He was born in 1924
And at 17 went to war.
Parachuted over Sicily,
Wounded, sent home to live in civility.

One day he met a Ryder,
Tall and elegant and regal.
Married her and made a home,
Though the front lawn lacked a gnome.

He died before I could really know him.
But what I remember is this:
His heart was good and full of love,
Tender, strong and not at all rough.

He pulled quarters from my ears
Whenever I saw him.
He and Shadow walked the beach
For miles before a swim.
He smoked cigars and drank beer
While playing cribbage.
And he was my favorite person
When I was four years old.

“If you could be anywhere in the world

At this exact moment,

Where would you choose to be?”

I choose the easternmost point

Of Acadia Maine at sunrise.

Cold, salty ocean spray in my face,

Warm thermos of cocoa in my hands

And the promise of a new day

Being made right before my very eyes.

What could be more reassuring?

What could be more solidifying?

To know that no matter

What happened in the days or weeks

Or months or years or decades

Before,

Today, right now, at this exact moment,

It is all behind you,

It is all in your past.

And that sunrise you’re watching

Over cresting crashing white topped waves

In the cool breeze of morning

With the scent of dirt and earth and trees

Carried on the wind that also brings

The call of the morning dove and thrush

And Phoebe-bird,

Is the promise you’ve been waiting for.

The promise that you’re gonna be okay

Because today, today is a new day.

After the cold darkness of haunted memories
Has chilled my soul
In a fitful bout of sleep,
A steaming hot cup
Of Irish tea
Makes me feel human again.

Home is where the heart is.

Home is where Taiwanese people
Hock their wares at the top of their lungs
As you're pressed on every side
By the crush of people filling the lanes
Of the night market.

Home is where crazy San Franciscians
Roam the hills in shorts with jackets in hand
In case the fickle Weather changes his mind
Or they wander too far west
Into the land of perpetual fog and mist.

Home is wherever you are.
Or at least that's what home used to be.
But since you've gone away,
My heart is a thousand pieces.

Home needs a whole heart.
And mine isn't anymore.
So every day I'm homesick
For a place that will never be.

Home is now just in my memories.

Dust-covered two-lane highways
Catch the footfalls of my meanderings.
Meadowlarks and Phoebe-birds
Sing backup to my tuneless whistles.
Clouds illuminated by God-rays
Paint the sky above my head
And the Man in the Moon
Smiles as I bed neath a willow for the night.

I am a wanderer, a vagabond, a ***.
The iron wrought train tracks
I secretly ride pass through the fields,
The forests, the mountains and valleys,
The cities and suburbs, the small towns too,
Home to so many who choose there to dwell.
But my home is the open countryside,
The fields of wildflowers and bushes,
The occasional oak or poplar for shelter,
With a stone for my pillow
Anywhere I wish to rest.

I am a wanderer, a vagabond, a ***.
I am the outsider.

His fingers wrapped tightly
Around the little hand
Of the sleeping child in his arms.
His eyes traced the silhouette
Of pursed lips to fattened cheeks
And he thought to himself,
"How does something so wonderful exist?"

He listened to the gentle rasp of breath
And watched the slight rise and fall of chest.
His eye soaked up the sight
Of the bundle of unconditional love he held.
And soon dreams of future adventures
And tales and fables and stories
And daily life monotony
Played like a movie before him,
Drawing a single tear of hope from his eye.

All too soon the child stirred and woke
And jumped up and shouted with glee.
And he returned from sentiment to reality
And made breakfast with a cup of tea
Wishing for more moments like these
Because he finally understood his father's word:
Time passes too quickly when it comes to love.

And when his hand paused over the kettle
And his eyes glazed over with this vague thought,
A small hand touched his arm with "Papa?"
Little eyes took in the strength of character
That towered as a model for a future life;
Little eyes that never strayed too long from
Watching and learning all the things Papa did;
Little eyes that now began to see
There's always another side to every thing,
For with great abruptness
Papa looked into those little eyes
And said, "Go wash up, your hands are *****."

But the glint in his eyes said,
"I love you, always."

I'm taking it kinda hard--
Not having you around any more.
Sometimes my heart stops
And I have to remind myself
That living isn't just a thing I have to do
But something I want
Even more than getting you back.

So to that end,
I gave all your favorite records
To the local vinyl shop
And donated your sweaters
To the thrift store down the street
And sold your bike for twenty bucks
To the neighborhood paper boy
And finally bought myself
A new set of dishes (after breaking
All of yours).

I think I'm finally ready to say
Regardless of what you think of me,
My life is my choice.
Like the poetry I write just for me,
I'll live each day in just the same way:
For me.

Walls of silence,
Of guarded wariness.

Walls of hesitation,
Of experienced caution.

Walls of distrust,
Of practiced isolation.

Walls I put up intentionally.
Walls you tore down unknowingly.

Walls I found crumbled,
The door of my heart opened.

Walls I found breached,
And you were just sitting there.

Walls I had never lived without,
Suddenly seemingly unneeded.

Walls I was glad to let down,
Until you shanked my heart.

Walls I should have fortified
With anger and hate and experience.

Walls of "I know better."
Of "There are NO exceptions to the pattern."

Walls of protection,
Of much needed security.

Walls of insulation,
Of broken-heart bandaging.

Walls I won't let down again.
Thanks to you, I've learned my lesson.

Listen.
I know you've lived longer
Than my short quarter century life.
I know you've seen more,
Done more, loved more,
Touched more, tasted more,
Experienced more things than i.
I know you're only trying to help.
I appreciate the giving of advice.
I know you mean well
When you say it's time to give them up,
It's time to move on,
To be my own person,
To learn to live for only myself.
But you haven't lived through
The total decimation of your family.
You haven't watched as the lives
Of your loved ones fall into utter ruin
One by one.
You weren't relegated to helpless paralysis
By the fear that you'd lose them all
And by the depression that came with knowing
You couldn't even help yourself.
You don't know what it feels like
To have the dagger of abandonment,
The shattered shards of broken hearts,
The pinpoint needles of disillusionment,
The three-pronged fork of misunderstanding,
****** into your soul over and over
By every lemon life throws your way.
You don't know what it is to stand
On the brink of death
Because if you don't have them,
You have nothing.
You still have your family.
All intact and whole.
So don't begrudge me
My clutching, grasping, clinging attempts
At keeping what remnants of a family I have
Together.
I will not let them go
Until they have to be pried
From my dead hands.
And even then, I will still be loyal.

*They are all i have.

My nickname for you was "broccoli".
I called you that because
Your hair is so curly
That one of our classmates
Tried to describe it and could only
Come up with "broccoli"
And somehow that name stuck in my heart.
To this day, I can't eat broccoli
Without thinking of you,
Picturing your curly brown hair
And kind green eyes
And strong yet tender fingers
And brilliant ear-to-ear smile
And smirk just for me.

I miss you. A lot.
I never told you I was in love with you,
And I regret that.
So I want to write a book of poems
And promote it far and wide
Just so I'll have the chance
To maybe catch your attention
And see you again.
Then, maybe I can tell you
"Thanks for the collection of Emerson
You so thoughtfully bought me...
That's what made me fall
Head over heels for you."

Sitting alone under a darkened sky
Oft leads to meandering thoughts
Of things both blithely blissful
And bitterly biting.

Like the time we held hands
On a road trip across the country
That ended in sour silence
And restrained rhetorical retorts.

Like the time we warmly watched
The sun set over an orange ocean,
Only to go home feeling colder
Than the biting breeze that rose with dusk.

Like the time I said "I love you"
To your goofy grinning face
And in the same breath, "Goodbye"
To your vanishing visage.

Two sides of the same coin--
That's just life.
I guess this is why it's called
Bittersweet.

I decided to be nostalgic
And flip on the Fresh Prince.
The "gentle" comedy cheers me up,
But then again, laughter is infectious.
I'm on a marathon now
With this show on reruns.
Watching every episode
Until one...

You watch a sitcom and expect
To chuckle and cackle along with the audience.
You expect your heart to be lifted
Out of whatever darker place you've been.
You don't expect it to hit so close to home
That your throat closes up
And your lungs burn with the need to breathe
But you can't
Because suddenly where there was the sound
Of deep throated guffaws,
Of bellyaching mirth,
Is only uncontrollable weeping and sobs
You never knew a sitcom could draw.

Will: I didn't need him then, I don't need him now.
Philip: Will...
Will: No, you know what, Uncle Phil? I'ma get through college without him, I'ma get a great job without him, I'ma marry me a beautiful honey, and I'ma have me a whole bunch of kids. I'ma be a better father than he ever was, and I sure as hell don't need him for that, 'cause there ain't a **** thing he could ever teach me about how to love my kids!
[long pause]
Will: [breaks down] How come he don't want me, man?

That echo in my soul:
How come she don't want me, man?

My phone drops from my hands,
All my body's strength ebbs away.
I have to lie down so I don't fall down
Because my legs can't support my body weight.
And then I'm staring
At the whitewashed walls and ceiling
Of my furniture-filled bedroom
And suddenly the panic sets in.
Everything is too tight, too close, too much.
I need to get out of here.
I need to breathe
But I can't because all I can think about
Is you.
Your words.
Your life.
Your choices.
And as I lay there sweating cold bullets of fear,
I wonder why I'm panicking.
It was just another email.
A general update to no one in particular.
One of the ones you always send out
To everyone because you still think we care.
You didn't say a single word about anyone else.
Four whole pages of you.
And I guess that's why I'm struggling to breathe.
It's like I never existed to you.
It's like you never cared about me.
And suddenly the need to see you
To talk to you
To hold you
To laugh, to cry, to just simply be
With you
Overwhelms me.
Not the you who wrote that email.
Not the you who you think you are now.
The you who doesn't even acknowledge her own offspring.
No, I'm desperate to touch the you
Who I know is locked away in a part
So deeply hidden in your soul
That you've forgotten about her.
The you who still knows a mother's love
For her daughter.
I want to see the unclouded eyes,
Hear the unselfish voice,
Touch the compassionate soul
Of the amazing woman who birthed me.
But I'm so afraid that you've finally done it.
That you've finally killed off
The last vestiges of her soul
With the darkness of your own.
I panic with the truth that faces me:
I'll really never be able to see her again.

Today I took a walk down memory lane
With some people from my past.
Your name never came up
But your shadow haunted every
Turn in conversation and we did our best
To ignore it.
In fact we did our best to pretend
That your existence was not real,
But then someone mentioned,
"Hey remember that time we...."
And flashbacks of suppressed visions
Of things I had hoped to never see again
Simply because they're not important
To who I am now
Flooded my stream of consciousness
And I chose to think of you.
To think of that time in that place
Where we did that thing....
And the more I think about it
The fuzzier it becomes.
I can't quite picture
The people, the room, the music,
The embarrassment, the shame, the guilt,
The utter ridiculousness of it all.
And the harder I try to grasp at the edges
Of the fraying memory
To bring it back into something whole,
Something vivid and full,
The darker and slipperier it gets.
And suddenly it dawns on me
Why it was easy to forget in the first place:
It just doesn't matter.
Who you were, who I was,
What you did, what I did,
Just doesn't matter
So what's the point in remembering?
Today I took a walk down memory lane
But decided it was far more enjoyable
To make a u-turn and walk
Away from you again.

A slice of pie changed my life.

I had worked so hard
To be a person worthy
Of someone else's love and care,
I had changed myself
To fit the mold of someone
Others could pay attention to.

Isn't that what we all do?
Make ourselves loveable?
Simply because that's the thing
We want most in this world:
To be loved.

But then you didn't know me,
You didn't see all the things
I'd done or the person I'd become.

You were there.
I was there.
And that was enough for pie.

It didn't matter to you
What I could do.
It didn't matter to you
Who I was too.

You loved and you cared
Because you wanted to.

A slice of pie changed my life.

A sea of voices murmuring
At the ballpark in the afternoon.
Shouts of "Hot dogs! Foot-long hot dogs!"
And chanted hometown cheers
Fill the sweltering summer air.
Men with wooden sticks and leather gloves
Play a nation's beloved pastime.
And I watch enraptured by the rhythm,
Sounds and smells of this place.
Sometimes you just need a slowdown of life,
A weekend dedicated to the melding
Of past, present, and future,
A getaway into the wonderful world of
*BASEBALL.

The plan was
(Perfect)
To grow up,
(Ideal)
Find love,
(Dreamy)
Settle down,
(Hopeful)
Have kids,
(Heartwarming)
Grow old,
(Long-term)
Still love,
(Perfect)
Die happy.

But life happens and
Plans become
(Unexpected)
Survive,
(Guarded)
Rebuild,
(Solitary)
Relearn,
(Stressful)
Reconstruct,  
(Sacrificing)
Revitalize,
(Inspiring)
Thrive,
(Satisfying)
Live.

Unfinished sentences have become my forte.
Unvoiced emotions have become my norm.

When you see penguins or giraffes,
When you taste pancakes or lo mein,
When you hear josh turner on the radio,
When you drive through the eclectic neighborhoods
Of hilly chilly San Francisco,
Will you miss...

I will always love...
Even though I shouldn't...
But maybe one day...
Yeah...
One day this won't hurt so much...

Right?

Why do I love to
Peel the skin off my sunburn?
Such satisfaction!

Gross it is I know.
But it is like when you start
Healing: chuck the past.

The dead skin itches.
It's annoying and useless.
Peel it off--new skin.

Old wounds--offenses--
Keep us irritated, mad,  
Instead of thriving.

Peeling dead skin is
Satisfactory because
Then I get new skin.

If your muggy-grubby hands
Even rise to slap me again
I swear I'll chop them off with my axe.

If your fangly-boniony feet
Get within kicking distance of me,
I swear I'll tear your legs from your hips
And then admire my workmanship.

If your mangy-crazy mind
Tries to infiltrate mine
To deposit some lie
That would change the perception
Of me, myself, and i,
I swear I'll grab a spoon
And scrape, scrape, scrape
Out your brain.

If your hoity-toity attitude
Tries to usurp my solitude
To make me someone I'm not
I swear I'll be completely dispassionate
As I wipe your every iota from this
Particulate Universe.

If I so much as hear you breathe,
I swear I will squeeze
Every
Drop
Of
Air
Left in your lungs.

You think this is too violent even for me?
You'd better believe
I've been pushed to the edge
Of all logical reason
By your every act of treason
And I won't hesitate to
Incapacitate,
Excommunicate
Eradicate,
You from my life.

You'd better beware.
I'm angry and all this I'll do.
I swear.

Almost made it to the state line.
I was headed your way
To give you a piece of my mind
Because I've got a whole hell of a lot to say.

I wanted to tell you
How much it hurt
When I finally knew
That all my hopes were shattered.

I wanted to scream
So very many things
About the pain I've endured
And the losses incurred.

I wanted you to feel
The shame and loss and guilt
I think should be forcing you to kneel
And beg for forgiveness.

But then I passed the sign
That changed Central to Mountain time,
And I realized I can't change your mind,
And the words on my lips died.

So turned my car around
And drove the 6 hours back to town
And home.

And when I'd relayed
What I had attempted today
To a couple of friends
I knew this was the start of the end

Of me giving you
Another thought,
Another chance,
Another moment of my time,
Another place in my life.

Do you know what they said
When I finished my story?
"Thank you for turning around.
Thank you for coming home."

And they're right, you know.
I am finally home.

Sooooo maybe I got
Unreasonably angry.
Maybe I got illogically riled.
And maybe I let my childish emotions
Get the better of me
And I ran with them, rampant and free.

How does one find
The balance in life
Of feeling but not feeling too much?
Of not pendulum swinging
From uncontrollable loathing
To indescribable bliss
Or inexorably blithe?

To feel but only to feel enough!
To be but only to be just right!
Never too little and yet not too much!
Finding the balance is every man's plight.

Pulsing beneath
My skin
Is a heartbeat
That pendulums
From anxious to placid
And more often than not
Doesn't know the meaning
Of steady.

I will never understand
How rocket science works,
How caterpillars become butterflies,
How languages evolve linguistically,
How genetics determine everything,
How faith is determined,
How hope is enduring,
How love is prevailing,
How any relationship works,
How I fit into my own life...
Stuff like that.

I will never understand
A lot of things,
But I'll be ******
If I don't make you think
I already do
Understand.

There are days of restless worrying,
And sleepless nights of fear.

Then are days of numb oblivion
With nights of terror-filled dreams.

Like relentless waves pounding
The weakened beachhead of the shore.
Like bloodied knuckles punching
The shredded remnants of a sandbag.

This, my cycle of the
Inevitable,
Unavoidable,
Inescapable,
Unpreventable

Stirring­ up of the
Indescribable,
Indefinable,
Inexpressible

Anger that resides deep within
My broken soul.

Yet no one knows.

I am a calm, placid lake.

A deep and dark lake
Sitting in the mouth of an active volcano.

She looks out the window
At the thick sheen of ice
That covers the road.
People huddle and shuffle
In great huffs of warm breath
As they try to move on in their lives.
They try to ignore their wobbly legs
And shifty, slidey, slippery feet
On patch after patch of ice.
They've got great things to do
And many places to be,
So they battle the weather
That is set to defeat them.
But she sits amongst pillows
With fuzzy blankets and cocoa,
Content to let the world go on outside.
She'll just recline at the window
Reading her poems with satiated sighs.

Everyone says
"Oh, don't worry! It's just a phase."
Or even worse,
"You'll grow out of it soon."
And so you begin to think
That the quirks and smirks
You see in the mirror
When you've wiped the shower fog clear
Are somehow wrong and undesirable
To the masses of others outside your door
Even if what you see makes you happy.
And so you try to hide
Behind conformity and masks
Of aloofness,
Of apathy,
Of indifference,
Of nonchalance,
Until you yourself begin to believe
You've passed the phase!
You've grown out of it!
You're finally someone whom the world
Can pour its love and adoration on!
And so you wait for that sparkling moment,
When you go from ugly duckling
To ravishing debonair desirable swan,
Yet the days turn into weeks into months,
And finally years have passed away
But nothing happened.
And you find yourself wiping away
The shower fog with a tired hand
Only to see the quirks and smirks
That used to make you happy
Are gone and for what gain to you?
Where are the masses of adoring friends?
Where are the praises of who you've become?
You're all alone like you've always been.

But I ask you,
Is this really who you want to be?

Where's the girl who recites Chaucer?
And rolls down grassy hills?
Where is she whose snarky comments
Could hours of hilarity fill?
Where's the girl who laid bricks
Side by side with her father?
And imagined up the neighborhood
Olympics with his other two daughters?

So I'll ask you again,
Face in my mirror,
Are you happy?
*Is this who we're going to be?

Rough tactile callouses.
Jointed mischief collaborators.
Twisted knuckly punishers.
Wrinkled hills and valleys.
Capability embodied.
Sensuality expressed.
Love experienced.
Life recorded.
Dancing Phalanges.

He was the perfect height for her.
Tall enough that her head fell
Right tight under his sculpted chin
But not so tall that he was called "giant".

She was the perfect shape for him.
Not so skinny that he worried
About breaking her bones with a hug,
But curvy in all the places
That made him say a throaty "whoa".

She was a bookworm who loved TV.
He was a chef who loved Mac and Cheese.
They both adored animals,
Though he might have loved reptiles just a little too much.
And they both hated politics,
Though she might have set fire
To one too many campaign signs.

They argued about music, money, and kids.
They debated the merits of dancing in the rain.
They held hands in the moonlight,
And kissed at midday.
They grew old together and never strayed
Too far from the home they had built.

Then one day his chin wasn't high enough
For her head to fit snuggly below.
Her dresses, though comely,
No longer made him say "whoa".

But they still held hands and kissed
And remembered the days of their youth
When they were still learning
What being perfect for each other meant.

It wasn't until the night her heart gave out,
That she realized how he was perfect for her.
It wasn't his charm and dashing good looks,
Or his witty retorts and clever touchés,
But the simple fact
That through all of the years,
He loved her,
And that made him perfect for her.

It wasn't until she took her last breath,
That he understood how perfect she'd been.
She was perfect not because of her curves,
Her smile, her laugh, or her intelligence.
She was perfect for him because she loved him.

They'd been perfect in each other's eyes
Because love is blind.
And sometimes that's not a bad thing.

The door framed
Her silhouette;
The only light
Casting in
The window
From the moon.
A hand held
To her lips,
But it was so dark,
No one could tell.
All they could see
Was the gentle bob
Of her head
And shake
Of her shoulders
As silent sobs
Coursed through her.

The door framed
Her silhouette;
And the night
Played a symphony
Of sounds--
The crickets
And frogs
Each greeting the next
As the cicadas chirped
Their own Hellos
In reply to
The wolf's lone howl--
Which masked
Her gasping breathes
As she lost control
Of her tears.

The door framed
Her silhouette;
And she fell to her knees
Unable to stand
Anymore
While the weight
Of her world
Pressed with great might
Until she cried Mercy
And surrendered.

The door framed
Her silhouette;
And I could only
Watch in the mirror.

Buzz Zippy Buzz Buzz!
Sunshine orange blossom nectar...
Sweet summer honey!

SLAP.
My muscles tense.
SLAP.
My jaw tightens.
SLAP.
Sounds begin to dim.

Inhale.
One, two, three.
My pupils dilate.
Exhale.
Four, five, six.
My hands form fists.

Inhale.
Seven, eight, nine.
My heart hardens.
Exhale.
Ten. Ten. Ten.
It'll be over soon.

One, two, three, four, five.
Slow your heartbeat.
Six, seven, eight, nine, ten.
Be still, still as stone.

"You're basically a good daughter, but..."

Words can penetrate the stone hearted.

Words uttered a lifetime ago,
Yet I can't escape their ringing in my ears,
In my stone-hardened heart--
The center of this stone statue.

Artemis ran through the woods tonight Calling her dogs to her side,
For the hunt is on, in the Moon's light,
And will watch her claim a prize.

Her bow at the ready with arrow nocked,
String drawn to her listening ear,
She scanned the wood for a sign of deer,
Before she let fly a sure shot.

The stag she bagged was great and mighty;
Her dogs helped her carry the load.
Thus this treaty she gave to sweet Aphrodite,
But in vain--she went home alone.

Seriously??
You're seriously bringing that up now??
After everything you've put us through,
You're going to hold this over my head
Right now??
I can't believe this.
I knew you were childish
But this is reaching new lows
Even for you.
I mean,
Who brings up a mistake I made
Ten years ago when I was legitimately a kid.
I mean,
Who doesn't forgive a child
For not knowing any better
And messing up huge that one time.
But you never were one who fought fair.
You used every ***** trick not in the book
And then some.
You
Lied,  
Manipulated,
Schemed,
Guilted,
Violated,
Demanded,
Demeaned,
Degraded,
Beat,
Beat,
Beat,
Me into the ground
Until I believed that
I was shorter than Thumbelina,
And responsible for all the chaos in your life.
Blinded by childish hero worship,
I trusted you when you told me
I was the reason things weren't working out.
But the child is not responsible
For the failed marriage of her parents.
The child is not responsible
For her parents' lack of communication.
The child is not responsible.
But you're still living like I am.
So I'm not gonna take this anymore.
I'm not gonna sit here, stand here, stay here,
And listen to your convoluted messed up reality.
I've got my own life to live.
My own memories to make.
My own mistakes to learn from.
My own family to find and have and raise.
And I sure as hell don't need
Someone like you coming back in
And telling me I'm less than I really am,
Cause the truth is, Mom,
I'm a lot more than you'll ever be.

When I stooped to pick up the scattered
Pieces of the shattered glass
You so angrily threw in the vicinity
Of my head when I was thirteen years old
All I could think about was
How much I loved you and couldn't leave.

When I bent over to still the throbbing
Pain behind my ribs
You so angrily punched vigorously
As I collapsed at the foot of the stairs,
All I could think about was
How much I loved you and couldn't leave.

When I silently accepted the meted out
Punishment of lash after leather lash
For a crime I might've committed
But certainly didn't fit the excess discipline,
All I could think about was
How much I loved you and couldn't leave.

When I watched over your sleeping form
As you dreamt of a life far away
From the accumulated griefs and offenses
Which eventually incited you to go,
All I could think about was
How much I loved you and couldn't leave.

How much I loved you and couldn't leave.

Loved was always past tense.
Leave was always on my mind.

Eventually, neither of us did the loving,
But you did the leaving.

Yet I find myself stuck in this same
Train of Thought:

*How much I loved you and couldn't leave.

There's a Mexican saying,
(I'm Chinese American and yet i know this;
don't ask me how or why,
because if you knew how much
i talk about you, i think i'd die.)

There's a Mexican saying,
"It's a small step from hate to love."

I hated that you pulled me up
in front of a full room
and pointed out my ****.
granted you weren't saying
anything about my ****
but more the fact that we were wearing
the same style of checkered shorts.

i hated that you didn't make sense
when you told our friends
about your grand scheme
to start a library with two books.
who starts a library with two books?!?
YOU CAN'T!

i hate that at dinner that night,
i actually enjoyed talking to you,
bantering and bickering
laughing and smiling.
and then "you two are like an old married couple".

i hate that you started calling me
when your granddad passed away
because you couldn't talk to anyone else.
and we'd talk for hours and hours
because we actually had that much to say.

i hate that you wanted to spend time with me.  
i hate that you wanted to see me.
i hate that you wanted to help me.
i hate that you wanted to get to know me.
i hate it because i wasn't expecting it.

and the hardest thing is that we're just friends.
i don't know when it happened and i don't know how.
but i can't just be friends with you.
i don't want to be just friends with you.
because i took that small step…
from hate to love.

ok, so i don't love that you pointed out
to a room full of friends and other people
that my **** was in a pair of shorts
much like yours.
but i love that you noticed me.

i don't love that you think a library is two books.
but i love that you like what i like.

i don't love that people think
we're an old married couple.
but i love that i want to be
an old married couple with you.

i don't love that you used up
a lot of my cell phone minutes,
but i love that you didn't want to talk to anyone else.

i love that you want to spend time with me.
i love that you want to see me.
i love that you want to help me.
i love that you want to get to know me.
and i love that i'm in love with you.

i wish i could tell you.
i wish i could say it out loud.
I'm wishing my whispers at night
on the first star in the night sky
come true because i'm wishing for you.

I walked into a room where you were
And my pride kept me from hightailing
It out of the room and running until
My legs burned with lactic acid.
You spoke to me but the words fell on dull ears.
You looked at me but I kept my walls up
Such that in my head I was invisible.
I had done so well protecting myself,
Staying away from the places you frequented,
Not spending time with the people you call friends
Even though they were my friends first.
And then today all my efforts became
Void, vain, utterly useless,
For there I was inwardly crumbling
The broken-then-stitched-back-together
Fragments of my heart
Between proverbial coldhearted fingers.
My jaw is as set as my will: like flintstone,
Cold, hard, and steeled.
You may once have had a hold on me,
Affected me, impacted me,
But today, you are nobody.

I wonder what you'd say if you could see me now.
If we passed on the street, would you recognize me?
Because
I made something of myself, you know?
I hold down a great job.
My coworkers love me.
People respect me because I'm good at what I do.
People respect me because I'm a good friend.
People respect me because I respect them.
I made something of myself, you know?
I pay my rent and bills and insurance
On time with the money I earn by hard work,
And hell, I'm proud of me.
I made something of myself, you know?
Made a few friends along the road
And communication keeps us staying that way.
They know where I stand
And they're proud of me too.
I made something of myself, you know?
I guess you really don't.
It's been years since you've picked up the phone
To ask me how I am,
To see what I've done,
To learn what kind of person I'm become,
To behold the woman I have grown into.
I've made something of myself, you see.
And it just plain *****
That you refuse to be
A mother to me.
I don't need you to coddle,
To hand-hold or problem-solve.
I just need you to be
My mom.
I'm grown, I'm adulting, I'm fine.
But, don't you wish you knew me now
Instead of just the me when I was a kid?
Don't you wish you could see
The person I've grown to be?
Would you ever be proud of me?
I guess I'll never know.
But before I go,
Thanks.
Really.
You may not be the best role model or mom,
But I am who I am today
Because *I chose to be.

I still remember the feeling
Of how heavy my arms weighed
As I curled up to the risers of the stairs
I couldn't pick myself up from
After collapsing from the news.
I remember eyes staring at me,
Unsure of how to respond
To the usually stoic and strong me
Bawling uncontrollably
And heaving sobs wracking my body.
I remember cautious hands
Lifting my shoulders
And dragging me to bed
Where I stayed for three straight days.
I remember haziness setting in
And the following days and weeks
All blending into one.

I remember all that
But I don't remember your face.
Funny, isn't it?
What gets seared into our brains,
And what we lose because for so long
We took its presence for granted
Until it was too late
To remember.

Cicadas' chirp chirp
Buzzing fills the night; and I
Feel winter coming.

Dark moon rising; lone
Wolf cresting mountain tree lines
As the leaves fall down.

My hands are cold, numb;
Empty palms remind me of
Broken solitude--

Once they had been warm,
Once when yours held mine. But now
You are gone. It's cold.

Long nights and short days.
Winter has come; but winter
Was already here.

He took my hand
And my heart skipped a beat.

Skadoosh

My world implode,
Never to be the same.

Kaboom

Now that he's gone,
How do I recover?

Bang

He was my firecracker,
My short-fused flame.

People keep asking me
Why I'm living alone
And friendless and not married
At age 26...

Well, when every member
Of your family,
Both blood and adopted,
leaves you,

You kinda develop a complex.

"I would give anything
To see you smile again."
Said my reflection in the mirror.

So would i,
my friend,
*So would i.

Would you go back in time
To do or say something different?

Yes.
Even if it didn't change
The course you chose in these last years,
I would do Thanksgiving '09 over again.

Actually, I would redo only one moment:
We were standing in the hallway
Of the house we'd been forced to rent
When all our fortunes had been lost.
You were storming out to greet me
With a frosty, icy glare.
My hand was raised in salutation,
My eyes were both eager and wary.
Before I knew what was happ'ning,
My glasses lay shattered on the floor.
Without a second's hesitation
Or look or exclamation,
I had run out the front door.

I would that I could redo that moment!
And this is how I'd hope it goes:
We meet in the hallway,
And your fist comes towards my face.
But before you can punch
My 21 year old visage,
My hand will stop you
And force you to look into my eyes.
Then I will say, "Mom, I love you."

Maybe your eyes would soften.
Maybe your heart would too.
Maybe you'd choose to try again
At being daughter, wife, mother.
Maybe you'd choose to stay.

And maybe history can't be amended,
Rewritten, retold, or changed.
I just wish my last words
Could've been "I love you."

Everyone thinks I'm quiet,
Shy, with very little to say.
They might even think
There's nothing going on upstairs
Because of my silent stare.

But if they'd sit down with me
Over a nice cup of tea
I'd tell them tales of *******,
Fluffy, Caesar, and Fang.
I'd weave in stories of Polly,
A-town, and tar-babies.
I'd tell them what it's like
Balancing between the worlds
Of a mixed racial identity.

First love and heartbreak,
Triumphs and failures,
Cheesy puns and knock knock jokes,
Triumphs, woes, and despairs.
I have words for all these things,
If anyone would lend an ear.

Silence doesn't mean we have nothing to say.

All of us have much to say,
*When we have someone to listen.