If I showed you a picture of her,
All else becomes background.
Before the Eiffel, she towers high;
She is the Alberta Foothills to the Rockies;
As curvaceous and meandering as the Amazon;
More story than Bunratty Castle;
The most intriguing smile at The Louvre;
More endurance than The Spirit of St. Louis;
As mystical as The Shroud;
More amusing than the Park;
More striking than lightning.
The sun diminishes behind her;
In any room, she is Feng Shui.
It's futile to compare.
She is the globe, all else is alien.
The last breath of winter's glory,
The first open flower of spring,
The coolness of a summer rain,
The palette of autumn's color,
These and all others wither
And fade behind the foreground.

you will never be forgotten.
ever.
your name twisted into metaphors and colors and distractions will forever
be painted across pages and pages of her favorite brand of notebook,
no matter how many she burns
there will always be one she forgot,
and she will only find it once she had almost forgotten you.
she will find the one Papyrus notebook
and all of your metaphors and colors and disractions will come flooding back,
just like how the ocean in your eyes
flooded her heart all those years ago.

“Space
The Final Frontier”
Planets, stars, the moon, the sun

Now I won’t write some cliche about how the sun dies every night to let the moon live
Or how the moon only shines because it reflects the sun's light
Or just about how awesome the sun is
and how it keeps us alive

But I will write about how beautiful a full moon is on a cold dark night
So big, you could almost touch it
Except
It is still so far away

Sometimes I see the moon
And burst into tears because
I cannot feel the moon
Only the cold chill of night

The moon is an art piece
You could call him god's masterpiece
Untouchable,
Indescribably beautiful

The moon and its power over the ocean
Controlling its tides
Sometimes strong
Sometimes weak
Always present
Its as if the moon and ocean
Have a commitment
That is really forever

The moon- a chunk of the earth
That just strayed
A little too far from home

The moon and his many phases
Yet he is still one in the same

The moon- a contradiction
Hiding away
Before showing his true face

But let me tell you a secret
This isn't about the moon
This is about my heart,
Being four thousand eight hundred and five miles from its home
A whole different country
So far out of reach
A moon, For only my eyes to see

It was my first time meeting A’s grandmother-
I brought her flowers
Laid out on A’s den floor I begun writing this poem
While A watches anime-
English subbed
We are supposed to be studying-
we did for a while but
E has been on the same page for half an hour
As C sits atop a table-
making bird noises from above
We move to the dining room
because A’s grandmother made noodles and egg rolls
E is ******* up his noodles like a vacuum
I don't blame him- they taste like Jesus
C sneezes so loud it makes everyone jump
I look around the table, thinking of the past year
And all the friends i've made
Love, Platonic love, is beautiful

A black kitten stumbles towards me
Its young features-
Prominent in the thick fog
The kitten, teetering on its small paws

I kneel down-
In these looming clouds
This kitten-
She rubs her head
against my outstretched hand

This poor little guy,
Not knowing where to go
Such a small speck in this big, big world

The fog blinds me for a moment-
And the kitten was gone