I’ve tattooed a line across
the veins of my wrist
and marked a down stroke
for every time
“you can’t wear red lipstick”
made me believe
I never wanted to in the first place.

for every time instead
I’ve stained my lips with cherries
learning how to tie the stems
so I can slip forget-me-knots
to the back of your throat—
do you feel my restriction now?

the razors that fly off my tongue
perk thorns on my skin,
another down stroke on my wrist
will teach me that
you were right,
shyness is a virtue.

no need to speak,
go spend one hundred dollars
and some percent for tax
to cover up,
even though I’m sure your mother told you
that cotton stains.

so make it black.
get your hair stuck
in the zipper of that sundress
and pray as you pull it out
that it will lose its pigmentation
in the process
mark a down stroke
for killing two flowers
for one bouquet.

hold it
close your eyes and throw it back,
I know we shouldn’t be wearing white anyway
but tradition can take a lot out of you
like what you really think—
don’t say **** in public.

instead drag your first impressions
all the way to the altar
and dress in your Sunday best
a flower on your lapel
clear on your lips
a stroke for the neat decline
of the son

I tattooed a line across
the veins of my wrist
and marked a down stroke
for every time
my image
was my fault.

It has been 5 months
Since you passed
Heaven-
Must be truly blessed

A birthday cake
Big enough for two-
A piece for Jesus
And a piece for you

Although I miss
Your warm embrace
Loss is something-
That we all have to face.

I’m tired of watching.

Gaping at this cinematic reality as it slowly sinks into my sensitive skin like hot rocks on a not-so-relaxing Sunday morning.

Disappointment after disappointment, I tap my foot with impatience, awaiting a ship that never docks, yet instead, tantalizes me as it nears the harbor but changes its course midway.

I’m limp, dangling over the wishing well in my bathroom that swallows as I heave; attempting to rid my body of all my pathetic hopes and expectations and watch as they are flushed down the toilet.

You are a dagger and I have closed my eyes, preparing myself to die; allowing my flesh to surround your malicious blade as you pierce agonizingly through my shattering heart.

I am (or was) a majestic sailboat and you are a bulwark placed dangerously in my path, resulting in a complete wreckage causing my sail to sink miserably to the bottom of the ocean.

Tired of seeing.

Watching each face blossom with happiness as my stems overflow with jealousy; I stare at the reflection of my forlorn face, painfully plucking each of my withering petals and allowing them to fall to the ground in defeat.

Feeling my chakras disintegrate as my large intestine absorbs my heart that melted at the sight of your hands entwined with ones that aren’t mine.

I’m suffocating, gasping for air as I hug myself until I am strangling my waist, searching for that comforting lungful of compassion.

Tired of noticing.

Releasing my last breath, I let go. Allowing my body to be consumed by the numbness that started at my heart as it froze.

But how do I communicate
a word that lacks an English translation?
A feeling so essential to my well-being?
One that this
culture
denounces,
dejects,
despises
so easily,
Without changing what I look like in your eyes?
Hesitation of true affection

Amae, I want to share with you.
A home, not a house.
The mother's loving concern.
The safety of knowing that it is okay.
You'll be there and I
presume you will.
And this gives me shivers to imagine;
indulgence of security.

But that's codependent
Check the DSM-V.
I think the APA is wrong.
I challenge over 137,000 who seem to agree
that my need for people is
disorder,
disease,
debilitation.

Because I can see through a window in my heart,
that shows me a world coexisting;
once realized
we need each other
because we are human.
We want to live harmoniously, in unison.
I want to care of my fellow man.
I am celebrated for aspirations
of massaging the soul,
fixing the whole,
dedicated to them all.

Why is it so wrong that some days,
I'd like to be on that side of the spectrum?
Amae, Amae, *Amae

Handle me gently.
Mull it over in your mind
Until you find the words that match your intentions.
Say them quietly
So only I can hear.
Don't speak harshly.
Don't leave me hanging.
Don't blend into the background.
A word spoken is a word meant
So say what you mean
Because I meant what I said
And I'll say it again.
I love you times one million.
All my bad decisions were worth it
If my one right decision was you.