Parents live in the shadow of the pali,
watching the young ones play.
They are reminded of the ones they left behind
in the world on the other side of the mountains.
And as they shut their eyes each night they know
their existence in the child's life is fading.
Can you hear them weeping?
All they do is live in the past.
The keiki live in the shadow of the pali,
tumbling around like rushing of water.
Running, twirling, and jumping;
They learn to dance in the shadows.
And as their eyes shut each night,
their quilt embraces their cold, shaking body.
They have long forgotten the touch;
their mother's lips on their foreheads,
and the warmth of their father's arms.
Can you hear them sleeping?
All they do is live in the present.
The old live in the shadow of the pali,
sitting on the chairs we have built
when we arrived so very long ago.
We have watched the young boys grow into men,
and the babies grow into young girls.
Storytelling and singing songs,
wishing to make a mark before we leave.
The best we do to create a better ohana.
Can you hear us teaching?
All we do is live in the future.
We are the people of Kalaupapa living in the shadows of the pali.
We are the forgotten, the left behind.
We watch as souls leave a lifeless body each day,
but our cheeks are no longer stained with tears.
No longer do we waste these tears that create an ocean.
A great love has created within our community.
Intertwined fingers connect the past, present, and future,
We are of a great diversity.
We have learned to enjoy the time we have left
and learned to love people no matter who they are.
Tonight we gather around the fire, dancing.
We live in the shadows, but we are the ones shining.
Can you hear our singing?
Feb 13, 2017
Feb 13, 2017 at 4:16 AM UTC
When I am at my best self I am a tree,
spreading my roots as far as they can reach,
gripping onto soil to keep my body firm and steady,
gulping down mouthfuls of the swirling, calm wisps
escaping from the mouths of passersby.
The very knowledge keeping me alive,
giving me strength.
No one notices the words and stories of others
sink deep into the core of my trunk,
strengthening my ability
see the scenery through the eyes of another,
to feel the beat through the heart of another
to live a life through the body of another.
You will break down the hard shell of my trunk,
only to find hundreds of walls circling my heart.
Pounding your fists against them will not break them down,
and using an axe will only create gashes in my skin,
but if you shower me with nutrients to keep me alive,
maybe these walls will start to soften
and the flowers will begin to bloom.
Occasionally comes a downpour,
when the sky begins to weep.
the soil slips through the grasp of my roots
swirling, swerving, mixing in with the puddle of tears.
The clear water turns to brown,
and I start to lose my balance.
The family of birds fly far away
the leaves on my branches wilting to grey
and all i am left with is a couple of friends
who i have to protect with all of my might.
And although these times may bring sticks and stones,
never do i forget to keep my trunk above the water.
The sun will always return,
warming up the coldness engulfing me.
The sky will return,
bringing color to the pitch black darkness.
You will find me often spreading far and wide across the park,
giving away various colored flowers to all sorts of people,
and they each decide what they want to do .
The seven year-old, a slightly messy wreath for her mother,
but the tangles show the complexity of love.
The seventeen year-old, a decoration on a canvas
the canvas is a portrait for his boyfriend.
The seventy year-old, just another to the collection
of the compressed flowers on a notebook for her granddaughter.
I make sure to plant love wherever I go.
When I am my best as a student, I am a tree,
spreading my roots as far as they can reach.
From the moon and back,
from the stars and ever more afar,,
I will continue to be
the best tree I can be.
Feb 13, 2017
Feb 13, 2017 at 4:14 AM UTC
when i was younger,
i was afraid to step in quicksand.
jumping from cushion to cushion,
don't fall off the cliff!
when i was younger,
i was afraid to sleep without light.
covers folded under my feet
don't let the munsters get at me!
when i was younger,
i was afraid the day was too short.
indignantly holding onto my book
but mom, this is the good part!
but now?
i am clinging onto the cliff,
aching to let go.
i am surrounded by my monsters,
they're my only friends.
i am sure good parts don't exist,
that genre's called fantasy.
they said the biggest fear is death,
so why am i so unafraid?
Oct 7, 2016
Oct 7, 2016 at 5:32 AM UTC
visible ghost of air ******* back into mouth
stepping back,
footprints dissolving in snow.
tiny crystals underneath repairing.
cliques drift apart,
people drift apart
like continents which once fit together
puzzle pieces.
letting go of the door,
retreating.
Oct 7, 2016
Oct 7, 2016 at 3:56 AM UTC
was what I had said.
I was a child who would give their life
to spend time with you, but
you were a man with no time for me.
you were the largest star,
and I was the smallest
in the constellation of our family.
you held us together,
through comets that tried to break us apart.
I was merely a speck of light
who brightened up your world,
but I wanted to be so much more.
you were a trail,
and I was the footsteps.
you directed me where to go,
but along the way,
you disappeared into the forest of bustling trees,
leaving me
scared,
lost,
alone.
you were the king of ants,
and I was a speck of dirt.
you worked so hard
to reach to the top.
you would carry burdens of problems
that were ten times your size,
and never give up
until you finished the task.
you were a doctor,
I was a child.
you poked needles into their skin,
them begging you to save them.
But I poked you with my small finger,
begging you to see the scribbles on my paper
that resembled our complicated, yet unique family.
you are a planet,
and I am an electron.
and we both spin around
in endless orbits.
we may only meet
every once in a while,
but that’s okay.
our hearts still beat
at the same time.
The blood running along our veins
are still the same type.
We are still connected.
You are a father,
and I am a daughter.
you were doing everything
to keep the food on the table,
to keep the family happy,
to see me smile.
Even if you may not show it,
even if you may not say it,
i feel it.
and if there is anything you should remember
from my mess of actions,
it's that i've always meant to say,
“I love you.”
Oct 7, 2016
Oct 7, 2016 at 2:58 AM UTC
time is supposed to heal,
i guess enough hasn't passed yet.
i still remember the warmth of your hand
but now they've gone cold
i remember the color of the sky
reflecting off of your young eyes
but now they've gone old
weather changes mood
and where there was once color in the sky
has now turned to grey because
you reflect the sky
but the sky reflects you back
your neon shirts splashing orange and yellow
are nowhere to be seen
and the sun has the dullness
of three million bulbs in series.
bulbs...
series...
remember electronics?
we learned about creating connections together.
we learned how to make sparks
and how to create songs
each note was essential
for creating the best melody.
we learned what it meant to be a closed circuit,
a close family.
but now the bulbs have shattered.
the cracked glass pierces my skin, and the blood,
the blood is dripping,
ringlets staining my shirt
the way your soul stained mine.
and i find it funny
how you can change so easily
how i feel,
how i act,
because you are my weather
leading me through the days.
and i used to feel so selfish
because whenever it would rain,
i kind of liked it
because i was no longer crying alone.
but now it's constant.
again it's raining,
the sky is fading,
the clouds are huddling,
my mind is muddling,
there's blurs of puddles.
holding memories i want to let go.
let go,
let me go,
let this end,
let me
f o r g e t .
the eyes are the windows to the soul,
and when i look in to your windows i see
n o t h i n g.
because your eyes are not you
and your clothes are not you
and your smile is not you
and you, just you, are not who you are
and i miss you.
time is supposed to heal
but i guess it wasn't enough for you.
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 5:34 AM UTC
You stand in the corner of the room,
light radiating off of your silver body.
Your head is held up high
so you can face the light bulb that
hangs by your side.
She smirks at me,
knowing you will never shine at me
the way you shine for her.
But let me tell you something.
You brighten up my world
more than that hideous light bulb
brightens up yours.
you have a special glow,
and every time you open up,
it makes me shine within as well.
you're filled with sweetness,
sugar-coating my fabric.
you’re always there for comfort,
providing words of reassurance.
but one day,
your heart will shatter
as you watch that light bulb die out.
and as the light fades away,
you'll fall apart,
shards of ice spilling out of you.
and when that happens,
give your heart to me.
i'll hold it close to mine,
hugging the parts back together as
zippers enclose our hearts-
the intricate design of complicated love.
but until then,
with all my problems held inside,
with my heart torn and worn from being unheld,
i’ll be waiting
for the day to call you mine.
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 4:03 AM UTC
I cry,
my heart tightening together,
feeling all lonely and empty.
Screaming your name,
calling for you,
but you won't come back for me.
Knowing that you never will,
I cry in agony,
Tears gushing down my wet cheeks,
Making my face glisten.
My lungs gasping for air,
My chest rising and falling rapidly.
I miss you.
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 8:21 PM UTC
My friend and I were walking along
a sweat-dripping, suffering path.
So many obstacles had been thrown at us,
only for us to break through them
together, one by one.
We suddenly came along a fork,
gasping for air.
One path was full of footprints.
A sign that many people had gone along
this merry and easy path.
The other path was a dark path.
No footprints were marked on this path.
It seemed dark, hard, stressful.
Each path would only let one person live the path.
So we decided to separate onto our own ways.
My friend chose the dark path.
I chose the light path,
questioning him about his choice.
He stepped into the path of his choice,
and just before he disappeared,
he simply replied,
"I've come this far, from a miserable start.
I want to end with a satisfying ending."
As I've lived my enjoyable life,
his last words pounded against my head,
waiting to ge figured out.
Now, as it has come to the end of my life,
I understand more than anything else in the world,
while he celebrates how his hard work
paid off throughout his life.
While he proudly shows his scars
to show how much he's been through.
While he celebrates how he's risen
from the "miserable start"
to the most highest spot he could ever be.
Pure joy written all over his face.
While I stand in the exact same place
as where I had started on my path alone.
I'm not satisfied.
I've wasted my life.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 5:40 PM UTC