Lacrimal ducts clogged.
I am Broken
in the most fundamental way.
Catharsis ineffective, Insufficient.
Insufficient.
Perfect word
to describe everything.
If only there were a handyman
to unclog
my lacrimal ducts
my soul
my cranium

1                                                                ­    4
she offers me,                                             a spot of dust
she raises me                                              under the couch,
on platitudes and warm bread                I know it’s
in return for my devotion                         there

she loves me like the boats                       today, I start spring-cleaning,
she keeps out on the ocean                      (this alone
she loves me to be molded,                      should receive
not to be unfolded                                     more recognition than it will)
                                                           ­           I pull out the couch
she bore me bones                                     the vacuum doesn’t quite
the lacrimal bone                                       reach the dust lying
the breastbone                                            on unused carpet,
all the cervical vertebrae                          the head
I use them to simulate                              keeps hitting the wall
her expectations                                        unproductive
­
                                                                ­     I put the furniture back
2                                                           ­        in place
I have names,                                             no one will see the lack
I wear them like badges                           of progress
inspired by something not quite
earned yet                                                   5
         ­                                                            while­ lucid dreaming
I assigned                                                   conste­llations were on
each name                                                  my skin
a compartment                                          and freckles in
of me                                                           the night sky
If I name them maybe
they will become                                       pollution drowned out
real, not just necessary                             two thirds
                                                          ­           even if most imploded
                                                        ­             before they were seen

3                                                          ­         6
with enough necessity                             were it not for shadows
anyone can tell a lie                                  I would surely learn to
                                                              ­       hate the light

Oh, fuming teardrop!
You’ve boiled over from wrath and anger,
leaving painful blisters as you sear the heart
Why you don’t evaporate is a wonder
but there must be a valid reason…
If only to let the heart know it lives
Oh, fuming teardrop!
Will you ever learn how to forgive?

Oh, defiant teardrop!
Teetering on the edge and glistening,
refusing to fall to make yourself known
It is not fickle mindedness playing,
rather, a power play of emotions
a blatant refusal to show what’s within
Oh, defiant teardrop!
Why even stop yourself before you begin?

Oh, crocodile teardrop!
If you were truly so, slink back shamefully,
recede to your lacrimal gland and stay put
There is no need for your insincerity,
the world is chaotic as it is, too troubled
Fall not, trickle not, trick not who see you
Oh, crocodile teardrop!
How can you be so heartless to fool people so true?

Oh, pensive teardrop!
How gracefully you streak down window sills
Wash away grime and grit, cleanse everything
Flow unhindered, purify hearts you fill
Laughter may be the music of the soul,
but you are pure— the distilled spirit
Oh, pensive teardrop!
Will you course down blackened hearts, pay a visit?

Oh, jubilant teardrop!
Married to laughter, frolic and dance to its tune
Give birth to hope then soar with elation
Brighten faces, sparkle days, light up the moon
Let souls remember that you speak of pain, joy
Let them remember, then allow them to heal
Oh, jubilant teardrop!
Why did I ever doubt that you are spirit revealed?

Can someone please trade me eyes?

It's unknown how they still have sight 
Every since I was 6 the sense have witnessed gruesome events 
Now my eyelids flicker past them very seldom 
My lacrimal glands have trouble producing saline 
I find it nearly impossible for beatitude to gleam from my eyes
And I cannot search for something that my eyes feel sorrow for 

Let me at least borrow yours? 
Please 
So I can see how it feel to grieve 
So that tears of joy can travel down my cheeks 
I want humor to cause me to wink 
I want my reflexes to cause me to blink 

Pleeeeeeaaassseeee?
I stand there in the face of danger 
When I should be aware 
Instead I just stare 
...
No glare 
Just dispirited 
The statical behavior that my eyes inherited 
Suppress me from all charity 

I'm begging you 
No one looks me in my face and feels warmth and comfortability 
All that they see is two white igneous rocks
When I wish that they can see marshmallows 

That's why I need your help 
The optometrist said there's nothing that he can do 

That's why I'm coming to you 
I just wanna be inspired by life 
Can you show me how the world look again just for one day?

You're the only one I have to write about,
Though I've regained my will to live.
How much pain could I have saved us both,
I never knew how much you had to give.

Don't misunderstand me, we had to go our own ways,
I placed too much faith in how we'd separate.
Tried to save you, tried to save my idea, late,
I tried and failed, should've known,
Should've committed to my parting anger, you should've never called my phone.

I remember you in dreams, sometimes I wake up with an empty arm,
I carved my heart into a target, when you left I wanted harm,
Anything other than the shining light of warmth and bickering we grew through all the distance, but the depth and feeling between the raw ******* of *** and reeling images nestled in the difference of our wrists' width couldn't begin to cut away the lacrimal plaque in my eyes after you cracked the glass and I shot to panic.

Those winter nights inside of you,
The way we let each other in,
The way you helped me drift away from how my old man treated women,
After us I almost wandered back again.

If not for losing you I never would've reached out,
I never would've wanted so badly just to die,
You were my fated leap into the madness,
You were the push that caused my heart to fly.

I want to end us on a good note,
I'll fight like hell not to,
I'll push against that notion,
Like no one ever taught you.

I never gave you presents,
It was my way, no matter how many hints,
Or when you'd tell me right out,
Try to cover my brain in prints,

I guess I'm better off the bad guy,
Sleeping around, cold until my clothes come down,
I've moved on, but barely forward,
I've only managed not to drown.

One day I'll find a partner,
Some dawn will find a bed with two,
A house and kids, maybe a power couple,
Though even if I remain in solitude, in stone,
Even then, my life lived alone,
Would be forever changed by how much I let myself love you.

We just have a few months to go
a few more juvenile fights to handle
a few more days of sneaking out of the class
and for the first time
I don't want the bell to ring early

As each second passes
the dress seems to crease
the dust settles
layer by layer
fighting its way through
it's the last time I'd wear my favorite clothes

The pencils start to shorten
erasers still get stolen
those notebooks still have our chats
the green board carries your creativity
benches would be my favorite mini bed
I promised myself
as I lay my hands on it

My hippocampus reached near to full
lacrimal glands prepare itself
tongue waiting to utter words I never spoke
one last time
salivary glands would miss it recess job
coming from the ground
after playing in the sun
sudoriferous glands loved those strokes of light

I could hear the radiating, chirpy , & shuddering voices
coming from the corridor
happy faces, sad faces, frowned faces,crying faces
promising each other to stay in touch -
half lies
the emotional fools who believed it

I remember crying on my first day
as soon as I stepped
I felt like running away
who knew this would become my favorite destination?

i wake up with dried tears on the side of my face

i went to sleep smiling,
i thought
i dreamt of you,
as i remember

but i woke up with dried tears on the side of my face

perhaps my eyes see something
that my brain has not yet processed

they see your eyes trail off
when I'm enthused about my day
they see the way your body
is always slightly turned away

my brain gushes about the
sweet text you sent last week
and the future that could lie ahead

but my eyes are the realists
and don't ignore what my brain blocks
they notice the other girls
listed in your inbox

and my eyes know that
they've seen this all before
and the visions in my head
don't align with what you have in store

so my brain might be behind
and take some time understand
that these tears i wake up with
are not a deformity of my lacrimal gland

instead they are trying to fill me in
on what i am trying to ignore
and all these poems i waste on you
i will soon learn to deplore

i don't want to wake up with
dried tears on my face anymore.

Every poem I read today
made me weep
spoken word and hip hop coalesced
brought the concrete streets and grit
and pure relentless of yesterday
pushing it through my lacrimal sac

all my blackbirds sing for me
and all my friends arrived
roses bloom above my head
a fine place to reside

lacrimal gush under vails will remedy
promises always lie
pain will tell the journey
trenched the soil to reach the sky

all my blackbirds stopped to sing
for they are no more
all my friends left the same
and all the roses wilt in dirt

I've been reckoned as a coward
they will never see what I saw
and all my songs will stay unsung
and all my songs will stay unsung

sometimes i think no one can understand how
when i finally release in savasana
and my sweat is pooling in my ear canal
and deafening me like i'm at the
bottom of the ******* ocean
that i suddenly stop feeling
the crushing weight of a mile of sea
above me
and become the sea itself
exuding lacrimal saline
and luckily no one can distinguish my
oozing despair from my
sweaty travails of
chaturangas and vrabadrasanas
but what warrior sobs in silence?
of memories of life squeezed from
corporeal forms
of final breaths
of person become corpse
of the loneliness of transcendence
of the destitute state of calling yourself
survivor.

but i sob.

myself assuming a pose named corpse
allowing me to be reborn and emerge
from asana as enlightened
how can a corpse feel the weight of
the world on her chest
the weight of miles of tilled earth
crushing memories and corpses that
drown me until i am too much
too close to actual death
that it makes me ache for those who
have gone before me
and whose tendrils are still stitched
into my heart making me wish
i actually believed all the *******
saying i will awake after
departure from my moral coil
to be greeted by those i've lost
those i miss
those who make me sob in savasana.

but how healthy would that be?

it would probably be the only
thing which could make death seem
more appealing
to someone who fantasizes about
overdoses and suspension bridges
long falls ending in darkness.

don't tell me there is a better place
when just nothingness and
non-existence is already my
better place.

don't promise me i'll see her
again when i'm
one of those people who wants
to see her so badly that i
would walk out onto the freeway
to facilitate that reunion.

but luckily i don't believe
i can't believe
even if i wish i could
have that security blanket to curl
up with in the dead absolute zero
of night so i wouldn't have
that bone-crushing anxiety and loneliness
that exploding grief when
it all hits me anew
like i'm watching her take her
last breath all over again
myself the corpse now
sobbing in savasana.

maybe it's the stillness that gets me
as i lay covered in sweat
eyes closed
it's the first time in the day i'm
present only in that moment
not mentally worrying whether i've
missed an email or
somehow ****** up my relationship
in ways i still can't fully understand
but i can't dispel my thoughts who
lurk below the surface
they bubble up in my sweat
they slide to the surface in each down dog
and destroy me when my
body stops moving and i release
sobbing in savasana.

'He spoke about his scars with uncertainty'
I looked at them with admiration

'He said
He had
Cigarettes
Put out
On his back'

Oh how many tears
have been stuck in your lacrimal sac?
and how many infarcts
are in your lungs?

How many cells of yours
are apoptotic?

And how tired
is your heart
from pumping
blood
to your scars,
in hopes
that there would be tissue to feed
and skin to color...?

...in hopes
that in some way
you have gotten back
to normal?


little does your heart know
you're better than normal
you're special
you're delightful,

"I love you"

Look into the blackness of my soul,
It's cold and lonely with nothing to hold.
No where to grip so you slip into the salt of my lacrimal gland.
Back out you roll and mix into the dirt imbedded in my hand,
You feel the warmth of a once loved man.

I am awaiting your presence;
As if my body is in shock and I am freezing to death.
With only one intention, which feeds into an urge to love.
A permissive thought, that only you could bring by touching me once again.

Dying for the plica interdigitalis to be again connected,
And the volar surface of our hands to re-ignite the flame, that once blazed vigorously.

I am awaiting your presence;
To see that beautiful smile
One that lightens my spirit of laughter and joy.

Until then I will remain cold, empty, frustrated like a deserted man waiting for his chance to escape.
Life without you is comparable to the very arteries of our body,
pushing oxygenated solution from the heart to keep the rest of its system alive.
With the exception that, this solution is missing its solvent.
A substance that possesses fluidity,
Your presence would once again rehydrate this dilapidated body.

This leaves me to wonder,
That may be my body would just surrender
To the force of the lacrimal gland, secreting its solution into a hysterical cry.

I am awaiting your presence;
To smell that natural aroma of life
A sense of freshness that illustrates the feeling of springtime once again.
One that will magically open the doors to my heart,
Moving through each of its four chambers, exposing my wall of love.

Open for change, like a plant with blossoms ready to expose its true beauty to the world.
But!!
Take your time because when you do grace me with your presence, your presence will be eternal.

My cadavers in lab are not the only autopsy I’ve been performing
In this year since I’ve been free of you
In this year you’ve made a fool of me
For believing so wholly
In a future that depended on anything outside myself.

I take apart my patient and peer into what feels like my own heart
Trying to make sense of the connections
Trying to understand where anything fits in
When what I am looking it seems empty, drained long ago
Pooled into a somber puddle I’d drown in, literally behind me,
If not for the drainage vents, or lacrimal glands, installed for said overflow.

“We are dried out and lifeless together,” I think, forcing grim humor to compensate for the horrors of the visions I now see three times a week. “We know what it’s like to have a heart that doesn’t work anymore.” Maybe one of my classmates will be able to understand it better than me. I’m kidding—but don’t worry, this is why I’m in therapy.

In the end and like in medicine, I must come to accept
That there are things in life you can’t make sense of
There are things in life you must try to treat, without knowing the pathology
Without understanding what went wrong, truly
No matter how frustrating that may be.

The compromises that seemed so hard,
Seemed like pulling teeth, seemed so grinding, and difficult
Were quickly then made mandatory, dissolved in Zero
Zero, time together on the phone,
Zero visits to each other throughout our busy year
Zero balance between us to balance, as one grabbed or took slack.
For a situation that seemed so complicated you went ahead and made it simple—
There won’t be anything that needs sorting out—
There won’t be anything, of us, period.

So thank you, I guess, for teaching the natural conclusion;
Despite it feeling like I mimic, my now cardiac-lack friend,
The only heart that’s truly missing in the equation was yours
And mine, just hidden in the shadow from all the bruises,
Just has to learn to heal.

The lacrimal caruncle
swells with blistering feeling,
flooding out the medial canthus.
It streams down the nasion,
dancing over the pinken,
inflamed to a roaring raw cheek.
Landing on dirtied and tore cloth,
used with the moisture to wipe
all the dust away from every memory,
even when it's possibly too late.

Now there is hardly anything
to be discovered in all of this.
You have done a decent job,
your hands are tired from it all.
Weak and brittle,
you still know now.
You know it could go every single way wrong,
it could be a waste of time,
it could hurt you beyond any kind of repair.

But you know.
You know it's him.
You know it will always be him.
It will always be him
that you wish to lay beside,
it will always be him
that you want to feel,
it will always be him
that you feel everywhere you go.
It will always be him.

masculinity is a performance
of peacock tears swelling
over the lacrimal caruncle
only to be held from falling
onto the cheek

the bone dry-eyed grimace looks on
with its thousand peacock eyes
sashaying like a polaroid **** pic
shakes to color
this may never be removed

nor femininity; that accessible labyrinth
of deception is worn.
played out in so many lights, with
sleight of hand, tongue in cheek, acrobatics,
and soliloquies - a brilliant show
though hardly scripted

or scripted well - laughing as she cries
and hiccups, putting on every outfit
from her closet in layers then
stripping out of them.

take it off
the play of self and identity
that divides and conflicts

Tracing your eyebrows on paper―
eyes mine, we will
write together our religion.

Each night catches
my moons from the lake
of tears. The days were
becoming shorter.

Surely, I have not
arrived amidst the seekers
of easy death. You give me―
the hope of resuscitation.

I promise myself―
I will not give you a call―
till the nightingale sings in
mango grove.

All night it has rained.
Lacrimal. I prepare myself to
wash my eyes again―
to read your face.

Not from starting the day
It's from the night leaning
The next day..
Same fears are gaining
It's weight..
For every day,every night
Without a break.
Days are seeming
Years for a new
Disturbing thought.
Even the reckless
Efforts are not enough
To get a break,
Only the
Lacrimal fluid
Setting for a temporary break.
Again the same thoughts
Arrive after the tear drenched off.
Isn't it's a circle for
Not getting a break?