what i've noticed is
love usually simmers into a boil
the heat of it becomes
bubbly laughter, its warmth is the
evaporation of the senses
its result fogs up my lenses
until all i can see is the smoke
then if i want, i could either
bring it down and let it cool
or let it reach a fever pitch
and watch it overflow
and instead of filling in the shape
it breaks the container it was in
it takes a while for me to decide
whether i got burnt
or have become alive

have I ever told you?
you are the August moon, December rain
and I am summer year-round.
when we meet, the light catches
and from your rain and my sun
we make a burst of color -
fleeting,
beautiful,
and never real.

i open my mouth
to taste the rain
and pretend that is you
i am not cold, i am not wet
i am covered in you

laughter is now empty
how the voice shakes
vibrating in the air
marking the territory

there are a
million, million things to do
there is nothing i can do
but wait for you to
wake up instead

silence is overbearing
but what can words do
but make things worse?

i think you can dilute me
in the southwest monsoon
that buries the city in july
i let the gray rainfall
choke me, drown me
until all my colors have
bled through me

i think i can dilute me
and make me easier
tolerable for you
to drink up, to love
there is nothing more i want
consume me, renew me
make me water in your hands

i think there are other people
out there, waiting for me
but i don’t want to wait for them
when i have waited so long for you
so just dilute me, **** me
let me be a chasm
and fill me up, up, up

i think you can make me
into someone you will miss

you don't know how much love I can give
you worry about the abyss, the dark
you worry no one will remember you
but I have written you into everything
your eyes, the way they see
your mouth, the way it speaks

you don't know how much love I can give
if you let me trace you, then put you on paper
if you let me, I will leave behind enough words
for them to see your shape, your soul  
you have nothing to be anxious about
because
I will write you
I will love you
until the bittersweet end.

this is how much love I can give:
everything I have done, have written
is for you
and this love will be left behind
and you, my love, will be remembered
sleep quietly tonight

i am a narra tree
i want you to cut me down
with your sharp ax
slowly
measured breaths
your sweat
my branches
down
down
down
i go to the ground
we leave my roots behind
my body will be your house
and i will haunt you
you will want me
curved
straight
smooth
until i am in
the floor
the walls
the ceiling
my body will be your house
and i will haunt you
until you want me
out of everything
push me out
drag me out
curse me out
but remember, i was a narra tree
and i wanted you to cut me down

i hope you

- lick rust, get tetanus, and die
- forget your keys in the car
- step on glass, get a foot infection, and die
- get a mind-numbing toothache from 11 PM to 2 AM
- get stuck in space with your oxygen running out
- never find someone who matches your freak
- compute your GPA and realize you’re a few points away from getting Latin honors
- choke on boba
- get bitten by an unidentified venomous snake and you don’t have access to the antidote so you slowly die
- get CC’ed on a HR email before you clock off
- time travel, get stuck in the 1800s, and die from cholera
- trip on your shoelaces and land on dogshit
- never find the other sock
- are the last person alive in a zombie-filled apocalyptic wasteland
- miss me

the trouble with friends
from what i’ve learned is
that often they only eat
in a table you’ll need
an invitation to

graciously, you must
accept the request
as if your stomach wasn’t
desperately craving
hunger devouring you

remember to be
inoffensive, tasteful
make yourself palatable
don’t forget the garnish -
only then their dinner’s served

i know this is overwhelming
but what else can you do?
you do not want them to
chew and spit you out -
you want to be digested

a tiny thing, a little cat
brings me little treasures
things she has caught
but i don't want them
i have already closed
the worn-out kitchen door

it leaves its little presents
by the doorframe
i watch her leave them
and wait for me
to arrive, to praise her
like i have done before

she sees me by the window
i see her confused little face
i turn away, close the shades
and she does not leave
and i do not leave
and i do not open the door

your sweatshirt
socks
my copy of Hunger Games you spilled juice on
rain-drenched Sambas
a navy blue comforter
your backpack full of ants
my sweatshirt
thrifted sheets of music with suspicious brown spots
a couple of DVDs we washed, thinking it would make them work again
your old Nokia
a pack of cigarettes
torn-up black stockings
polaroids to make that blurred effect
me

you know, i make these conversations in my head. i tell myself things you could never say, things i want to hear dripping from your mouth. things that make sense, things that weigh as heavily as open ended sentences. they taste like sweet peppermint in my mind, soothing to the burning feeling in the soul. i bet it feels good to be written over and over and over. there’s something satisfying about trying to make it work, then i light it up and send you its ashes, soft to touch and death-like in its stillness. have you seen ashes before? i have cremated my love with words. maybe when we spread it to the wind i’ll whisper a tiny thought to germinate in your brain: you don’t know how lucky you were to have held my attention for this long.

the pain and the wonder
of loving you, of loving love
the pain and the wonder
of living life, of being alive
the pain and the wonder
of being one and many
alone in the midst of millions
in an essence -
it is painful, it is wonderful
being alive

i claw myself out of it
the mud still stuck
on the hem of my jeans
there is dirt in my fingernails
and everything hurts
in a way it has never been before
i have been lovestruck before
but while he brought out my softness
you brought me down to my knees

i claw myself out of it
i was sinking in it alone
and i am not the kind of woman
who wants to be pinned down, forlorn pining
i am the kind of woman who leaves
so i haul my ******* *** out
arms shaking, begging for reprieve
breaking the surface feels like dying
before it feels like living again

i claw myself out of it
and there in the quiet morning
the sky an electric blue
bruised, bleeding, breathing
i realize -
she tore me up but
she taught me a lot about love
and that is more than enough

plant your sorrows into my earth
and i will bear the sweetest fruit
the summer sun marks our rebirth
teeth bared, feline-like in her pursuit

this afternoon's rainfall
reminded me of
the start of september
i remember -
the barely there glimmer
of the end or the beginning
though i could never tell the difference
the long, unbending river
of goodbyes i left drowning
in between the truth and lies
the simple quietness, the whisper
of my house, my room, my mind
as all stare back at me
watching me, no -
daring me
to fly

i hope she soothes you
menthol cool in the summer heat
her words should be honeyed, syrupy
enough to make you sweet

i hope she tells you
her dreams, in between your fingers
is where the glittery future shines
intertwined, no doubt, with hers

i hope she holds you
gentle like a slow river bend
her hands must be soft and dainty
her voice must be heaven sent

i hope she takes you
through the rocks, the mountain road
where the shadows lie deep, winding
but with her, you get back home

i hope she loves you
enough to rebuild earth’s gravity
shakes its core, halts its orbit
a love that changes reality

i hope she forgives you
endlessly, for every mistake
you deserve to be adored
a love that melts to your taste

i am standing on the ledge
the precipice presses
on the soles, in the soul
and chills me to the bone
i am standing on the ledge
and i am about to jump
into the unknown, evergreen
thoughts of mine flourish in
the inky, lonely midnight
i am standing on the ledge
if i look back, if i could turn
you and a hundred thousand people
stare at me, waiting
for me to flail, to fail, to fall
i am standing on the ledge
there is no safety net,
no wires connected to a pole
no helmet placed on my head
this is how i know it will be painful
i am standing on the ledge
there are no constraints,
no mistakes yet shackled to my belt
but the wide, glittering skyline before me
is how i know it will be glorious
i am standing on the ledge
my knees forward, my heart -
a clever, fragile thing - beats
strongly and reminds me i am alive
i jump -

when time sits with me comfortably
i forget i was ever thirteen - even twenty
she is someone i can barely hold
her laughter is made of stuff purer than precious gold

when time sits with me comfortably
i despair at the thought of being thirty
she is someone i can barely hold
her dreams are the dinner table food i left out and gotten cold

when time sits with me comfortably
i feel like i am choking from inside out, endlessly
but to think on it too much makes the suffering unending
and before i sleep, i think what i feel isn’t pain but understanding

there is something soft
in the way pain heals
how a fresh wound
hardens like a shield
and in time
blooms into new skin
how a purple bruise
reminds in its familiarity
that it will be alright
like it has been alright
so many times before
there is something gentle
in the way pain heals
how the heart is a muscle
that can be fatigued
that can be broken
and in time
be renewed

you know my weak spots
you know my bones
and the closet where i hide them
you know my haunted land
every twist, every corner
because i showed them all
to you
so do me a favor -
bury the map
and i’ll
bury the lede
let’s just call it quits

falling in love is
a little death
the chaos of its creation
revels in the
confusion which
bursts into brilliant white
then comes its
pseudo infinite life span
the way i think it will go
on and on and on
but really it ends
with a whimper and
a quietness
that marks its
last exhale

it’s a heavy feeling
wanting to die
i get wrapped up in it
caught in the rain with it
buried six feet under it
it’s a heavy feeling
when it is just me
and this
pounding, screeching
in my head:
how could there be
any space for my living
when already
i am holding hands
with my death?