothes without seeing his smile. The amount of similies in love poems are ridiculous.

35

I hear them talk about the moon loving the sun but they never mention how much the core of the earth loves gravity

0

Oct 14, 2014

Oct 14, 2014 at 12:12 AM UTC

Worldly Things

I hear them talk about the moon loving the sun but they never mention how much the core of the earth loves gravity

6

If you were literature I'd tattoo you all over me and let you seep through my skin filling my veins with your words. There are a lot of pieces that make up the English language: capitals, semicolons, that ******* Oxford comma but you, you give english a definition. Love, when you speak to me I see the word bubbles levitating above your head pinning down each sentence with fragments of your voice your lips form stories, the kind I actually like reading the poems that leave me wanting more and trust me I DO WANT MORE. But I'm Dr. Suess and you are Shakespear. I'm sorry, I'm not what you deserve that my lines are crooked and pages wrinkled that you deserve heavenly white sheets to share the curvature of your letters with If only I could hold the spiral notebook that is you caress your leather cover I would whisper all the definitions inscribed in my brain associated with your existence, trying to untangle the string of words you knotted. But reality isn't written. I cannot serenade you with my words you will forever be on top of this modern caste system and there are no ladders how can I talk to you at a football game when you're the one on the field that today is survival of the fittest, if someone were to take you into their arms it would boost their reputation, but you are not my reputation You are the language I want to speak You are the lyrics to every song You are all my favorite words. And yes, I may just be the routinely period at the end of your sentences and the chances of being with you shouldn't even be considered "chances" but since someone such as you exists, I can promise. I can promise you all these imperfect sweet nothings until my pen runs out of ink. Always.

0

Oct 13, 2014

Oct 13, 2014 at 11:58 PM UTC

Out of My League

If you were literature I'd tattoo you all over me and let you seep through my skin filling my veins with your words. There are a lot of pieces that make up the English language: capitals, semicolons, that ******* Oxford comma but you, you give english a definition. Love, when you speak to me I see the word bubbles levitating above your head pinning down each sentence with fragments of your voice your lips form stories, the kind I actually like reading the poems that leave me wanting more and trust me I DO WANT MORE. But I'm Dr. Suess and you are Shakespear. I'm sorry, I'm not what you deserve that my lines are crooked and pages wrinkled that you deserve heavenly white sheets to share the curvature of your letters with If only I could hold the spiral notebook that is you caress your leather cover I would whisper all the definitions inscribed in my brain associated with your existence, trying to untangle the string of words you knotted. But reality isn't written. I cannot serenade you with my words you will forever be on top of this modern caste system and there are no ladders how can I talk to you at a football game when you're the one on the field that today is survival of the fittest, if someone were to take you into their arms it would boost their reputation, but you are not my reputation You are the language I want to speak You are the lyrics to every song You are all my favorite words. And yes, I may just be the routinely period at the end of your sentences and the chances of being with you shouldn't even be considered "chances" but since someone such as you exists, I can promise. I can promise you all these imperfect sweet nothings until my pen runs out of ink. Always.

51

The already preset disposition of being Asian. I must've been accidentally mixed in the wrong laundry basket, because they tell me I'm white-washed. Born with foreign looks but a native tongue my birth certificate calls me ***** I would be the blonde-hair-blue-eyes of a country on the other side of the world but here, I'm still considered an immigrant in my own home. When you are Asian-American, you are also the stereotypes that trail your title. You are sushi You are jackie-chan You are karate You are good grades You are the slant-eyed pignose supporting character WELCOME TO THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA LAND OF THE FREE, HOME OF THE BRAVE WHERE UNITED IS TRANSLATED AS DISCRIMINATED! BUT DON'T GET IT TWISTED, ASIANS ARE PRETTY COOL! Excuse me straight misogynist white male, your Godzilla type of Asian, or my culture? When have I as an individual played a character in these quote on quote American movies? Hmm oh yeah, that's right! I was in Fast and Furious! Didn't I also make an appearance in Harry Potter as the cute innocent Cho Chang? If this also applies to you can I please have your autograph because I'm pretty sure I've seen you star in every movie I've ever seen. Or at least your people, right? Don't try to tone down the damage I already know I'm categorized in this Asian fetish that all you'll ever see in me is rice and anime, nothing more, nothing less. And if I were to become an author instead of a doctor, I'd be considered as a social unnorm a disgrace but isn't it already disgraceful that in this bleached-colors world I have lost touch of my heritage, my roots replaced with a skeleton idea of who I'm supposed to be I wear a mask. My friends speak to my mom in their native language. Sitting there, disoriented, lost in pronunciation I ask my mother why she did not teach me her natural tongue. She says, "because you are American." And I still do not believe her.

0

Oct 13, 2014

Oct 13, 2014 at 11:48 PM UTC

null

The already preset disposition of being Asian. I must've been accidentally mixed in the wrong laundry basket, because they tell me I'm white-washed. Born with foreign looks but a native tongue my birth certificate calls me ***** I would be the blonde-hair-blue-eyes of a country on the other side of the world but here, I'm still considered an immigrant in my own home. When you are Asian-American, you are also the stereotypes that trail your title. You are sushi You are jackie-chan You are karate You are good grades You are the slant-eyed pignose supporting character WELCOME TO THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA LAND OF THE FREE, HOME OF THE BRAVE WHERE UNITED IS TRANSLATED AS DISCRIMINATED! BUT DON'T GET IT TWISTED, ASIANS ARE PRETTY COOL! Excuse me straight misogynist white male, your Godzilla type of Asian, or my culture? When have I as an individual played a character in these quote on quote American movies? Hmm oh yeah, that's right! I was in Fast and Furious! Didn't I also make an appearance in Harry Potter as the cute innocent Cho Chang? If this also applies to you can I please have your autograph because I'm pretty sure I've seen you star in every movie I've ever seen. Or at least your people, right? Don't try to tone down the damage I already know I'm categorized in this Asian fetish that all you'll ever see in me is rice and anime, nothing more, nothing less. And if I were to become an author instead of a doctor, I'd be considered as a social unnorm a disgrace but isn't it already disgraceful that in this bleached-colors world I have lost touch of my heritage, my roots replaced with a skeleton idea of who I'm supposed to be I wear a mask. My friends speak to my mom in their native language. Sitting there, disoriented, lost in pronunciation I ask my mother why she did not teach me her natural tongue. She says, "because you are American." And I still do not believe her.

53