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glassea Nov 2015
25
why do we speak to the moon?

we turn our secrets to
dark, shadowed, everchanging,
pulling the ocean's moods.

but then again -
i can't imagine telling this
to the sun.
glassea Nov 2015
24
i laugh solely out of necessity.
where do you leave to, anyways?
glassea Nov 2015
23
don't tell me you love me
not like that
if you truly knew me
you'd know that
i'll never say it back
wow i write a lot of poems about my aromanticism
it's kinda important for me if you couldn't tell
  Nov 2015 glassea
Kj
dating a writer
is like guessing the weather.
you think you know what you'll get,
but you never do.

you never know
because

she'll create a hero
from your weaknesses

and she'll write a great character,
from every last flaw.

she'll create a thousand plots  
from your worst nightmares.

she'll take every last thing you hate
and create something you'll love.

she'll turn your anger
into confessions of adoration,

and she'll make you,
everything you're not.

but worst of all,
she'll leave you wondering-
is it you she's in love with,
or things she's created from you?

but here's the beauty of it:

if you date a writer,
you'll never die.
glassea Nov 2015
there's seafoam in your lungs
but i think you might be choking on
nothing more than air
glassea Nov 2015
fighting my sister for chasubao
capturing lobaco with chopsticks
and your memory, always,
telling me i shouldn't learn putonghua
because "this is america
and you'd better learn that fast."
i will honestly never forget the look on my grandmother's face when i told her i was learning chinese. she looked like it was a betrayl, like i might as well have stabbed her in the back with aforementioned chopsticks.
  Nov 2015 glassea
chris
you came up behind me,
wrapped your arms around
my neck and covered
my eyes with your hands.

"guess who?" you asked.

and how silly, i thought,
it was to think that i would
not know you by the
feeling of your heartbeat
against my back.
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