she never expressed how she detested hearing
the taste of words that don’t mean a **** thing;
the same tongues that apologize for leaving
and return when apathy-cells begin to rejuvenate
but watching from afar, i could sense the extent
the knives and cues have shaken her. blue eyes
blink when their names curl on the roof of her mouth.
she hates it when hugs are too tight and when
hearts begin to feel fuzzy, reminding her of
Vegas heat and betrayal within inner rings.
i know how it must have felt when your
eyes met theirs. the way they coldly stared;
a loss of words from both sides; air caught
in tracheas where only laughter should reside.
she despises the feeling of carpet and crumpled
bills, recollections of departure ***** from places
she never knew existed. all she remembers: flashing
lights and his skin on hers despite the blistering heat.
“he took care of me when nobody else did”
never forget that abandonment is a form of abuse;
remember that it’s never worth crying to sleep for;
if they reject you, maybe they just aren’t fit for you
not anymore.
whenever you’re ready to confront them,
don’t forget to hold on & remain strong.
remember that you still have perfect brows
and a boat-sized heart; beautiful regardless
of what they say & think.
good luck.
May 1, 2018
May 1, 2018 at 11:38 AM UTC
before bedtime, i watched an internal struggle between heroes and villains
giving it all for kids who knew only violence and illusions of stardom.
demanding PG-14 bladejobs and figure-four leg locks on men who
i believed deserved hell for belittling men; underdogs that understood.
naive and juvenile eyes fixated between storylines of retribution and
conquering Goliath; the crowd going wild for victorious introverts.
aorta discharges aligning with near-falls and close finishes as
The Biggest Little Man manages to slide the shoulder up.
outbursts of frustration as villains i initially resented once again
conquer my favorite – reruns of Seinfeld, the clock yearning
ten-year-olds to head for bed. a new episode of cartoons to catch at 7am.
frustrations i would revisit and repair immediately
through a 40+ action figure extravaganza.
those moments on Friday nights, i remember most;
nights where i enter a space where bad guys can’t run.
a place where the scrawny little Asian boy can finally win.
every Friday, my father is the villain, and i’m the hero.
the one who finally pins him for a three count to bring him back home.
on nights where light and reality is no longer an issue;
imagination plastering false prophecies through a 50” HDTV.
May 1, 2018
May 1, 2018 at 11:38 AM UTC
a forest – somewhere unfamiliar, sectioned
a cabin – noiseless mannequins stand at attention
the air reeks of dampening feces, but only in certain spaces.
drains masked in chipping red paint dangle like
loose ligaments on skinned pigs above rusted strobe lights.
their faces flattened and torn, arms swaying – minds motionless.
the walls barbed from previous failed experiments create sanity.
one hacksaw. three nails. two strands of hair.
three hundred sixty-five horizons.
the stars outside are starting to shine
and the director is feeling lightheaded.
both boys have the hiccups and
a slight infection of the hickies.
the cameramen hide in the restroom
hitting **** rips and bean dip.
all avoid the white couch
where the restraints wait.
Apr 30, 2018
Apr 30, 2018 at 3:04 PM UTC
he barters with the moon and wonders why
he’s endlessly exhausted
the gentle melody of drifting
heartbeat interrupts my thought midsentence.
it’s three in the morning once more.
maybe i should tell the truth to set you free:
“I have work in the morning”
or
“I have to study for my finals”
except - I don’t want to let it be;
because right now,
tucked under your covers
somewhere in another galaxy,
nothing else is more important to me
than you.
she pleads for sunset and wonders why
the sun climbs with such haste
if i silence the cosmos with my ears to the screen
and my heart on your chest,
perhaps you will realize that
right now,
warmly tucked within your arms
somewhere in another galaxy,
nothing else is more important to me
than you.
Apr 30, 2018
Apr 30, 2018 at 3:03 PM UTC
I saw you again today as usual.
Whenever we hug, it reminds me of guns that flicker
when triggered,
the outlet that ignites
spontaneous wildfire.
Whenever we converse, words stiffen in your mouth -
a rose caged by him
within the vase.
guns and roses share similar traits:
dangerous but oddly enough,
I still want to hold you…
Apr 30, 2018
Apr 30, 2018 at 3:02 PM UTC
she longs for the merciful present of the past
so tonight, i pray these words
that flow from my eyes
free sanity from her prison walls.
_
“are you two still talking?” – i shake my head, ashamed.
“didn’t you guys have a thing?” – only if that “thing” was friendship.
homesick – currently missing you.
Apr 26, 2018
Apr 26, 2018 at 9:52 PM UTC
my face resembles my mother
but she insists i act just like my father.
i mute her words trying not to think too much about it;
but inherently, a burning dynamic in my skeleton:
will your own kin,
flesh of his flesh,
bone of your bone,
leave you someday too?
Apr 26, 2018
Apr 26, 2018 at 9:51 PM UTC
it amazes me how much time
the human mind, or simply,
a broken heart can grieve
on just one person –
and they could simply have no idea.
the preamble to self-deprecation
and sleepless pillow talk –
a love story torn in two
before the hero should be introduced.
-
the earth froze as our eyes met - for only a hint;
then the flame vanished – suddenly reminding me how much
i’d love for us to meet for the first time, all over again.
wishing to fall for you – without the courage to tell you,
over and over
again and again.
Apr 25, 2018
Apr 25, 2018 at 5:23 PM UTC
one forceful burst of holiday wind
makes me glance passively to the left,
tracing the lines in your ponytail as you
continue to stare beneath the pier. the
void silence between us is normal; i shiver
and you follow suit. you’re wearing triple
layers and i’m wishing i would have been
more prepared.
the seals suddenly go belly-up and you call for
the others. they come over; one is embracing
the other from behind; arms bolted to hips.
in the right angle, underneath the lamp post, i
pretend to unsee a slightly fresh mark on her neck.
i sense the awkwardness drifting our way as if the
white fog in the night had suddenly come alive. i
inch a hint closer. enough so you wouldn’t notice.
in fact, i’m not sure what would have happened.
i wonder if you would have stopped me, having known.
there’s about three inches and four centimeters between
our arms now. the others have gone upstairs and the voices
around us have retired. the small voice beneath my ears is
pressuring me to shoot my shot but my being remains stagnant.
we observe the seals dance joyously within nature’s boundaries.
you’re still shivering.
Apr 25, 2018
Apr 25, 2018 at 1:48 PM UTC
taking a substantial bite from the already petite slice,
he smiles and shoves the remainder of the fruit in my face.
“it tastes just like you; innocent and oh-so delicious.”
my skin crawls on every level imaginable submerged in flesh.
turning around as to hide my contorted expression, i just nod.
i absolutely hate him, but they claim he took care of me as a child.
“you don’t have to like him; he just needs acknowledgment.”
he grips my hands and spins me around. just like he used to.
but harder. much harder. i used to feel terror; it’s routine now.
stare at the concrete as spit projects on my face - internal meditation.
they never believe me when i bring it up. i get it, there’s no proof.
these marks around my throat – allergies from the weather.
you’re right, these bruises, they’re from rough housing. tough love.
literally.
he says the easiest way to discipline someone was reinforcing punishment.
you should see the strength he uses to test for ripeness at the market.
now imagine this: the watermelon is your skull, and his fists are knives.
i just avoid eye contact and clench my abdomen; the knees are coming.
“i’m going to spread you open today, boy; like a ******* ****** watermelon”
he loves seeing the liquid run down my chin – perfectly young and seedless.
and i react just how he likes it:
like his ******* watermelon.
Apr 25, 2018
Apr 25, 2018 at 1:46 PM UTC