for some reason i always write the most in january. the words seem to flow out of me --- a tsunami, monsoon, typhoon --- of words I've been aching to bleed but never have the time nor patience to set free. words that have festered in the crevices of my mind for who knows how long. words that I've kept close to my heart, like a pendant, a talisman perhaps.

and it's not like I'm complaining. writing, after being away from it for so long, makes me feel like a soldier coming home to his wife. he bears the marks of war on his skin, in his mind, in the hollowness in his eyes. he is glad to be rid of the gunshots that riddle his sleep, glad to be back home in loving arms, but he cannot shake the feeling of being inches away from death, no.

writing again is coming home, but it's not the same. there is a rustiness in my fingers, in the muscles that make this thoughts into coherent strings of symbols. there is an absence i cannot shake off.

but God knows i will try.

she has so much love in her heart
a portion for her mother
another for her father
two parts for her sisters
and the rest for every one else
she spreads her love so thin,
so far and wide that
she forgets to love herself

maybe it’s because she hides iron fists
in soft velvet gloves.
maybe it’s the authority dripping off her tongue
like honey
slow, and sweet and overwhelming
maybe
just,
maybe it’s because
she’s a woman.

i guess missing you came in stages
none of it was overwhelming
it was just there
a you-shaped hole right in the center of my being

first came the sadness,
everyday was waking hell
and i'd remember how much you joked about leaving me behind
now that it was real i could hardly function
but the sadness didn't last for long

after that winter i was filled with fire
it was anger that numbed my senses
anger at you
at us for not honoring the promises we made

now it is autumn and i lay my head to rest
in the arms of my new lover
she does not have your smile
or the softness of your voice
but she is.

i wonder which star you are
despite it all
i still wonder about you
Cassiopeia seems to be bidding me to sleep

plant your feet firmly on the ground
let your roots spread out
let your bark harden
so that children may carve their names on your trunk
that lovers may reminisce the time the scratched their initials on you
when life was simple and pure

touch the clouds with your branches
let your leaves wither
in the fall
but let them grow back
in the spring
let them turn green then brown and red and orange
all the colors
let the snow gather on your branches
white and stark against your bark

beware of forest fires
the flames that lick your green green green
leaves
and the men who carry
blades across their backs
shouting
"timber"

     grow, love
                            **grow

every night i wish on stars
i wish that i had been born with endings
because all i have are beginnings
too many to count
loose ends
fraying thread on a patchwork quilt
i am all beginnings and absolutely no endings
and i wish more than anything
that i wasn't
i wish i was more than reckless abandon
more than leaving things to the wind
more than crumbling buildings
more
i wish i was more than beginnings

on some days
i feel like my body is a museum
a collection of oddities---
     crooked teeth,
           mismatched eyes
i think,
maybe i am just an amalgam of
skin and bones that jut out too much
arms too skinny to be healthy
skin too pale to be normal

just a collection of oddities

on those days i feel like i will never be loved
my mother cringes when she wraps her strong arms
around my fragile body
my father frowns at my sorry state
when i look at them i realize that
no one will ever venture into my seas for they are far too
     rough
            icy

looking at the mirror reminds me of the turbulent waters that
my body holds
the stormy oceans that lies beneath my sun damaged skin
reminds me that i am a grimy museum, all dusty and crumbling

a collection of oddities