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N Jun 2023
I’m sorry I couldn’t forget,
but you’re my first memory

I’m sorry you left,
it’s brutal how you
were able to forget
as I kept remembering,
and remembering still

I beg of you to forget me,
so I can forget me too

Let me keep my life,
and you keep yours
N Jun 2023
I pretend that my heart doesn’t sink
when I remember, only fragments of you

I pretend to want this life
even when I can no longer stomach it

I pretend not to notice my scars
underneath my new green skirt

I pretend to be alive
despite my decaying soul
N Jun 2023
I admit, you are no longer my muse,
nor the subject of my growing pains

But who am I to write to,
if not to you?

No heart dares to hold
such tenderness as yours

And no other soul can
understand my lines,
but yours

So tell me, love,
what must I do?
N May 2023
You called for me
after I uttered your name
in a passing conversation,
but it’s too late now, father

You see,
I’ve already drank
your poison,
I savored it to the last drop

It’s in my bloodstream,
it’s in my hollow stomach,
it’s pouring over
everything that I am today

My soul is mine,
you can’t touch it,
it’s achingly burning from a
fire I can’t extinguish alone

Your name is laced
with mine, I’m sorry
I couldn’t forget you

But please let me
keep my soul,
It’s mine,
but can I keep it?

It burns me,
let me keep it anyway
I had a dream about him again recently, and remembered this old poem I wrote about him.
N Dec 2022
The seasons changed,
but he still kept wearing
his yellow sweater during
the hottest weather

He spoke in three languages,
but has only felt the word:
and the joyous absence of it

He wondered who he would be
without his suffocating sweater,
and the word: Melancholy

He never uttered the word father
for it was too heavy on his tongue,
as the heavy rain on a bleak morning  

His mother loved him dearly,
or ruined him and called it love

A man has fallen in love with him,
and he felt for the first time; the
warmth of equally returned love

His lover swallowed his heart, and
told him it was the final act of love

After ten years of insomnia,
he stopped measuring happiness
based on how many nights he slept,
a funeral rose in his heart as he wept

He muttered the word:
as if it were
a prayer,
or a lullaby

Drawing road maps on his flesh
was his only consolation,
he chose the color red
to find his missing path

Scars between his thighs
as hidden treasures—
Centuries deep away from
people’s piercing gaze

His new beloved was
shaped as a knife
They embraced
for the last time,
and the gushing blood
was his final act of love
N Dec 2022
A home
can be a grave,
or a lover’s embrace

I want to return to a home
where the air smelled
of only her scent
N Dec 2022
I want my day to start
with her yellow laughter

And end it with her crimson mouth
laced with my bruised mouth
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