A word derived from the native Hawaiian tongue
used to categorize outsiders.
Translated as no breath.
No life.
No soul.
According to the Hawaiian tradition people spoke with their Ha, their breath of life.
But i was taught at a very young age that i was breathless and had no right to the ground i stood on.
I learned that the words i spoke fell only on deaf ears and that no matter where i went in the place i called home i was an intruder.
And my parents wonder why i dont feel at home anywhere anymore.

Pushed away as an outsider i was made to find my own roads and they were seldom paved.
As an outsider i look in on the crowds and see people who have their Ha ripped from them, children who are taught at a very young age that they are breathless.
Lifeless.
Soulless.
But i speak to them now and say that i have reclaimed my soul, i have found my life, and i tell you that i can speak.  I can speak and i can breathe.

I can breathe again.

We are critical.

We find flaws in
everything we see
because nobody
wants to write
about perfection,
even though sometimes
we wish we could just stay
staring into that
unblemished surface.

2. We are never satisfied.

We live our lives upon
mountains of
scrunched up
bits of refill and
ideas we gave up
trying to
express.

3. We never forget.

We write words about
eye contact made
three months ago
that we replay over
and over in our minds
even though it
stopped
being relevant.

4. We are fickle.**

Our emotions flash
from one
to the other
like strobe lighting that
disorientates us
until we feel as if
the world
will never be still.

5. We are exposed.

We don't know how
to keep our feelings
to ourselves so
we'll write them
down for
you to find
'accidentally'.

6. We are vulnerable.

We wear our
hearts on our sleeves
and won't lift a
muscle to fight back
if somebody tries
to break it
because we thrive
from the pain.

7. We will never stop.

We will never stop
feeling and
we will never stop
hurting,
we will never stop
breaking and
bleeding and
loving
even though the cycle
is endless
and we know what's
coming next.


We are addicted
to agony,
but we agonise
for the art.

I miss the rain.
The heat these days is intolerable.
California is spoken of as a paradise,
But it’s splendor
Is wasted on me.
Truly, I am a fish out of water.

I used to miss the mountains.
The isolation back then was awful.
Hawaii is spoken of as a paradise,
But it’s wonders
Lost their luster to me.
Truly, I was a bird with clipped wings.

Someday I will miss the sun.
One day the clouds will be miserable.
Washington is spoken of as a paradise,
But it’s thunder,
Will cease to boom for me.
Truly, I will be a drowning daisy.

A Half Forgotten Memory of the Train Tracks in Puget Sound

A statistically probable Car crash
tore open the night with the screams of twisting metal.
The phone calls, the text messages,
that threatened to tear apart my world,
that tore me from my apathy,
and made me feel again.

A statistically probable Break up
tore apart a dear friendship with empty words and tears.
The misunderstandings, the contradiction,
that nearly pulled me under the waves
into the sea of my depression,
to drown me there slowly.

A statistically probable smoker
torn between two sides of of a pained and troubled coin.
The spitefulness, the empathy,
that threatens to bury me in another's pain,
and smother my last shred of love,
leaving me cold and hard.

When you look at the troubles life lay before you,
Sometimes you cannot deny the troubling truth,
That we are all statistics to be calculated,
rarely less, rarely more.

The clouds have began to gather for the coming fall,
While the birds begin to flock towards warmer climes.
My morning routine has grown longer as the days shorten,
for I must bundle up or the journey to school.  
The cold nips my ears and nose, the only bits of skin exposed.
  My right hand is warmed by the burning ember it cups,
the other is ****** into the pocket of my jacket.  
My mood rises as the temperature drops,
with the cold comes the rain and snow I wait for each year.  
I long for the day I can go home to the clouds in the north, the endless autumn rain, even in the depths of summer, the ice water ocean crashing heavy on the shore, the beautiful emerald ferns and pines of the deepest green.

The clouds have began to gather for the coming fall, and they are making me homesick.

Once we sat together at a tiny table
and cast furtive glances across the glass
We locked eyes, then we blushed
And became quite interested in the people who pass
The steam wafted up from our coffee
and smoke drifted off of our cigarettes
I wished you would sit next me
And we proceeded with not regrets
But time passed and all things changed

Now we sit together at a cafe table
and cast empty glances across the metal
Our looks tell of memories
that wilt like the flower petal
The steam wafts up from our coffee
and smoke drifts off of our cigarettes
I wish you wouldn't sit so close to me
and I ponder all of my regrets
But time passes and all things change

Someday we will sit at a dining table
and cast knowing glances across the wood
We sit and stare into our pasts
And wish we'd done all the things we could
The steam will waft up from our coffee
and smoke will drift off of our cigarettes
I'm happy just having you sit near me
and reminding me to forget my regrets
Time will still pass and all things will still change
But you will be there
and so will i