There is a forgetfulness
To pride that
Will never be cured
By stop signs,

Cold-culled footsteps
Telling you to
Step back,

Traffic stops pointing you
In opposite directions.

"Pride"
Is but a matter of here
And hearing—
Of hear and now—

Of watching the tail ends
Of mufflers blow
You off with exhaust
Smoke and choke
On their spit—

Honking at your pride
And unsure gait,

Leading you into alleyways
Sprawling with brightly
Colored graffiti,
Pink painted faces, misfit

Tongues and a silence
Uncharacterized by
The glamour of the city—

Only this
They deem yours.

Fruits and enzymes nestle there
Toppled with a layer of blueberry syrup
Maybe some Jalapeño covered jams
1-2-3-4-1-2-3-4
It's like a never ending twirl
Ironed out white silk
A broken veil upon my head
I'm the invisible one.

When I speak and think on the life
I was born into
I see it whistle among the bark
Where insects with fairytale like wings surrender.

I stroke your face when I see you
Because I don't know how long I'll get to
And the arrogant side of me
Thinks I wanna be special and nourish you
In all the ways the ones before didn't.

Tokyo gleams from far away
With strobe lights sliding to and from
Neon ecstatic hibernating in a bright place
Harajuku girls echo from the window sill
Of every building I enter and exit
We enter and exit.

It's true
That I just need a little bit of cherishing
Words of affirmation from you
Just everyday
It's true
That I need solid communication
It's true
That in the tango we dance
Side by side
I share, a well of flies surrounding my honey ***
Your honeycomb
I'm oozing flavors of sensuality
But I buzz the loudest for you.

It's almost really frustrating
Because I've got the snouts and mouthes
Of men around me
But yet I still reach the hardest for you.

I know you must see
That I buzz among them
When I need to feel freedom.

My words, watch them now
No ugliness meant
But somewhere in the light
I visualize and green and blue
Hitting your face the morning you held me
And said so closely to my eyes
"Next time, and then next time after that"
Tumbling in and out, I could have sat up
Straight into the sunlight
You came in like a hurricane
And I've always identified with hurricanes.

Something about home
Maybe it's in the way that every little interaction
With the past
Or my brothers and I bickering
Because there is an acute loss in our hearts
We have to leap over
Like the peacocks and chickens
We watched move and glide all around us
Today.

I was taking off on a big plane this time last year
I fell in love and almost got killed while I was there
Late in the graffiti, the rain pouring loudly all around me
I've never known such self-possession
I've never known such trust in strangers
And in moments it swung like a pendulum
Right or left
In the rain drenched streets of Vienna
Where I loved myself.

My love for myself has felt drained lately
Sometimes I think I'm such a self-important *****
Standing in glitter and gold
Holding a microphone
There she is: The Little Southern Girl That Could.

It's in the heat of that self loathing
That sometimes I dream up the best worlds.

I have to get ready now baby.
Butter my lips, my thighs
To sit and feign a smile all night
And watch my father
Walk the other way
At the end of the night.

I fear betrayal
Abandonment I've gotten to know well
And I know you lie awake late into the night
Buzzing, buzzing the loudest
I see you and have gotten to where I can sense
How your spirit contemplates
Or rests on it's side
I never want to be demanding, selfish
I text back
But the truth is,
I am.

I am all of those things
Selfless, incredibly generous
And sometimes I just want and need
Words of love
Looks from your eyes
And I think
We are chipping away at all this work
This relationship we have
And I spin away from my own reflection.

The truth is--
I've got the words tattooed to the inside of my arm
And I hope some time
You'll stop and take the time to read it
Without me even noticing.

I think perhaps you know it well
But is in the words I write
That I think and hope
I get to show you a piece of myself
I otherwise may--
Could not.
And that's why I always long for words back
From you
Because I need to see the naked parts
The selfless, incredibly generous
Selfish
Parts of you too.

But lastly,
In this mound of letters I brought you
I wanna say that I'm glad
That for whatever reason
You stand strong
And intrigued
To twirl right with me
Even if my veil is broken.

Dear Gwen Stefani Circa 2006,
The first music I chose to like that wasn’t
just my mom’s tuning of the radio was

Your solo CD, the first and best of two, which
I made sure to get on my twelfth birthday, after
I made sure to get my first kiss.

We were not rookie sixth graders anymore,
In soggy bathing suits teeming with pubescence,
So I publicized my plans to plant one on

Yeorgios Mavromatis, the new seventh grade boyfriend,
The first boy to buy me jewelry I would not like,
The first boy I used to make myself infamous.

Our hallway bottlenecked with twelve year olds,
Alone we sat on the bed, legs dangling above
The stained beige carpet. The kiss was damp and boring.

But the crowd that pressed at the door was an ******,
Surged voices told me my dad was walking up the stairs,
I arched around to throw the boyfriend in the closet,

My father caught me, and I wore the walk through them
Like your scarlet lipstick. The album of
My first kiss was not passion, but gossip.

I’ve seen you in red lipstick, bindis, and blue hair,
A pink wedding dress, and a Platinum Blonde Life.
I knew you were making art meant to publicize.

The songs and the clothes and the Harajuku Girls,
The boys and the clothes and the Children’s Theatre,
The day I made a scene was the day I knew.

Catholic guilt and couture gilt and creative goals
Took two West Coast girls, only twenty three years apart
And turned them into people you paid attention to.

Tell the ******* truth, Gwen Stefani, bleach blonde vamp.
Questions stack up in the recesses of my mind,
A renovation’s trash pile of drywall dust.
You changed me, but there are things to clean up.

Did you just take a break to remake your image
For swarms of chubby white suburban pre-teens
Swarming in packs at the middle school dance?
Are those the only bees you could catch in your hive?

How did you meld and mold the Harajuku girls
To fit in the camera’s crosshairs or to walk
the thin line of a New York fashion week runway?
I must admit I still have my bottle of L.A.M.B.

Was the woman who screeched she was Just a Girl
Just floundering for fame? Does this happen to
Every mid-level artist? Will my inkwell turn
To the blood of an easy fan base too?

I wanted you to be my mother, but you picked
my platinum model sister as your favorite.
But will I still become you, even though I know
You’re false? Your press coverage can’t reveal the future.

Black tar lies spew from US magazine covers
Eyes dark, I gobble them up in violent shudders.

Have to confront her
People pass, smeared oil paintings
But oh there she is

Surrounded, but alone
The frenzy moves in catacomb
Public twilight zone

Monks whose ears have heard
The sage advice of Buddha
Walk shoeless, smiling

Temples adorn sky
Like regal glimmering gems
On Earth’s diadem

They are exquisite
Sanctuaries for roaming souls
In need of counsel

Cherry blossom drifts
Afloat on gentle zephyr
Sweet breath of summer

Babies with big eyes
Peer up to the mountains
Sensitive spirits

Here the animals
Are totems of other worlds
Made accessible

Through deep reflection
Which surrenders the soul to
Deep primal chaos

The forgotten ways
Lie dormant like volcanoes
I await the first

Fluid eruption
Of lucid lava, making
Me awake, conscious

Grand mythology
Dwells in these magic islands
Centuries of tale

In Harajuku
The market awash with style
Romance in neon

****** dresses
And lace umbrellas, dainty
Adorn boys and girls

Wild self-expression
That dandy philosophy
Embodied in style

Land of monks and youth
Japan a portal, doorway
To past and future

Where temples mingle
With technics and skyscrapers
Strange modernity

On a beautiful autumn morning,
she wears RouRou
Chinese delights.
impossible hair by Tetsu,
court wigs and military dolls.
street walk the catwalk.
fashion flown.
Takeshita Street in Harajuku.
cross cultural synthesis.
a full spectrum of colours.
urban purity.unmistakable.
haute-couture
a balanced fusion
of reality and dream.

I see a rosaceous sunset view,
Turning slowly to night so blue.

Sounds of day change into night;
Sunlight replaced by neon light.

In the air, there is summer's breeze,
Unlocking many memories.

Everywhere I look I see smiles,
All dressed up in different styles.

Beautiful faces on bright screens,
Displaying stars, products and scenes.

I stare in the pink mists of love,
To the glowing faces above.

Each place I go I hear echoes,
As the chilling summer breeze blows.

I walk around in these places,
And encounter many faces.

Someone is sunken in their phone,
While smiling, standing all alone.

I see the city's blood; racing cars,
Shooting off like luminous stars.

From inside and outside chaos,
Sugarcoated in lavish gloss.

Colorful as Harajuku,
Or shining like Shinjuku.

So much people to speak and greet,
On every corner of this street.

But no time left to say hello,
When everyone does quickly go.

Would one of them have time for me?
Their true face, will I ever see?

I guess not; let's keep them in dreams,
Where they are adorned with moony gleams.

Where would they be, the sweet lovers,
In streets? In the breeze of summers?

It does not really matter much,
I can see the trace of their touch.

How else would this city be lit?
There's love! It's darkened without it.