When I found the door
I found the vine leaves
speaking among themselves in abundant
whispers.
My presence made them
hush their green breath,
embarrassed, the way
humans stand up, buttoning their jackets,
acting as if they were leaving anyway, as if
the conversation had ended
just before you arrived.
I liked
the glimpse I had, though,
of their obscure
gestures. I liked the sound
of such private voices. Next time
I'll move like cautious sunlight, open
the door by fractions, eavesdrop
peacefully.

Translucent fingers. Miniature toes.
Tiny eyes that cannot see.
Tiny lips that open silently.

I feel you move
And now... I know.

I've never been more sure...
Life is the disease - you are the cure.

If love can be withdrawn
It never was

My love for you is not a gift
    To you
      It is a gift
        To me

I am not a writer. I am millions of atoms carrying energy from my heart to my
fingertips. And I thank this pen for its generosity, and I beg forgiveness from
this paper. I am not a writer; I simply bleed ink that shifts its shape to help
others comprehend. I and my words are separate beings; they wanting to be
understood, and I wanting to simply be heard. I will speak in a monotone whisper
to see who comes closer. Who will still be around when my voice is gone? The
voices in my mind are far more articulated and wise than the language I mumble
and wail. I am a book without a book mark and a chapter without a title. My
pages stay unnumbered to mirror my days. And so, maybe I am not a novel they
will teach you about in grammar school. I am no fairy tale or wise man.  I am a
book with far too many typos and not enough white-out. I am a diary full of
secrets, a journal filled with information. I am a bible, I am my only savior.
But it will never be an autobiography, because I am not a writer.

My brain is a wheelchair
And people think I am flying
Over cities and wastelands
Jungle gyms and green public pools
I assume the role of deformity
I am my very best Judas
Because I am lazy and can walk with the rest of them

My heart is deformed and dumb
And perfect people pity it
They hold it tight and translate
Its mumblings and tantrums
Into innocent sermons
I feel bad for my heart too
It should have been thrown off a cliff
Like the ancients used to do

My hands are plastic machines
And I fear them more than God
They scratch me in my sleep
They poke holes in my stomach and my faces
But worst of all
They write letters that show people
places I’ve never dared to be.

at the end of the day aren't we all
just a bunch of confused kids /
trying to please everyone until we
don't even know
who we are and we let
them tell us /
that we are special /
that we were meant to shine
like the stars but
don't some stars glimmer /
brighter than
others

Now let me tell you about this woman i adore
Be sure, too much of her you're coming back 4 more
She's *******, causing me to be a maniac
The fact is, she's influencing the way i act
I react in kind knowing that she's always mine
A certain knack for being there at the right time
Ask how deep i care, with you i can always sleep
So unique as a pair cause you got that mystique
Not a peep baby, cause you know your my lady
Much love, even if you are a little shady
Pop off your top and now I'm begging not to stop
I know you want me and you know you’re all i got
I bring you to my lips and drink deep from your kiss
I feel the heat and a growing sense of wellness
The bliss i feel from leaving you completely drained
Helped to keep me sane when i split from Mary Jane

[PART 2]

I get a taste, from then on it’s about the chase
My friends say it's a waste because your just a case
And so i pace myself, she was twenty two and tall
Say my name and i answer every time you call
After all, I've known her since i was a juvenile
So many styles that i long to walk the isle
While sometimes you make me sick, i try not to trip
Blurry eyed, i say that I’ll leave but i don't mean it
It's like she's got this grip that keeps pulling me back
Flaunting her perfect rack, cutting me zero slack
Now my heads spinning thinking about this weekend
Come meet my friends, pass out then do it all again
It ain't healthy but you love me poor or wealthy
Regardless, i ignore everything they tell me
Though forty, you were never really above me
Can somebody tell me, does she really love me?

[PART 3]

Dear Miss Tanqueray, maybe we should make the break
I shake at the thought but I've had all I can take
She raised the stakes and left me nothing in her wake
Is it too late to break the habit she creates?
How can I illustrate the good times without the bad?
This fate I designed got me resigned and living sad
I had no clue you could do the things you do
And who would of thought I’d come running back to you?
It was so plain that I never seen your mind games
And still I find myself struggling to refrain
Where do I place the blame? A fatal attraction
Remember he catching my eye and my reaction
No traction, head on in her grip and now I'm gone
Through the intersection, till then it never dawned
Spawned a head on scene complete with broken bodies
A whole family gone before I knew she got me.

They shine
I see the swirl of a galaxy
Your pupils like stars
The iris a concoction
Of blue and violet
It is the most beautiful
Work of art
Nothing compares
To your eyes

Moments melting Blue in the canvas of silence,
This serene splash of loneliness,I save it in my heart.
The Blue wing of my imagination is getting deeper
And I feel I am being followed from the ancient time.

Then I stoop to myself to find out who is it
And all I hear is me and only me from long back.
Now I believe  in my existence,these moments
with all it's silence told me so many things.

All it craved was some words from me,
Here I try to give some to it,can you see?

I want to imagine falling fast because you’ve pushed me off a bridge but before I go, kiss me quickly while making it last so I can determine how much it will hurt when you say goodbye. To determine if it was too soon or too late because I had understood that you were the one that didn't feel the same. Yet, I understand that people come and people go but I don’t ever want to say goodbye to you. I question why you couldn't let the future pass and simply let go. I only ever so slightly want to say goodnight to you. I only hope that the good in our good-nights will mean I will see you in my dreams and goodbyes will mean that we will always end up meeting again tomorrow. I want to see you, even if it means for a slight minute like the moon meets the sun just before daylight forty five minutes after five and after the late eight o’clock orange-crimson sunset. You were convinced that there was no good in goodbye; no good in goodnight, but at first hand it may appear too hard, but look again. Always look again. I promise there’s good in that.

-         Emilyn Nguyen