I found you atop Namsan Tower,
and locked my heart to your gate.
My heart set free.

I found you in Gangnam,
Your style too infectious.
I walk to your beat.

I found you in a coffeeshop,
The cake was sweet.
Your barista was sweeter.

I left you in the East,
6,000 miles between us.
My Seoul.

-trj

I was sitting on our swings.
Rocking.
Waiting.
Listening.
Hoping.

That you were lying.

-trj

When I was younger, I used to stare into my mirror
and see not the yellow of my skin
nor the slant of my eyes.
I used to see a cop
a robber
sometimes a Power Ranger or Pokemon trainer.

When I grew older, I was still blind to me
but they were not. They saw the yellow of my skin
and the slant of my eyes
the black of my hair
And for the first time.
So did I.

I heard the ching chang chongs
and wondered what it meant
and if it meant anything at all.

I learned years later that it meant nothing.
It held no translational meaning to those whom it may have applied
but to me
to them
it meant that I did not belong.
I would not belong.

When I was younger, but somehow older,
I was taught that I was different.
I was taught that I would never be the same
and to keep my head from being crushed by the
waves of their learned behaviors that I had to be the same
as everyone around me but I was taught that I was different.

And that it wasn't only skin deep.

-trj

It wasn't the promises slung around my neck
by your arms rigid with acceptance
and an unfamiliar love.

It wasn't the sticky skinned summer nights
wrapped in our friends sheets
stealing undeserved kisses.

It wasn't backstage buried beneath piles of wood
or sorted between hunks of metal
next to the man I could never be.

It wasn't a ****** spotlight or an applause that
really wasn't meant for me
or even for us, but for them.

It wasn't a song written by a boy who
never stood a chance standing in the shadow of
a blonde haired
blue eyed
somebody.

It was finding solace in hearts and minds that
like mine
were not suited for the monochromatic
day to day
parking lot prison breakout
of the afternoon.

Yours
that were too distracted by the
galaxies carved between our bones pressed so
tightly together
and the symphonies inked between our teeth.

It’s the sound of old, pop-punk blaring through my car speakers at two in the morning.
It’s the way my breath becomes visible late at night.
It’s the sound of our shoes on the woodchips in the park.
It’s the smell of grape Swisher Sweets in our hair and the taste of ****** tobacco on our tongues.
It’s the oversized hoodies.
It’s the neon beanies.
It’s the energy drinks.
It’s the last minute bonfires.
It’s the deep talks on the swings.
It’s the way your hand felt in mine.
It’s the way you felt in my arms.
It’s the sound of our laughter, dripping with the inevitability of the future.
It’s the feeling of growing up.
It’s the feeling of not wanting to grow up.
It’s the changing leaves.
It’s the morning frost.
It’s the end of summer.
It’s the start of tomorrow.
It’s over.

-trj

When the harmonies in my ears died
I thought that the rhythm of my heart had simply fallen into
syncopated stutters of a life yet to begin.

So I waited for my pulse to settle back
into the familiar one-and-two-and that they said was
normal for a boy my age.

But then the wind whispered hollow through
the cracks in my skin like
stone.

I beg you to stay
right where you are.

For my sake
please.

If you take one step towards me
I'll take two for you

And drag my heart across the shore
to stand beside you.

Alcohol filled my lungs.
Sweat covered my skin.

I burned my hands as I reached for the sun.
And lost my voice among the crowd.

Broken souls danced around me.
I melted into their embrace.

Chaos has never felt so wonderful.

-trj

He is a champion
Or so he believes.

Bathed in the shadows of glory
Standing alone amidst his destruction

Friends, all fallen
Their voices, silenced.

Blood stained wings drape across his shoulders
And carry him towards Heaven.

-trj

I never know how far I'm supposed to
run to satisfy you
to placate you
to silence you.

I never know how hard I'm supposed to
sweat to drown out your words
and keep the venom from pouring through
the cracks in my heart too wide to
cement.

I never know if I can bleed you out of
my system through the broken skin
of my calluses torn off by my own
desperation.

-trj

They say three months is too soon
That it isn't enough time
That it's impossible.

I say you've never seen her in the morning, just as she's waking.
You've never seen her fighting to stay awake in the middle of the night
or heard the sudden rumble of her snoring.

I say you've never seen her eyes when she's worried because you're running a fever of 104
but refuse to go to the hospital.
Or seen them light up when you improvised an edible meal for once.

I say you've never tasted her tears
Or heard her laugh
Or kissed her scars.

I say you've never thought about a life without her
only to realize you couldn't.

-trj

Standing proudly on the periphery of life and death

I saw you.

Unwavering against the Pacific winds

I admired you.

Apart from the chaotic flow of the city

I longed for you.

Arms spread towards the horizon

I envied you.

A second passed and you were gone

I miss you.

-trj

He's special, they said.
I could taste the greed dripping from their teeth.
He's gifted, they said.
Their lust, suffocating.
He's talented, they said.
Hands on my shoulders, pushing and pulling.

You're special, she said.
Her pride comforting me.
You're gifted, she said.
Her love protecting me.
You're talented, she said.
Her arms around me, gentle and firm.

-trj

Though the land begs the waves to stay
washed gently upon its shores

The moon beckons the sea away
and carries you from me forever more.

-trj

There is nothing beautiful here.
There is nothing profound.
This is a confession.

I've littered my skin with blood ridden callouses
and blisters torn apart.

I've poisoned my body with chemicals and substances
all for the greater good.

I've left black inked testaments across my canvas
in the name of art.

I've stretched my skin with needles and plastic
so that I would stick out.

I've broken, repaired, shattered, healed, destroyed, salvaged
myself to appease the mirror.

But there is nothing beautiful here.
There is nothing profound.
This is a confession.

There is nothing beautiful here.

I turn the ring
and everything shifts.

Bit by bit
inch by inch
It glides around its track
but I'm never satisfied.

I twist and turn
my perspective evolving.

Each pass brings a new image
but it's never what I need
It's never what I'm looking for
Never.

So I let go
and let it wander free.

I let go.
And I begin to see.