Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
steven Aug 2015
i must settle with the
speed of sand as it
cascades onto the
heap, each particle
a memory shard
of late night chats
and broken absolute
promises, earthdrops of
silica falling frictionless without
complaint like the way we drifted apart,
the mound of regret a soft malleable thing able to
be shaken and reversed but never lessened, every
grain a lesson, a small piece of us lost among the mistakes.
steven Jun 2015
Skin erupts, itches
fingers resist temptations
small fight over guilt
every night wishing
looking into clear mirrors
feeling the reflection
applying lotion for moons
pricey creamy dream
exercising self-loathing
the unphotographed cheek(s)
endless blame
steven Aug 2014
Every second he is missing,
The wheels of my heart whine
With the ache and the longing
For his hand to hold mine.

Gone a man, beaten, and brave
I embodied his wine.
God dug him a grave—
I made it a shrine.
steven Sep 2015
Living isn't enough; every
breath is an appreciation
of the divine that winds our
hearts. Every second is a new
miracle that fits neatly in our
palms: many of us hide them in
pockets. I've discovered the
electric charges hidden in our
fingertips—how a touch can spark
life and transform us into something
more. We're here in this moment
together, our souls written in the
present tense. Kiss me into the
earth, letting me feel the curves of your
rivers. That's all I ask of a name.
steven Aug 2014
Days like these
I feel
In a million
War time
Aching to be
Settling for
Stripped of a
steven Aug 2014
The most beautiful things in life move
To the song of nature's energy:
Wind pulses through the golden trees,
Dances through every leaf
Falling, spinning, shifting the dirt,
Then the ground, then the Earth,
A vibrant soul rocking the planet
Around its tilted, cradled axis
Lovingly, strong,
Heavenly spirits suspending the world
In a symphonic motion of passion.
Cal is so beautiful
steven Aug 2014
Smile because it's healthy,
Not because it's beautiful.
Love because it's necessary
And not for the sake of being loved.
Exist because our thoughts do,
Not because He said so.
Speak because the words are cooped up inside our throats, pushing and battling and screaming for air—
Not because our mouths are there.
steven Jul 2015
low self-esteem means
i don't deserve anything
better, my failures reflect
my person, my value is based
on a number, my i's
don't deserve to be
capitalized, never expecting
a love letter from the world,
worshipping people over
religion, trading my volition
for his capricious affection, the
hope and despair of being
lucky to be loved at all.
steven Jul 2014
Some nights, my Blankie covers me up tight
And whispers filthy secrets to my bones:
“I’ll love you ‘til the warmth calms down your fright,
I’ll be here guarding you from dark Unknowns.”
He feeds me dreams that fill me up with hope—
So sweet like sin!—they never were to last.
By morning light I wake up, left to cope
With sandy eyes: the salt of good dreams passed.
But some nights—dark and dreary nights—when all
The world and stars are vexed under Selene,
He leaves (my ****** body bare)—His wall
Is never there to truly keep me clean.
He’ll never touch my skin again, for I
Will sleep with clothes that love me ‘til I die.
Half about my favorite blanket, half about my dad.
steven Sep 2014
It comes in the void of my chest,
In the silent dryness of my motionless lips,
In being seen and left alone,
Begging for attention, for a canvas
On which to paint my love in
Rainbow shades, then to be showered with foreign
Color: joy, guilt, lust, depression.

I want it all on me—to be the subject
Of one's art, to have it all
Flood my ears and hug my very
Existence—to have my body justified
By the gruesome secrets that hide.
steven Jul 2014
A slow-melting lump in my mouth
So sweet my teeth perspire,
(Coated succulent like sin)
The layer viscous like desire,
The crowns rotting from within.
He's my drug
steven Sep 2014
I will not be great—
At most,
Pretty **** good at confessional;
The clunky words sticking to
My once-agile fingertips
Make hardly conspicuous sounds.
Even if they resonate within me,
The goosebump ecstasia washes over
In waves of unsure relief.
I feel detained by dreams of fame
That sour my sweetest songs—
I now rechant alone.
steven Jul 2014
If hating the both of you is a sin,
I’m already in hell.
Been living in hell since the day
you came with Kit in your stomach
and me in the backs of your ***** Vietnamese minds.

First, you think gay people are
nasty, *****—wrong.
Second, you saw that Facebook photo of me
at the pride parade and now you think
that I’m gay,
that I’m nasty, *****, wrong.

And third, you showed him that picture
and now he doesn’t even want to call me his son.

I’m not sure of what I am, but I am sure of one thing—
that I don’t want to be your son if it means
living up to your standards, beliefs, misconceptions and predispositions
that are as ugly and low as the Communist oppression
you think you left behind.

                                                               ­      I only live up to America.

Toss my number on the stovetop and burn it—
Burn it like a ******.
Burn it like Chinese incense.
Burn it like your millionth cigarette bud.

**I’ll burn like the Fourth of July.
Originally a monologue I wrote for my Theatre class at Berkeley. Ta da, it's now a poem!
steven Jun 2015
Comfort belies madness
in these white walls
clean sheets
warm water streams—
At night, I fall through
a foam mattress
into subconsciousness so
bleak black broken
like home like
past like
steven Aug 2015
I am everything that
can stop me. These
words take either seconds
or centuries, and I choose
indefinitely much too often.
I think in millions, write in
scores, love in ones—I
belong to the atmosphere
swimming in auroras,
always a spectrum of
mystery. I create what is
not human. I create what
Survives time. There's nothing
left to do but create.
steven Aug 2015
i speak from a dark
place but i know light;
i've balanced on the
tightropes of esctasia
and feel the physical
support of tension
kissing my heels—yet
all i do is look beyond
the nets below and
find myself enabling
disaster before one could
ever hold me.
steven Jul 2014
Depression arrives suddenly at your door
Dressed in beautiful black linens
And a white shirt underneath,
Asking for your hand in a marriage so absolutely
Lovely you were dying to say yes, his
Words pooling over your broken frame,
Suspending you in his cold but comforting
Oceans that make you hunger for eternal
Sleep and decay until your Soul fades away
Into the shadowed inkling of a dream.
Haven't posted in a while because of writer's block :(
steven Jul 2015
we love through computer
screens, typing kisses into
code, our hands becoming
one interface, every pixel an
eye that stares back at us,
observing the electrons that
make us human, particles
glowing in our blood, bits
infinitely shifting, compressing,
creating space for us in the
digital world.
steven Jul 2015
my time has come; true love, please
take my soul into the galaxy of your
hand, spin me into orbit around your
dreams, dance with my devotion to
your desires, feel the fire burning in
my eyes when our celestial bodies
collide—we are one divine moment
apart, separated by the future tense,
misled by mundane mirages of fear,
the gray unknown that steers our fates
astray; but my time has come, and
so has yours—align me into your
constellations and know that I already
belong to you; I beg you to risk the
impossible; it's all that's left between us.
((i know you feel the same way, just ask me about it))
steven Aug 2014
It's a lesson for the self-proclaimed
Elite to learn—pride kills
All who use it to fly
And leave the atmosphere
Because the universe is a cold place
(Some might say a cursed place)
Where stars are prone to die
And incinerate you with their light,
With their truth.
Those who survive only live to die,
Drifting endlessly in lonely detachment
For scorning the parental grasp
Of god-given gravity; the Proud
Shall be exiled by their own ego
And hail to the reign of oblivion.
Ozymandias no more
steven Sep 2014
I like big boys
With clean shaven faces
And ***** insides,
With genuine common sense
And half a working mind.
I like them psychotic
So they can chase after me
To the end of their arms,
To the clasp of their firm fingers
Holding me tight like
The wind holds a tree
In its aimlessly violent grasp.
I went through a phase.
steven Jul 2014
Every bone inside me breathes fire
(A gentle flame but barely tame),
My aching words singing volumes
Over the rooftops of a restless Berkeley,
My voice resounding like the great Campanile
Who shakes the world every hour,
And today (and everyday) I hold power
In the little poems I etch
Upon notebooks
              Across ears
                            Through hearts
                                         Against fears
Because anything is possible
When passion ignites action
And sets a whole mind into
Vicious conflagration—
The ashes will behold
Divine inspiration.
Cmon Steven, get off your lazy *** and chase the sun!
steven Jun 2015
You and I, our
skin singed by pride
as we reach into the
abyss of the other’s
insecurities, finding
flaw in logic, solace
in higher volume,
our voices become
storms our minds form
one blind, blind drive
to fight and be right
while the fire burns on
underneath our flame-
kissed flesh, paper
bodies fueling the
furnace that eats
itself alive.
steven Jul 2015
finally understanding the science of
freedom—loving mad, thoughts
running in firework circles, chasing
horizons, befriending the alone,
choosing the way you die—I
stopped staring at ratios & coercing
them into gold; alchemy is dead, and
art is not a numbers game ((division
is a terrible skill for writers to have))—
expression is not mathematical, and
my words are not for calculating eyes
to evaluate; follow a formula for desired
results—my breath cannot be defined.
steven May 2015
your binding gaze makes my blood freeze
from the waist down and crushes my feet
to the point where step is impossible

my toes curl inward—
they die one by one
& merge into a beautiful
dead lotus leaf

I will be sold away
to another man's house and
never set foot again
on soft clouds of dreams

I was bred to please another
feet grown to smother
steven May 2015
Beautiful thoughts evade mi
casa, su casa
Blanched walls, Inner AnoMaly
                                                        A­ MESS
Hall with clean-faced mirrors walking
Talking the daily news & last night's
Midsummer party—I passed out drunk
                                                         ­       Onely.
steven Jul 2014
You were so beautiful,
Like a marble statue
Behind millions of dollars of security.
But now your insecurity
Has defiled your purity;
The glossy perfection
Turned rotten
At your crystal lips of limestone;
You flawless face, now
Fouled by fatality;
And worst of all:
Your once sweet words
Are now rancid with
Distaste of me,
And it simply destroys
The beauty I see in you,
A beauty greater than
Any Greek statue
Carved eons ago.
You don’t see that your ego
Sped up time’s flow,
Faded your glow.
You’re rubble, my friend,
You’re nothing but old.
My fires of love
Are suddenly cold.
Don't know what I saw in you.
steven Jul 2014
Some heavens ago
I loved you 'til I dropped
On my knees in the bathroom
(Hands chaining my head to the floor,
Body detaining my soaring heart)
And questioned reality,
Wagged my jammed forefinger
At the face of an ungodly god
For permitting my lust for you,
The sin smelling of musty sweat
And fake baking soda
To hide that unsure scent around me—
My primal instincts call your bluff
And I raise myself once more
To hunt for your wild soul,
The game hot and weary
But mortally necessary.
With eyes unsheathed you
Stand aloof—
I'm aiming right at your heart.
He was pretty cute
steven Jul 2014
My home died 8 years ago and I
Never understood why—
No flames that licked our gingerbread house to the ground;
No earth-shattering wave that swept us off our feet;
No ghosts to keep us company—
Just a deep, lingering silence growing
Louder, and louder, more defined
As the hollow floors whined
In rebellion of the years glazed by.
steven Sep 2014
I am the air—
the creases of your clothes,
but trapped and restless
in your veins.
steven Sep 2014
I miss this—
The tranquil rustle of the leaves,
The midday sun at full throttle,
An uncomfortable heat surrounding the
Foul dissent of my loose-cannon brain,
And a stinging void of your memory
Left in haphazard pieces in my soul—
Yes, I miss it all, just
Short of the waste-bin
After having bounced off the rim,
Projected back in flight
Only to fall, victim to gravity.
steven Jun 2015
the bullet stopped at the
back of the skull;
a shame,
he absorbed the force of
a hateful world
but wouldn’t let it
let the blood
let it all run

this villain was once
a hero when mud
was wonderful &
gun powder was miraculous;
he collapsed intact,
metal pellet and iron will
clanging with the concrete earth,
his ears of cartilage
dying to hear the world's
v i  b   r  a t i  o   n  s.
steven Jul 2014
Imperfection will never do—
My eagle eyes understand all of you
And the indigestible fact that you could be
Better, beautiful, sacred, perfect

My skies now rain your flaws, it's true.

But I have to accept my own faults too.
Mental battle
steven Aug 2015
fall to pieces on the
carpet, disembodied
fragments, pretty pink
petals making messages
as they waltz with air
particles, spinning in
cyclones oscillating in
orbits before landing a
curtsy on the cotton,
each shard of us a
miracle dancing to
earth song and reverie
"What's your ideal relationship?"
steven Sep 2014
The mental imbalance I live in
Tears me apart; I despise how
My actions speak volumes louder
Than my heart, than my soul.
I can never feel whole—not
With the dizzying ache of
Memories to regret and never treasure
Buried so deep in the mud
They turn to stone, forever
A lump of solid sin in the
***** of my earthy throat.
I feel the emotions colliding within,
Crashing, flaming, shrapnel arrows
To my pride, my integrity:
Conscienceless, dull.
Any day will death take me
Empty-eyed and still,
War having razed the skull.
steven Aug 2014
I've mistaken my mind for a jungle,
The wild imagination
Seizing every acre
In lush green forests,
My thoughts flowing fast
In white water jet streams
To cool a red unknown.
The animals who prance
Around make the noise
Of a million mysteries;
I hear every sound
Every vowel pronounced
And fall into a trance—

5:00 p.m., the day almost gone,
Two essays and a final;
My forests cease to dance.
Finals week
steven Jul 2015
cannot stop scratching
the bottom of the bucket
my hair irritates my
dreams I stir the bowl
****** and make another
man plunge every night
is cut short by the daily
do I stuff myself with fresh
leftovers the bed dust is rough
with my scaly flesh I cannot die
clean my morals neither
align nor agree the summer nights
sag with restless air I feel my
love for him slipping her texts
disturb my need for peace I
feel the imbalance of straight
acting tomorrow's weather is
foggy I will stop looking for
stars in you.
Hot summer nights, mid-July
steven Jul 2014
Sometimes I feel so lonely my soul
Quivers, my entire being shakes and
Shivers until my plump heart becomes
Hollow like the last hopes I
Swallow in nervousness, praying, praying...
I've fully rejected that love will find me
Alive so I might as well die
Early so that Death will
Surely love me all the way to the
steven Aug 2015
screaming slashed thoughts
words without direction
fighting invisible forces
neurotic scratching we
exist in two conflicting
dimensions never ending
retaliation blind
diving everything
slowing down, down
before the crash, the
impaling, the release—

steven Jul 2014
Your sweet, silky words
Glaze my desperate lips:
A stream of smooth water
Wetting the roses in my eyes
Into blossoming like spring.
steven Dec 2014
I saw Vietnam

Packing my future into
Impossibly small luggage
Rolling down the streets I knew
In the vicious rain.
We added to the crowds
Of strangers going the same way:
We boarded the bus
Knowing time, fighting our
Way into the train, watching
Our watches, feeling cheated,
Chained to home.
This is our stop.
One minute left.
We shot off, bags and all,
Down stairs, to the ticket station.
Mine went through; hers didn't.
No time left.
She asked for help from a white man,
But I couldn't wait for risks.
"I'm gonna try to stop them!"
I said, running to our bus
Luggage and life with me
But not her.
The driver waited for stragglers
And there I came.
I showed him my things slowly,
Trying to delay, okay?
Show a smile, own my breath, yes.
Then she came, panting, and the world was okay.

We boarded the bus,
Found two adjacent seats,
Me inside towards the window.
The heavy movement made us all so sleepy.
Looking out, we were over the Oakland Bridge,
Rain pelting all the San Francisco Bay—
But that's not what I saw.
The calm blue green ocean looked
Familiar, like a memory from birth.
I felt older, the world felt younger.
I saw boats, people, my people before me
Floating on the water's ease.
I felt connected to that world I never knew,
But knew

I saw Vietnam.
On my way from Berkeley back to Los Angeles with a friend, somehow I felt the memory of my parents as they left Vietnam and immigrated to Hong Kong and then to America, where they had me. I just felt a little of the experience; they felt the whole.
steven Oct 2015
some nights he wonders
why his fingers are
lonely branches in the
breeze, why no thing nor
person is tight around his
waist, why his college acceptance
rate is a charming 1%.
he knows it is just a
mirror — he walks
closer anyway and
pretends he's in love,
says it won't be like
this, that only he'll love himself
forever, that only glass
separates them; he believed
every word, so he leans
forward and kisses those
cold lips tasting of
breath, musk and never;
the universe was cruel but
this was nice, he thought.
he left his lover without
saying goodbye, knowing
someone would always be
waiting for him.
steven Aug 2014
Nothing is real;
They scream damnation
Behind computer screens
Expecting attention
Drawing face
To the problem at hand
Flames break loose
In the arena pit where
Witty strikes and fat love
Douse the dodgy daggers of
Misunderstood hatred
While apathetic eyes
Watch the wretched souls
Bleed their fake hearts out
Screaming a battle cry
For the sake of emotion
Because in today's world,
Nothing is real;
They all think they feel
Driven by passion or God
Or self-righteousness
When the motive is really
Vanity at its finest.
No one has all of
Heaven to say
No one is a prophet
No one walks the keyboard
Without a leash
No one can use a beautiful
Thing to mask the ugly
No one makes the void
Any less empty
Because at the end of today's so-called reality,
Nothing is real.
steven Jul 2015
patience ignites—words
burn through defenses, desperate
scream of resistance emits, breaths
impossible to hold, tongue wild
muscles locked, shouts of
frustration ears bleeding elbows
bent, attempts to solace the
loose-cannon brain, diatribe
retaliation stubborn toes snarling
mouth, suffocating the flame—
moving on, moving on, gaze
toward the horizon, jump forward
lie down and feel the weight of that
heavy heartbeat, never letting the shoulders
sink                                                                  in.
steven Jul 2014
Too attached to
The memory of you
And your sunken dimples
That held up the happy curve of your lips
(And held up my world too),

The want in your voice
Coarse with loneliness and anguish,
Though evaporating when ******
Between us two
(My sweet words the answer to your sole prayer),

Your distant stare shielding
A wall of deep thoughts
Scared and shamed and lovingly true
(**** as the ocean blue)—
I love you.
steven May 2015
At the Berkeley protests,
the streets smiled with
sledge-hammer teeth
chomping away for peace.
Windows were smashed,
trash became the air
     in flags of ash,
police in riot costumes
picketed the peace
     like a fence
teaching the pretty
     protesters a thing or two about place
but the tear gas said it all first:
the system is broken.
steven Sep 2014
Perfectionism is deadly when it's believable:
A plant with infinite roots in my brain
As if my entire existence sprouted from that
Seed so evil that my very veins
Pump pride and pretensions through me
Pulsing, rising, filling me to the brim
With false dreams and glimmering hope
That feel hellishly hollow within.
steven Jul 2014
Unseen by a careless eye,
The tiny holes
That pierce right through the paper’s skin
Cannot be played with.

These rough and edgy slits
That bind the page
With shiny, silver, spiral shackles
Refuse to give up their grasp.

These tiny holes that dot the page
Are never healed and never felt,
But they remind the paper that
The notebook has a grip on it.

But when the time has come, a child
Slowly rips apart the page:
The perforation pops in pain
And grabs a hold of what it can.
The paper, screaming in agony,
Frees itself at last—
It wanders off to be crumpled,
And hurt, and torn, and trashed,
Only at long last to find
That part of it was left behind.
For anyone who has felt chained down to something. For those who broke free. For those who left a part of themselves behind.
steven Jul 2015
apathy is hard for
easy hearts ;
we gravitate around
each other's orbits,
avoiding collision &
deleting memories &
moving forward with
peripheral vision

we know how to ignite
tightropes like nooses
only more hollow ;
our eyes shift invisibly
from the ingrained warmth
of our carefree touch
to the scissors of fate and future—
the best thoughts mingle with
desire, and so we suffer
from the fires and fires
we burn with the million heartbeats
spilling like shadows behind us
steven Jul 2015
singing in front of strangers
terrifies me to no end, I battle
my runaway heartbeats as they
fly and thud against my glass
chest; I feel the blood flush
hot and livid through my
limbs & search for cool
pillow sides to chill my
cheeks, wondering why the
only sounds I make
whine, how the mind can be
infinitely stronger than the
body how fear can run
through programmed behavior
why telling myself "you wont die"
is never enough to quell my
aching nerves—phobia is the
unswallowable lump in my throat,
the inexplainable fight or flight, the
"no" whispered in every language to
my gullible muscles—one day I will
sever the fear at its root and enjoy
the fruits of my own liberation.
Next page