I have the shaky hands
Of a surgeon who is
Too stubborn to retire,
Continuing to work
Even as his patient
Dies on the table.

You know when you spill water and get upset only to hear someone say, “it's just water!”
It doesn't matter, water, pineapple juice, or milk I'm still soaked and need to change
The fact that what I spilled happened to be water doesnt make me less clumsy
It doesn't make my fingers less sweaty
It doesn't make it okay
“It's just water” they say
I’d be just as clumsy holding milk in my hand
What would you say if I spilt milk?
But if I spilt water, it's okay
If shes my daughter, it's okay


This isn't about spilt milk

We are like bread.
Bread has three irreversible modes:
dough, bread, and toast.
many things in life, if not
everything in life
have many different forms.
we are all in the different stages of bread
and yet
we criticise and judge ourselves
for moving and changing
and needing a new environment.
The suitable storage for dough
differs vastly to the suitable storage
for bread
and yet
we do not mock it
but facilitate it.
We could learn a thing or two
from bread.

Paint a bitter picture
with a letter full of truth.
Let it be offensive.
Let it be uncouth.
Even if it hurts me
Have your feelings be outpoured
because I'd rather be
rejected
than to simply be
ignored.

I wanted to be an astronaut
You wanted to be dead
But in the end
I ended up deep underground
Away from the earth’s surface
While you became a star in the night sky
Becoming one with the universe
I can’t reach to you from where I lay
But I know that you’ve look down at me
with the cosmos on your shoulders

You lived my dream
And I became your destiny

Fold me like you always have,
Run your nails to set the creases,
Shape me to the form you crave,
Bend me into the art of your wishes,

My form forever yours to toy with,
I conform to your will and desire,
Expose my surfaces, above or beneath,
I will always be there for you to admire,

I can be flexible or I can be stiff,
That depends on what you want,
I am here to help fill your rift,
The one who says you can when you can’t,

Craft that which you seek of me,
I am but your art, your origami.

I remember the bed just floating there.

Apart, apart, apart, apart.

If you repeat something over and over again it loses its meaning

For example:

Homework, homework, homework, homework, homework, homework, homework, homework, homework

See, nothing

Our existence?

It's the same way.

You watch the sun set too often, it just becomes 6 PM

You make the same mistake over and over

you'll stop calling it a mistake

If you just

wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up,

one day you'll forget why

Nothing is forever

I last saw my mom when I was four years old

Before the last argument they sent me off to the neighbor's house,

like some astronaut jettisoned from the shuttle.

When I came back there was no gravity in our home, beds floating

I imagined it as an accident, that when I left

We whispered to each other "I love you" so many times over

that they forgot what it meant

Family, family, family, family, family, family

If you repeat something over and over again it loses its meaning

This became my favorite game

It made the sting of words evaporate.

Separation, separation, separation;

see, nothing

Apart, apart, apart;

see, nothing

I am an injured person now

I work with words all day

Shut up, I know the irony

When I was young, I was taught that the trick to dominating language

was breaking it down

Convincing it that it was worthless

I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you..

...See, nothing

Soon after I left I developed a stutter

Fate is a cruel and efficient tutor

There is no escape in stutter

You feel the meaning of every word drag itself up your throat

S-s-s-separation

Stutter is a cage made of mirrors

Every "Are you ok?"

Every "What'd you say?"

Every "Come on kid, spit it out"

Is a glaring reflection you cannot escape

Every terrible moment skips upon its own announcement

Over and over until it just hangs there,

floating in the middle of the room

Mom, ........

....Dad?

I am not wasteful with my words anymore.

Even now after hundreds of hours of practicing away my stutter,

I still feel the claw of meaning in the bottom of my throat.

I have heard that even in space;

You can hear the scratching of a

I-I-I-I love you.