I read between the lines
and linger on this page of poems

Each poetic soul
begging to be heard.
One wrote of their father
one wrote of grief
One wrote of their childhood homes
and the fear of who might leave.
I wont ever know your name,
but a piece of you I see.

It is beautiful
to bare your soul for the sake of art.
And so I linger between the lines,
basking in the product of your courage.

Sometimes i get a glance
in the mirror when the lights are low
my brows furrowed,
my breathing slow.
I get a glance of you.

It scares me terribly,
to get a glance of you.
I am but the apple,
who rots below the tree.

I feel sorry for my mom
Not for the bitter lady she has become
but the little girl who dreamt of bigger

I so fear that I will feel a slight relief
leaving flower at her grave.

The rose will die tomorrow
when the winter frost finally catches on

but today the fall sun still shines

I swim in a small pond
and there I find comfort
they tell me that I can only grow
as big as the pond I live in

but what is wrong with being small?
I like the small pond I swim in
for I know I wont grow if I go
I will drown.

No one ever shows you how fleeting it is
they warn you
they will shout those words into your ears until they bleed
but you wont listen until you see it for yourself
The next chapter comes even if you dont turn the page

Excited to read on.

Im back again
back in this hole
I seem to only write poetry when im not well
no one I know will see it.
But im back again

I want to say ive been here before
but I dont think ive been this deep
I want to say this is an old friend
the coping mechanism is so familiar
but does its teeth look bigger this time?

I wish I could come back on a better term
it seems like im never well
but really
I only write poetry when im not well.
Anyways, im back again.

War is a terrible thing
at the whims of chess masters
who sacrifice pieces without care
pieces of flesh and blood
product of love and hope

War is a terrible thing
those who crave it
likely never felt the rage
of loss and grief
of pain and fear that stays long into the night.

War is a terrible thing
in the light of your enemy's eyes
behind the rage and behind the fire
is a fear of broken promises
of a place no one can return to.

War is a terrible thing
to evolve is to learn to be without it
and to live in a place where we can return.

My mother wore pearls,
like her mother before her
those pearls will sit on my neck too
and I will add a bead
it is only right
for the pearls to be heavier each generation

like corals that stack in the ocean
our **** ups shine back in our children
we are ruined by old pearls before us,
and them ruined by those before them

the cycle will never break
so I wont have children.

Something funny tends to happen
when you realize youre in love
the bitterness of goodbyes finds you
when you thought you were immune
you desperately grab onto them
weeping for just a see you later

Love is not like anything else
it does not thrive in scarcity
but rather in its abundance
do we learn its value.

I want to be the It Girl
the girl who laughs so loud
but no one seems to mind
I don't envy her beauty
but she is beautiful
in a way that she knows

I want to live life like It Girl.
Taking up space whenever
talking to whoever
no fear, no need to hide
It girl thrives in the light

And I sit alone in my comforting darkness today
Dreaming about being It girl.
Maybe tomorrow, I will try again.

I cannot explain it
but the way people chatter
makes me want to die

So I put on my noise muffling headphones
and then the world turned quiet
and my head is straight again

and my heart stopped pounding
and my hair sat flat on my arms again
peaceful, but I can't help but wonder


what is it like? the human experience?
to hear and laugh and shout
willingly and pleasantly?

I love you so much
my dear
it feels like my heart beats outside my body

and its so scary to be vulnerable
but you have always belonged to me
you just needed to find your way home.

When you met a person
who never sings a note in key
or never complains about walking the dog in the rain
who hates the taste of coffee
but kisses you after a cup of americano anyways
who walks with you forever
even if his feet are Sore

when you met someone who warms your world
you can never go back to the nights again
it is a privilege to lay with the sun.

There are bitter goodbyes
that will have hellos again
I am lucky enough to share that with you
when some peoples goodbyes are forever.
So for that,
I suppose, I am grateful.

people forget
it is a privilege to grow old

you make me never forget that.
Thank you
my love.

we pass on trauma like the barrier reef
with each children the deeper the knot
they will pass on their faults too
to children of their own.
and it might break your mortal pride
to tell you this

but your children do not carry your hopes and dreams
they carry your trauma and pain
until they can have their own to carry theirs.

At the end of the world
you will find that
those with money
do live happier.

At least,
they would be alive.

I hope you know
you set me on a path
to search for love everywhere

because I want to so desperately believe
that blood doesn't determine family

There were so many thorns along the way
I did find him
no thanks to you

he brings me water at night
and socks when my toes are cold
he is gentle, kind and everything you were not.

You will grow old alone
and sometimes I feel sorry
but most times,

I think of the thorny path you set me on
and I hope you learn how to walk on it too.

She wouldn't be remember
as a quiet girl

but thats alright
those people still--
remembered her.

The value of life is easy to defend
when it cannot speak or contest
when it does not even take your food
nor can it take up space

then the value of life becomes nothing
when they begin to breathe your air
when their mouths turn hungry
and they look to you with real eyes

Turning away the same open palms
that you fought to bring here
then
Are you still an advocate for life?

There is something so sobering
watching her ****** take her life
not in the act but in labor

while a man who never felt the sting of labor
sits on TV
calls her a "host body".

She will never see eighth grade.

There is something cosmically profound
To be connected to someone across somewhere
With an invisible thread
And a string of words
The reader and the writer, both behind screens.

there were days
Where days ended with the sun
And yet now
Time exist only not as a limit
But merely informational.

Your love shows me the magic
That we brush aside daily
When we should be in awe of
That i am lucky I exist in a time where
You are one call away

you were always fussy
even when you were a child
but you had the world handed to you
on a platter of a mother's love
and a father who gave all his care
so much so, that I was left with nothing

You are young, raging like a storm now
and you carry yourself with so much rage
screaming and yelling like the emotions
are bursting through your eyes
You glare at me like the devil possessed you
but you were always fussy

and I know that hadn't changed.
So sleep now, brother
entitled rage can wait.

I didn't know poets can be so cynical
when he gazes upon the rose
he sees only the beauty that benefits him
but the thorns
remain a tragic muse

I didn't know poets can be so depressing
that a beauty of the sunset he chases
only to leave angry in the dark
because even the sunset could not inspire
a single gold worthy word in his blank pages

He doesnt know if he is a poet
or if he lies to make stories
until he can lie with such grace
nothing of his is him
he is a nothing, making himself to be something.

The way woman look at woman
like art
she glares first at her eyes
then at her nose
and the crinkles of her smile
the curves of her body
like an icy statue to be worshipped

you would never know
by the way she looks at her
how her thoughts
can lead her so astray.
Like art, that evokes a million emotions.

My mother loved fish cheeks
but it sits in my bowl every night
she smiles
I shove it down like a hungry wolf
Fish cheeks is simple; it needs no words.

Then I grew up
and brought friends over
"like Amy Tan's story!" They said
laughing at the fish cheeks
as my mother shrunk.

Fish cheeks are a delicate meat
its gentle, its warm, its self-explanatory.
It sits in my bowl, under the loving gaze of my mother.
If that is funny
then I dont understand the humor.

When the sun hits your hair
I see how it makes heads turn
like little rays of sunshine
dancing in your golden blonde hair
I sit at night
staring at the moon
and im not even the night sky
im your shadow
waiting to be picked second
because everyone wants the Sun

they were vitamin gummies before
my mother would be so proud
it turned into something ugly
and I even used to laugh
but now I stare blankly at a wall
feeling nothing and everything all at once
luckily tho
I can't think straight.
Luckily.
Who knows what ill think if im sober?

The Universe smiled when you were born
She told the Whales of a gentle child
who was born to make the world better
she sang to the birds
of a soul so kind and funny
she almost wish she could take credit in creating you

Now you sit in a cubicle
working your dreams away for other people's luxury.
The walls felt caved in, but it never crushes you
You can't work if you are dead.
the ceiling of a blinding white light
Small talks that leave you emptier than before

But you did not disappoint The Universe
She understands
She may sign and look away
but in the smallest kindest of your actions
she writes a new fate for you
a path sealed by the cosmos.

The sea will wash away your sins
so don't be afraid to live
for when the creator comes
they will show kindness
that is the only type of creator you should worship anyways.

and if there is no creator
you will arrive to the ocean with nothing to offer
and the sea can wash away nothing else but you.

some mornings feel like a dream
my foot light, the sun singing
the clouds calling my name

then some mornings
the blanket calls me a *******
and grabs me on

these mornings come more often now
the the sun stopped singing for a long time
it gave up on me

if I feel like nothing, contribute nothing, look like nothing
how can I believe anything else.

I want so little from life
but I want so much
HURRY! FASTER! MORE!
like work is a reward, and sleep punishes the soul.
I wanted so little
and yet somehow
That is all I am now.

When you were young
I love you was a learned response.
There were shallow meanings to it
Something you quickly toss at your parents
When you are running late to school

Then you move out
And you see their backs hunched over.
They tell you the same stories over and over
And you say i love you with meaning this time
Because they may not have much time

When you were in high school
You said I love you to her
As a correct response, not as a genuine one.
There was again no real meaning
Just three words to her underpants.

Then you got married
And you see her graduating college
A gleam in her eyes, that spark of intelligence
You said I love you with meaning
Because she swept you off your feet.

So I guess,
love is inside us.
But we never learn to really say it first
We aren’t even aware
Until it comes on, like a lightbulb.

He says I love you a lot
I believe them sometimes
I laugh them off sometimes

But I know he really does love me.
Because at night when he is fast asleep
he still searches for my body with his hand
Because at the dinner table
he watches me eat and gets giddy when I make a mess
Because when I reach for his hand
he already met me half way
Because when I feel sick
a hot bath is being drawn in the other room

So it is not that I doubt him
But I will laugh sometimes
our apartment filled with tiny grand gestures of love.

My love
I am sorry
About how I had to leave you
even when I promised I wouldn't
I know you Never meant to bite
it all happened so fast

My love
I am sorry
I know you will forget me
at least I hope you do
because I will never forget you
and believe me when I say, this wound will never close.

My love
I am sorry
I hope you will forgive me
the way you looked at me before you went
of an ocean of sadness, with a confused gaze on top.
I swore I would never leave you, I should've known not to promise.

I wish you knew the way I love you
then maybe you'd wear sunscreen a bit more
then maybe you'd drive slower just a bit
and eat more vegetables once in a while.
I wish you knew the way I hate myself
then maybe you'd think twice before glancing away
then maybe you'd try not to raise your voice
and be here with me always and forever

I guess watching him drive away
will never be easy
even if he is going to work
or just getting groceries
a part of me will always say
"he might not come back"

When I was 5, I looked for God in churches.
but I found his face in ivory and gold, stiff as dead.
It is a sin they say
But I look upon his face
his warmth
his words
and there I found a merciful god
letting my wary head fall in a gentle, gentle sleep.

I have my hope
in my little London apartment
in my Tiffany blue robe
what happens when it stops raining?
Will I miss my umbrella and polkadot raincoats?
It doesn't matter.
I have my hope
but today, it rains.

The clouds poured that day
When my mother took me in the church
I kneeled in front of a porcelain Mary
Who glared down in righteousness
So full of herself, i thought.

She should be a figure of strength
A warrior even, made by her virginal status
But you are still porcelain, I snarled
A slight push
And to pieces you go.

In the fear of the Divine
I confessed my sins
Her smile still cold and smirk like
Laughing ay my earthly worries
Dismissing my lonely sorrow.

I looked up again in pain and anger
Smothered by fear and angst
To be met with my mother’s face
Who stood in porcelain
Looking down in righteousness.

I have used several poetry site
but the people here are still the kindest
thank you for being so nice

and for giving an amateur  
a small chance to breathe.

I shouldn't have to reduce myself
into a thin layer of nothing
lesser of me
to be considered worth a look
when I am drifting in the wind

I shouldn't have to rip my body apart
to please a fleeting pair of eyes on the street
when my clothes fall off my body
and my bones break in a crunch
For a number constructed by no one

It shouldn't be this way
but it is
but god I am trying. One bite at a time.

I think sometimes love will hurt
not in the sense of a heartbreak
more so in the worrying
the longing
the moments in between the highs and lows

And sometimes you make it worth it
sometimes you don't.
In the dusk underneath the fading light
I find your face in my palms
hurting willingly, loving deeply, in a bliss made specially for me.

They love you in ways they think is selfless
And at least in their mind its true
But they ******* up
And give you their insecurities
To create new ones to pass on

Sometimes they try their best
Sometimes they try
But at the end
They will hand you their heirlooms
And then you will be have the mend the broken glass.

She fell in love with the wind
she knows she shouldn't
but god HER hair is so shiny
and HER breath smells like the forest
It is a revelation for her
but just another story for HER

Years later, she will tell the breeze
of the wind that changed her life
and the wind will continue flowing along
sweeping the girls off their feet
but only for a brief moment
no one owns the wind.

The difference between a mother and a lover is
your lover may open scars
but your mother created them

I try so hard to forgive
but the thorns my mother left me
I am still trying to not give to my child

When I look upon her face
I know she tried her best
carrying her own thorns too, bleeding and tired.

And one day,
I might give my child scars too
in ways I do not intend to; believe me, I will feel so sorry.

I hope they will look upon me too
with the same understanding
and gently pull the thorns out.

the affirmation was important
as naked as we come, in our most fragile state.
The scars that shamefully hid, now under a shimmering light
skin to skin, breath to breath
as comforting as a new born and their mom
the sliding on the skin, pushed forward by confidence of a "yes"

The sun shines through the blinds
peeking curiously at the young couple
a sweetness in the air
"my love, breakfast?"
"yes."

I can't remember the last time
I wanted to type words that touched me
I become so uninspired
like a bee who neglects the beauty of the garden

Poetry is a form of vanity
Let me indulge in it again

What a dream it is
Loving you
Your tender touch
Opened me up
Like the boundless skyline

What a nightmare it is
Missing you
An impending storm
The air an uneasy feeling
The longing for release

What a reality
Seeing you again
The storm that takes over my body
Lifting me off the ground
Like Dorothy, i found a fantasy land.