All these stanzas look alike
they talk about the same things
with the same words, the same poem

written over and over again
like voices, whispers, copying each other
unable to feel and trust experience
differently, socialized for homogeneity

unified but dull, strong but obedient
their writing seemed the narratives
of machines unable to innovate

plagiarizing voices they believed were
their own, authentic, pure
their literary journals were a politics
of masters of arts and agendas of contests

like car commercials without a proper
enjoyment of speed, or our favorite writers
whose names we only knew because

they were the ones who died at the right time
while somebody was looking, reading them
but the bookstores didn’t know their
metaphors were weak, or their life’s work

was merely symbolic, that’s the thing isn’t it
poets are only symbols, as poems are only
fluff, paper, the labor of writers-in-residence

while the rest of the world are more
interested in serial killers and which stocks
might be worth getting into, and when to sell out
investing in words seemed silly to them

and, in my selected works there was nothing
of how to be a Poet Laureate or how to win prizes
exceptional or not, publication was left to amazon

state grants, fellowships, visiting writers
academics who never felt truly how to write
poetry at its heart was a colonization of artists
few could share what that meant, we were

the first illiterate generation, spending more time
with the internet than with books.

I don’t know the etiquette
of how eyes meet or for the first time
if they sparkle especially or

if I wore glasses the first time we met
I know I saw you with my intrinsic
looking as if I could pierce
your inner beauty, nor am I biased

I don’t know the business of eyes
beauty has been so over-rated
for so long, thanks to an evolution

but I know the last time
I look inside my heart, you’ll be there
with Asian eyes as deep as
India, China, Japan, Korea

so distinct like laughter of another culture
i don’t know the etiquette of eyes
but mine are drunk brown

not twin-cold blue or milk of salt
but chesnut-star, desire with the tip
of reaching across the universe.

I can't be genuine in a crowded setting,
I'm not brave enough to be real here.
So I'll write you this note with hope,
That you might try to understand me, dear.
I can be confident if I'm detached,
But with you, I don't want that.
Instead I run scared from possibility,
Feigning confidence and sincerity.
How ironic that I've been most true to myself
Behind a screen when I could be anyone else.
So I can't quite communicate or relate.
I'm best speaking one on one,
Or when talking need not be done.
Yes I'm truly terrified of touching you
If the variables I can't control are more than a few.
Years of hurt, being used,
Years objectified, feeling abuse,
Has twisted me to want and fear you.
So please don't be silent, I'm really quite needy.
I've been quit on and ****** on so much,
And when I miss you, I miss you dearly.
If I love you, it will be fully.
I'm so dependent, so wanting, destitute for you,
I can't take twenty-four hours of silence,
It could **** me.
I like to be alone, yes, it's true,
But I'd rather not be alone if I could be with you...

I live in the mountains
Middle of no where
I'm all alone tonight
It don't seem fair
Yet I see the stars
Shining so **** bright
Every last little one
Giving off a speck of light
Each one a part of something greater
Each one a piece of what's real
I don't know what YOU are feeling
But that's how I wanna feel
Like I actually belong here
Like I'm not living for myself
Like there's some bigger out there
Like I'm as special as everyone else
I want my light to shine that bright
A smouldering sky for YOU to see
I just wish that someone out there
Was making a wish to have me

Have you ever felt
A compelling urge
To hug somebody?
To just wrap your arms around them
And never let go?
You just want to drop everything
And hug that person,
Touch them,
Embrace them.
You just want to be near them.
Forever.
No talking.
Just hugging.
Because you seem to say more,
Have deeper discussions,
When you’re in each other’s arms
Then when conversing aloud.

That’s the kind of bond
I want to have with someone
Some day.
Because the simplest of things
Speak louder
Than any words
Ever will.

Did you grow up thinking a streak of black ink across your eyelids
would make you feel better about yourself
Did you grow up thinking fake lashes
would make someone fall in love with you a little more
Did you grow up thinking eye-enlarging contact lenses
would make someone look at you any differently
Did you grow up thinking a bottle of liquified foundation
would make you hide away all the things you hate about yourself
Did you grow up thinking a tube of cheap gloss
would make your self esteem increase by leaps and bounds
Did you grow up thinking that learning how to apply mascara
would make you the pretty woman you deserve to feel like
Did you grow up thinking a size zero on that dress
would make you feel like you have it all?


Or did you grow up asking yourself
*When will I start accepting me, for me?