A word derived from the native Hawaiian tongue
used to categorize outsiders.
Translated as no breath.
No life.
No soul.
According to the Hawaiian tradition people spoke with their Ha, their breath of life.
But i was taught at a very young age that i was breathless and had no right to the ground i stood on.
I learned that the words i spoke fell only on deaf ears and that no matter where i went in the place i called home i was an intruder.
And my parents wonder why i dont feel at home anywhere anymore.
Pushed away as an outsider i was made to find my own roads and they were seldom paved.
As an outsider i look in on the crowds and see people who have their Ha ripped from them, children who are taught at a very young age that they are breathless.
Lifeless.
Soulless.
But i speak to them now and say that i have reclaimed my soul, i have found my life, and i tell you that i can speak. I can speak and i can breathe.
I can breathe again.
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 12:27 AM UTC
I miss the rain.
The heat these days is intolerable.
California is spoken of as a paradise,
But it’s splendor
Is wasted on me.
Truly, I am a fish out of water.
I used to miss the mountains.
The isolation back then was awful.
Hawaii is spoken of as a paradise,
But it’s wonders
Lost their luster to me.
Truly, I was a bird with clipped wings.
Someday I will miss the sun.
One day the clouds will be miserable.
Washington is spoken of as a paradise,
But it’s thunder,
Will cease to boom for me.
Truly, I will be a drowning daisy.
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 4:41 PM UTC
A statistically probable Car crash
tore open the night with the screams of twisting metal.
The phone calls, the text messages,
that threatened to tear apart my world,
that tore me from my apathy,
and made me feel again.
A statistically probable Break up
tore apart a dear friendship with empty words and tears.
The misunderstandings, the contradiction,
that nearly pulled me under the waves
into the sea of my depression,
to drown me there slowly.
A statistically probable smoker
torn between two sides of of a pained and troubled coin.
The spitefulness, the empathy,
that threatens to bury me in another's pain,
and smother my last shred of love,
leaving me cold and hard.
When you look at the troubles life lay before you,
Sometimes you cannot deny the troubling truth,
That we are all statistics to be calculated,
rarely less, rarely more.
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 4:20 PM UTC
The clouds have began to gather for the coming fall,
While the birds begin to flock towards warmer climes.
My morning routine has grown longer as the days shorten,
for I must bundle up or the journey to school.
The cold nips my ears and nose, the only bits of skin exposed.
My right hand is warmed by the burning ember it cups,
the other is ****** into the pocket of my jacket.
My mood rises as the temperature drops,
with the cold comes the rain and snow I wait for each year.
I long for the day I can go home to the clouds in the north, the endless autumn rain, even in the depths of summer, the ice water ocean crashing heavy on the shore, the beautiful emerald ferns and pines of the deepest green.
The clouds have began to gather for the coming fall, and they are making me homesick.
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 1:59 AM UTC
Once we sat together at a tiny table
and cast furtive glances across the glass
We locked eyes, then we blushed
And became quite interested in the people who pass
The steam wafted up from our coffee
and smoke drifted off of our cigarettes
I wished you would sit next me
And we proceeded with not regrets
But time passed and all things changed
Now we sit together at a cafe table
and cast empty glances across the metal
Our looks tell of memories
that wilt like the flower petal
The steam wafts up from our coffee
and smoke drifts off of our cigarettes
I wish you wouldn't sit so close to me
and I ponder all of my regrets
But time passes and all things change
Someday we will sit at a dining table
and cast knowing glances across the wood
We sit and stare into our pasts
And wish we'd done all the things we could
The steam will waft up from our coffee
and smoke will drift off of our cigarettes
I'm happy just having you sit near me
and reminding me to forget my regrets
Time will still pass and all things will still change
But you will be there
and so will i
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 5:57 PM UTC
These nights my lover is a cigarette
My heart goes out to the burning sensation
of smoke in my throat
and tar in my lungs
and cancer in my soul.
These nights my lover is a cigarette
I sit up for hours kissing my death
and when my lips with hers
that small part of me dies
and i pull away,
exhale,
and feel better
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 12:19 AM UTC
Now I'm sitting in front of this screen
pounding away at the keys
in some mismatched order trying to form words
words about my day
words that try to communicate
words that explain the things that i see or do
here is where i try to make sense
Now I'm slumped at my desk
scribbling away on a pad of paper
in an endless stream trying to lay bare my thoughts
thoughts about my friends
thoughts about cigarettes and coffee and pretty girls i try to talk to
words that show the things i think
here is where i try to feel
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 2:05 PM UTC
I can still hear it sometimes
the sharp trill of your laugh
at something I've done or said
the giggle behind your voice
as you mock me for it.
I can still see it sometimes
the lines that form so quickly
when you smile
the light in your eyes
when I've done something sweet for you
I can still taste it sometimes
the gentle musk of your lips
barely parted against mine
the muffled breath
as you whisper tenderness
I can still feel it sometimes
the pounding of your hear
when you held me close afraid i would slip away
But i did not slip then i went
rather i was shoved
Not by pulled by some new face
not fallen out of interest
but shoved, by none other than you.
And sometimes i can feel that too.
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 1:45 PM UTC