Evening docks
like a desolate ship,
indigo and monolithic,

its umbral sails
swelling above
the distant hips of
a titanic continent.

Sleep tastes like a mossy anchor;
it lurches, shifts, and slips into gear—
the sound of stars grinding on stars.

I sail across an ocean of teeth.

I acquiesce. I drown

in the velvet
whirlpool of
your absence.

he threw fistfuls of stars at the sky
and they sprinkled back down onto his hair
how could he have known that to be in love
first you have to fall

this is just to say that i'm sorry

sorry for holding my coffee cup that way, and not your hands

sorry for letting the rain kiss my cheeks, but not your lips

sorry for wearing my perfume, instead of your jacket

it's just that i feel more alone

when we are together

As the leafs fall I call out your name,
Oh you, who comes with change, who comes uninvited,
The night creeps around in an early hour,
Yet I can't see you coming,
Just where are you hiding ?
Oh first snow, father frost,
I await you.
In the loitering darkness,
Of a lonesome, cold evening.

~ Umi

I wish to be free,
A dream of a stormy night,
a snowy meadow kissed by the moonlight,
When wind dashes and dances across the fields
When everything is asleep
I wish to depart.
And just be.

~Umi

How are you?
I'm alright I guess...

Where do we begin?
Maybe at the start of this mess.

Are you uncomfortable?
I can't say that I'm not.

Is it your past?
Well it's all I've got.

Do you still get nightmares?
Well I used to...

Will you let them show?
Depends on you...

What do you hope to accomplish?
I don't know... Peace of mind?

Would you have done things differently?
Everyone wants the chance to push "rewind".

Care to elaborate?
Let's just say I would've liked to be braver.

What do you mean?
I should've stood up to my father...

Did he abuse your trust?
He did more than just that...

Rob you of your freedom?
Let's see... His belt, cigarettes and also boiling water out of a vat.

Do you wish him ill?
I wished him dead.

"Wished"?
Yeah...in his bed.

Why "wished"?
Because I wanted that then...

For how long?
Since I was ten.

What about now?
(Maniacal smile) I am now... At peace.

"At peace"?
I have found release.

You have?
Yes... I couldn't resist the urge.

Urge to do what?
To comply with the voice... "Freedom...lies in the purge..."

You left your father?
Yes but not before...

Go on...*
Not before I slit his throat with a smile on my face as I shut the door...

One of these days
I'll fall in love for sure
All these cinematic
Shots of me sitting alone
Looking depressed
With a cat on my lap
Will have something
To culminate to
I'll be the star
Of a lesbian romance
That will wow the crowds
Shock gays through the ages
And land me where
I truly belong

I'm a modern woman.
I give so much love and healing words to others,
but leave myself empty until I'm bird bones.
Maybe one day I'll learn to be more tender and love myself like a painting worshipped in the Louvre.
I'll treat my body the way I treat a lover.
I'll kiss myself up and down until I go numb.
I'll feed myself the sweetest peaches, plums, and cherries.
I'll finally see all my curves as rivers and valleys blooming endlessly with flowers the color of the setting sun.
I know this is journey that cannot be rushed into,
but my mind is more stubborn than I am.
So I must learn to be patient,
I must learn to be kind,
I must learn to give myself a minute.
I'll fake it every day until one morning I'll wake up and see myself as soft,
as beautiful,
as elegant,
as powerful
as the Renaissance women worshipped in museums.
I've looked like them all this time.

I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
Whatever I see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful --
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.

Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.