words rack my body
like an exorcism
and i fear
if i do not get them out
i might cry

i'd rather swallow my demons
than let you see me
like that.

today
it s
     u
        n
           k in
           that you really said
                                              i love you
                                               and that you really expected me to
                                               say it back.
                                               excuse my
                                               lapse in judgement
                                                                                    and lack of punctuality
                                                                                    but i love you, too.
                                                                                    please don't wreck me

you could say the problem was
race; half white half japanese
you could say the problem was
passion; which never aligned
you could say the problem was
distance; a desert too vast to cross
but i say the problem was
love; because i loved you more
than i loved myself.

Do not stand at my grave and weep..
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awake in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft star-shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry..
I am not there. I did not die.

my desire
to write the words
that change the world
cripples me
and renders me mute

I will write myself to sleep.
I will write long, pathetic
poems instead of texts to my
ex. I will write
the novel of my life
instead of asking you
for attention.

I will write
the new bible
on isolation, chronological
volumes
on loneliness.

I will write ten million
haikus before I write
you again.

I will write love letters
to myself until my fingers
bleed, until I
believe them.

I will write the handbook
on neglect, the idiots guide
to dealing with it.

I will write vague
fortune cookies about
self-acceptance and
self-forgiveness.

By the time I'm finished,
I will have exhausted
my depression.

I will write Shakespearean
prose about this
rejection.

I will write suicide notes
on my shield and armor for
protection and I will
save myself with them.

I will write angry, violent speeches
to rally the voices
in my head.

I will write a pledge of allegiance
to myself and recite it daily,
after coffee.

I will pray to the Gods of
"move on," and "get over it."
I will baptize myself
in holy water
that makes me
stop caring
completely.

Holy water, oh well, whatever
move on. Hallelujah.

I will write the ten commandments
on how to be
abandoned.

i don't think that people are beautiful,
whether it be on the inside or the out —
rather, i believe that people have beautiful
moments, like when their eyes light up whilst
talking about their dreams and their passions or
when they are so genuinely happy that it even
makes you smile or when their heart skips a beat
when they realize they're in love for the first time
and the corners of their mouth automatically tug
upwards because it's such a good feeling

people are so caught up with aesthetics and
trying to be someone else's idea of beautiful
that they're passing up chances to be and
feel beautiful every single day and i think that's
disappointing.

I held you so close
The stitches of our clothes hissed with envy;
Turning white fibres a subtle *****-green.
Like we poisoned them with our
Whispers, desperate toes curling,
Fingers gripping bed posts
With the earthy sound of sleepy wood chipping.
And teeth on skin,
Back bones bucking upwards to eachother
From neck-nibbles that spread like wildfire.

But that's just it,
You are wildfire.
You spread from limb to limb,
With all but a flicker and a heavy sigh,
And I'm helpless when you set me alight.
Nought but the deepest pain could bring me
To part with your smoky husk
And fiery hips,
And all the ways you find your way inside me.

The face is the soul's thumbprint,
the shape of character belying all lies;
subtle, compelling, and telling geometry:
face, the equation of I.