there's a map beneath my skin
but the lines point in
all different directions
a slash for the boredom,
a couple for the chaos
follow it to where it splits
and tell me that it's okay
and i'm "just a little sick"
you won't lay in my bed
once you see what
it's like inside my head
so please just
don't wander in at all
cause i'm so *******
sick of helping you find
your way out

he wasn’t just an other ship that sank in my sea
he was the drought that left the whole thing empty

He kept trying
Over, and Over, and Over
To take Her home

Being a good ****-block
Grew tiresome the more I
Drank

He started to beg Me
Because I never leave her alone
Not even on
One-night-stands

I kept telling him
He is a ****
Shut up

One last time:
Erin, come on!
"**** no!"

"I'll make you a grilled cheese."

"Yes!, let's go!"

I slept on the couch
His bathroom vanity
Is filled with anti-balding
Creams

Maybe his insecurities
Are a part of his
Slutiness

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I miss Micronesia food

I wanna eat gross ramen
Greasy **** in a ***** bowl

Went to the grocery store with Jesse:
"find the cheapest ****"
White rice

I ate four bowls of it
So good

**** yes!

The kids used to fight
Knock each other around
Scrounging
Over ***** of  white rice
Even the four day old
Rotten ones

Because they were always better
Than the rotten boiled bananas

She thinks to herself:
"Nothing will ever
Be this fun again"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The girls I teach with are nice
But I don't have a white-collar
Sense of humor

My humor is filthy
So I stay quiet

People at work don't know
How funny I am

Seven of them are pregnant right now
We'll be ******* in a few months

They talk about how there feet
Grow as their pregnancies progress
******* fascinating

My closest friend there in the
Kindergarten pod doesn't drink
So we only get so far

I want to write poetry on every inch of the world
and I don't care if the ocean washes it out of the sand
Or if it melts from the snow and trickles down into the streets
I don't care if the rain smears it all over the pavement
Or if the paper is folded so many times
it can hardly be read
I want to write poetry on every inch of the world

And I want to laugh
Even when I'm all alone,
with no one to hear me
Even in the pit at a packed show,
where the music is sure to hide it
I want to laugh so lightly in your arms,
you can't make out the sound
I just want to laugh

And I want to cry
With my car parked
In the back of an abandoned parking lot,
Six o'clock on a Saturday morning
Dim shades of light swallowing
the stars and the heat on high
I want to cry because
you're here with me
And I want to cry because
there's so much to be seen
in such a short life
But we still stop to
look into each other's eyes
Over and over and over again
And if that isn't beautiful,
I'm not sure what is

Something good
a night of terror-less sleep
a friend who's there
a pain pill
a memory without the inevitable crash
tears wetting the clay
a *** that doesn't crack
art that's honest
losing one of many addictions
peace pipe
a starry-flourescentless night
lose my mind
for something good
1,500 pills
2 manic episodes
1 hospitalization
loads of shame
prison of Blah
depression
more depression
all I'm looking for-
the one thing I need tonight
something good.

Look at me. It's 12:04 am and I'm excited. I have this excited energy running through me. I'm exhausted and I'm tired and I'm excited. And I want to talk to you. I want us to have a deep conversation. I want to share my adventurous feeling with you. I want to fall in love. I want us to be so tired our conversations turn into strings of nothing. It's 12:04 am, I'm awake, I'm excited, and I'm thinking of you.
(But of course you're asleep)

I laid on the bridge and looked up at the stars
Reached out my hand thinking I could touch mars
This is what poems are made of

A small glance at you with a grin in return
Stomach butterflies and a heart that can yearn
This is what poems are made of

On a swing with my friends under a never-ending sky
Jumping and wishing my body could fly
This is what poems are made of

Reading a book that makes me glad I can feel
Ink on a page can seem so much more real
This is what poems are made of

Riding in a car with the windows rolled down
A song on the radio, cruising through town
This is what poems are made of

A smile, a sob, a laugh and a grin
A story, a memory, two good deeds and one sin
This is what poems are made of

Yes,
This is what poems are made of

~~Overwhelmed by the raw talent and emotion with which my students think and feel and write. Thank you, A.N.--Chuukese woman~~


Early in the morning
When the dark cloud covers the light
And hides my brother from seeing the light

I woke up along shocking news
That glazed my face with sadness
Brought tears to my eyes

I heard an awful voice
Coming from the mangroves
Just right after my brother
Hung himself with a thin rope

The voice said that
He had to find a hat
Before Uncle Priston
Forced him to drink the poison

I smell his perfume
When I start to feel the pain
In my heart

I feel the cold air
When he appears in my dreams
And he touches me with his cold hands
Apologizes to me

We cry to each other
Among the mangrove trees
Hugging each other
Talking about the truth

I lost his warm hands
And his warm heart
That blocked the cold air
From entering our house

His love and his memory will not be forgotten
But I hide it in a secret place
Because his love was exactly like a fire
That makes the people feel warm
As they come closer



by A.N.
representing Chuuk, Federated States of Micronesia