i have felt hanzi in my blood
fireworks in my skin
dragons in my bones

i have looked at a cloudy sky
and thought of guangzhou
of shenzen
of nanjing

walls and death and power are my legacy
i was born the descendant of a tyrant
but i have changed it
twisted it
and now i am the ancestor of a diamond age

once upon a time we bound our feet in rags
and hobbled on dirt-packed roads
but not anymore
not anymore
now we sprint full-out to the east
the rising sun calls us like silken whispers
and we laugh at those who would hold us back

walls and death and power are the legacy
of those who reach for it
of those who write defiance on their chests
in ****** pinyin
and above all
of those who take the fireworks from their skin
and scream them alive

her eyes hold thunder
and her blood is magma.

what matters love
to a goddess of death?

power and love
cannot coexist,
but the sun told me
you were made for both.

the moon told me
you took them in your teeth,
burned them with your words,
and spat out the ashes.

they say history is written by the victors,
but the conquered are the ones romanticized.

i want to be remembered.
i want our love to sing through the ages
echoed louder than any battle, any war.

i want our enemies’ grandchildren
to liken themselves to our passion,
our desire, our madness.
i want to be the next scarlet letter
and i will waste away in moonlight
if someone remembers me for it.

if history is written by the victors
then i don’t want to win.