There is a stillness preserved for sturdy buildings.

They contrast the nature that swings:
The shake of a tree,
The leaves that wiggle
And
t
  w
    i
  r
     l
off their twigs in the prettiest of ways.

- Yes, a concrete jungle is still a jungle
But there's no flutter, no movement, no beauty.

i'm sorry that me nervously tapping on the table
annoys you
sara,
but like,
it's not as if i can just
not
have anxiety
or anything.

Exam room.
Air as still as dead,
Then I hear it:
Pencil.
R o l l i n g off the edg
e -
But the person catches it just in time.

I sigh in relief.

i'm sorry.
the leftover pizza
hidden in the back of the fridge,
just looked so tasty.

- the smell of pepperoni still lingers on my shirt.

I don't mind when white people wear

cat ears.
seifuku.
kimono.
kanji slapped on shirts.
(even if they don't know what it means)

Culture can be an aesthetic.
Just as long as they appreciate it,
We're friends.

I bet that man,
he with his white cap,
smashed my box against the wall
as he so carelessly
dumped
my package on the doorstep.

The sweet scent of the air in spring makes me feel...


Disconnected.


Should I remember the flowers that bloomed?
Or past relationships that withered?

Perhaps my several trips to the seaside?
Or would I just drown in worries?

The comfortable combination of
Warm sunshine,
Cool breeze?
Or the painful sting of
Burning
Betrayal?

Though it is a new season, in a new year,
I can't help but feel aged with burden.