the onion in father's hands didn't have time to cry,
with his fist punched it on the corner of the table, spread salt and
ate it with sheep's cheese,
(like the builders of the pyramids, my dad was paid in onions)

the onion in my mother's hands was sweet and made many leaves,
spring after spring she shared it throughout the village,
people were wondering: how does not bring tears,


every time I have an onion in my hand I think,
to clean it with my hands,
cut it with a knife, or
punch it with a fist,

the onion in my hands
is waiting

No sir, no not me
Come no closer, can’t you see?
I’m freezing as the springtime frost
So won’t you let me be?
Wind tossed as the blossom
Bleeding from the tree
I am but a child; I’m lost
I am wild, not dutiful
Scarred inside; not beautiful
My demon lover  left me
Underneath the cherry tree
No sir, no not me

No sir, no not me
Come no closer, can’t you see?
I am not a fresh faced maid
No sir, we can’t be
Plucking cherries in the glade
Walking in the evening shade
I’m buried in the foetid earth
Awaiting spring, denied rebirth
In the soft sun, in the rain
I shall never rise again
No-one can ever set me free
No sir, no not me

when you were in my arms, I had
no thought, that rare condition sought
by mystics, dervishes and mad
and hungry painters staring off
at other suns' forsaken light
as if it held salvation keys,
rededicating one more night
to supplication, bended knees.
now time has moved your innocence,
ticked off the things you've never done,
and narrowed down your penitence--
some things still worth the price of fun.
this world is world enough but time
makes hesitation mortal crime.

Can you take the world
Up your back and throw in all out away?
Can you decide between choosing
What you're going to be today?
There are people who will tell you "no".
Possibly in every place you go!
They will tell you, "No you can't do this,
Unless you fall on your knees!"
You must give it up and choose something worth doing,
All you have to do is throw away your confidential feeling.


Just be mindless, just be mindless,
Mindless just like everyone of us.
No you can't be, no you can't be
Different than any one of us.


We're mindless people doing what we do,
We're mindless people, so will be you.
Join us now in an orderly fashion,
Lose the inner kid, throw out your passion.


Passion is a bad thing,
It is creative
Lose the imagination,
And be innovative.


Look at us and what we do,
We wake up at six and
Have breakfast at two.
We're mindless doing what we do,
Just do as what we say and soon will be you.

“Who’s the lucky guy?” someone asks
“Their name’s Bea,” I reply
“I support that,” they hesitate
“You are so brave.” they add

I never saw their lips as a political statement
Nor did I think holding hands in the front seat
while a friend is puking by the side of the road
Was some kind of revolution

How romantic is it
That our story will be etched
Not in some Neruda poetry book
But a professor’s first textbook
Or a college student’s 2 am essay

When I said I was in love
You thought it meant I was hungry
Not for touch or for pleasure
But for justice and freedom
I didn’t know that
When I run my fingers down her neck
It would be tied to a long Twitter thread

I never saw my love as a battleground
A metaphysical exploration of sexuality
What’s Marxist about the way their eyes
disappear when they smile?
What’s so intersectional about
Our entanglement at the back seat
Or our hands holding in front

I never thought I would be so brave
At my most fragile state
So political
In my most dumbstruck ways
So woke
When I’m asleep in her embrace

The ice from the sun
Paints frost upon the roads

The sun is different here
          Far more glimmer than shine
Dangling conveniently from a string

The sky wears its blemishes
As each passerby stitches their heart upon their sleeve
          Bloodstained fabrics
          I stand naked on the street

Exposed
          Or maybe,
Free

Costumed faces
Pay no mind
As the birds fly south in Spring