I have dyed my hair a lot of colors-

It has been red with anger,
A statement of rage; symbol of fire,
I spent my days with my head in the sink
Putting out my hot-headed thinking
Choking on red water
And my own way of breathing,
When I was tugged on like a false alarm
Meaningless, and loud
A vibrant call for help
And I wore it proud

It has been blue with calm dignity,
When the days were easier,
When happiness was free
I remember how quickly the blue bled to green
That was okay with me,
I loved music and breathing,
And drinking beers on city streets
I was colorful graffiti
It was more of a fleeting feeling
Of matching the sky and the sea
Back when I wanted the world
To look at me


It has been violet in the violent hours,
I remember magenta showers
And tear stained smoke breaks
When the city never slept, always awake
Humming with the traffic on the freeway
In a car with friends and a future before us
Though my skin was a tight blanket-
I felt a smile beneath a purple forest
Where happiness tugged on my cheeks
And I wanted to believe in everything
Everyone believed in me, too

It has been black on the silent days
Somewhere between indecision
And bad taste; a dark fate  
Suffocating beneath a blank sheet
While I was recollecting
The lost and bleak pieces of me
That were almost swallowing me whole
I almost fell into the black hole
I painted myself as
It is much too dark now,
For the colors I so loved
They won’t be coming back

But lately, I returned to my natural state
To see how the brown curls will fall
Like branches on my growing shoulders,
Going back to my roots,
No more drowning myself in bathroom sinks
Looking for myself at the bottom
In colors that could not define me
I am sorry to myself for hiding
Who I am supposed to be
All those colors will always exist
In some place inside of me

But I wonder what my new colors
Will be

What are words
But a lament
That finds comfort in comment
For a heart that needs to vent
When everything else is pretend
Because who knows what will it portend
If silence is used to make amends
Like a bird at its ends
That knows no more then to bend.

Sometimes perhaps you don’t want to be a part of me
Yes, it hurts me- a little bit, a lot a bit
but I understand.
You are yourself and I am myself-
You will do you, I guess I’ll be me

I still wonder though.
Who am I-
Why not,
What’s so wrong with being a part of me,
my life- who I am?
What’s so bad about me?

Is it because I’m not “pretty” enough
or “cool” enough
or good enough to you, to be a part of me? Associated with me?
Because I won’t just make you happy
I will make myself, my family, those I do- and don’t know happy
I will try and make you as well.

What counts as part of me?
Just that I’m nineteen, female, probably bi
born in Geneva, Illinois, raised in South Elgin, Illinois
but also raised in Westford, Massachusetts
both painfully boring towns; quiet, uneventful.
Does that make me as well? Is part of me South Elgin, Westford?
And then what else- what other parts of me?
That can’t be the only part-
So I’m also creative, loud, spontaneous
the part that makes me different
Is it so bad to be that part?

Part. Of. Me.

it sounds like a bad pop song. Is that why you don’t want to be
part of me-
Why is it that sometimes perhaps you don’t want to be a part of me?
Does that mean you won’t speak, look or think about me?
i don’t think that’s possible.
Am I really that much of a stranger?
I’ve known you for quite sometime -
You’ve known me
So can you even not be a part of me?
You can be yourself, as well as
Part of me.

so
yes
You are part of me.
As am I to you,
Just not all of me.
A single piece, maybe, a part,
that shouldn’t be too much to ask.
You can have alone time, but even then that doesn’t mean;
for the time alone, your part of me is gone.
What an illogical statement,

Sometimes perhaps you don’t want to be part of me.
You already are.

My hobbies are stargazing and daydreaming.
I’m nothing but a chirpy, cheerful chum.
At times, you’ll find me – like a preacher – scheming,
Thinking of ways to make my kingdom come.

You’re free to think I’m careless, airheaded.
I’m fine with being called a loafer or a crank.
My one true north – I’ll end up where I’m heading.
Not every verse I write is snowy blank.

I’m all about forgiveness and acceptance.
Live and let live – I swear by these words.
Not looking for your ‘yes’ or your repentance –
I’m here to make a change, a better world.

I’ve taken up crochet and rubbernecking.
There’s little in this life that I won’t do.
In limbo you shall find me trekking.
In vain you’ll try to see my point of view.

I wonder if you’ll ever truly know me.
I ask myself if that is what I want.
For now, just picture I’m your darling homie.
High five, hop in and kindly play along.

Do you remember
When trees were green?
No one around
Nothing in between

My parents would assure me that I’d be okay
But the truth is….

I wasn’t.

Can you remember
Under the rain?
When I was little
Didn’t know of pain

You’d be by my side
Guiding me to the light
I tried to see it
I tried to hide

I remember the agony
Overpowering my hope
You were there to encourage
But my mind couldn’t cope

I remember…
All the things you said
About looking forward
And not looking back

The days passed by...
I tried to speak my mind
Forcefully thinking
But my thoughts wouldn’t abide

Do you remember
When the sun set
How calm it was
When we first met?


I remember…
Becoming nervous
Forgetting my purpose

Do you remember
The things they said
How the words cut
And got to your head?

I stood up for you
Standing by your side
Just like you did
When I was deprived

I held you
Every time you were weak
When you couldn’t move
When you couldn’t speak

Do you remember…
When it went too far?
We kept raising the bar....

But it wouldn’t budge.

Issues arose
Reflecting anger and hate
Like fatal blows
I thought it was fate…

I remember...
When things got deep
Thinking of you to put me to sleep

Engulfed in tears
Full with fears
At that moment
My life seemed bleak

Do you remember…
When rules were disobeyed?
We were finally free
From all the pain
I remember…
My hope hanging by a thread
Almost cut forever
By my own dread

At that moment
All my worries dissolved
Just you and me
Nothing else at all

A sense of ease
Pursued by silence
The gentle breeze
Providing guidance

Alas...

The agony vanished
Relief returned
Stress reduced
Hate burned

The trees turned green
No one was around
Nothing was in between
Calmness was found

Worries have gone
Peace has dawned
Today has ended
Along with the sorrow
Until…

Tomorrow.

It is strange
how even on this platform
where I am so anonymous
I'm afraid to express myself
To tell the world
'I'm bi!' 'I'm queer!'

I am afraid that my poems aren't good enough
That I somehow make them ***** or less worthy
By using all these terms I value
supposedly with pride

I am afraid to give myself some space
to grow
And even now I don't even want to publish this
But anyway
Here you go

the ***** atmosphere              a clear skyline.

a pumping subconscious       a motionless intention.

a bright gray omen                 a dull red novel.

(shattered and picked up, shattered and picked up.)



looking forward snowing      scared of winter.

cramming the leaks                draining the pond.

tiredly awaken                        clear-headed asleep.

(buried and dug out, buried and dug out.)



imagining a garden                 mowing the sprouts.

chasing the stars                      scrubbed by the dusks.

lamenting the stream              exalting the clock.

(grasped and slipped away, grasped and slipped away.)

Holding.
onto myself, tightly,
along with my arms which seem
to be too short, too… thick.
They've always seemed to be
too slow, lacking expression.
so I gather them inside myself,
as this poor self
would firstly accept them as they are…
then it would paint them,
sculpt them,
adding them a finger or two,
until
my poor arms
start looking
like wings.
but they are not like any other pair of wings,
they do not have any feathers or scales.
these are enclosed wings,
splinted to their marrow,
closed as some misplaced umbrella,
like a chisel with its hammer. 
or they might be… fine embroidery
ready to cover
the holes in my soul.
This is why, occasionally, I would hold
Onto myself.

Tightly.