+I met you after Sunday school, behind the church. We weren't a match made in heaven, as much as a match made in our over exuberant parents' minds. You passed with Autumn weather.

+You were the start of all of my bad habits. I was there, but you were lost in an empty void in your mind. I was only a part of the grand experiment, after all. You left with the summer months, but my mouth still tasted like nicotine and empty confessions.

+You were a new way to feel good. We always watched the sunset, but we never got to watch it rise together. Your lips felt like sunshine, but there were constant storms behind your eyes. The snow fell as fast I did for you, but when it melted, we were left with nothing but mud puddles and thunder storms. We weren't equipped for the showers, because the memories of you quickly washed away from my mind.

+You were the beginning to coffee every morning, and reading every night. You were the death of the old me. You were the sun, the moon, the stars, the clouds, the plants in the ground, and any other cliche your beautiful mind could piece together. You were an addiction, quite honestly, but a bad one at that. You had all of my soul, but you walked out two years later, your hands covered in my blood. Every empty promise your lips have ever uttered still hangs in the stagnant air, and I can't breathe. I promise that I will never forget you, whether you like that or not.  We both loved wildflowers, but you didn't stay
long enough to see them bloom out of the cracks in my persona.

+You were my truest love, and my shortest happiness. You always smelled like flowers, and your freckles hung on your face with an unspoken confidence. Your smile could have stopped traffic, but that same mouth tore me apart before I even had the chance to piece myself back together. We spent our time as ghosts: floating around, never waiting long enough for the other to catch up. Your habits finally got the best of you, and I was left alone in the middle of my fantasy.

the remarkable thing is that in all of my confusion about you, I really knew from the beginning all I needed to know and then some. I knew that this glass panel I had placed before me was mucky and soaked with dirt; I was seeing the full picture, but through the wrong lens. I don’t think about you much anymore, maybe once or twice every now and then, but all of the bundles of escape and the masks of summer were torched in all of our distractions from reality. time has moved like it always does, and our minds have evolved to our own separate desires. for you that would be the fake laughs and twisted foul calls you don’t fully agree with, and for me, well I’m not really sure at this point… maybe it’s my decoupage of memories that keep me going, or maybe it’s just the benefit of the doubt. sometimes, I picture all kinds of wildflowers; purple, yellow, red, and white, and I try to imagine them as the serenity in my life, so out of the ordinary to be left unnoticed. that’s exactly how you have become, just a plain old wildflower in my life left on the side of the highway.


(j.a.r.)

Like wild flowers in a wild fire,
These burns we are subject to hang us higher
Than any words we take from eachother, it's the ridicule, the mockery, from this age's big brother.
He says our generation is mindless,
But it's society which binds us
To these stereotypes, these profiles, that push us further into exile.
And the ones who protect us, the parents, the hosts
Are the breeders of evils that harm us the most.
What evils you say? No, not in that way.
No picture book monster from under the bed,
It's the sickness that swims in the back of our heads.
Not merely a fever, or ache of a tooth,
An epidemic of sadness is plaguing our youth.
Now, the generation above, they really do care..
But they fail to relate and it makes us feel bare.
No we aren't angry, what we feel isn't hate.
It's the image of us that you tend to create.
We are believers, lovers, artists with dreams,
But you see us as rebels trapped in phone screens.
So you wonder why we have no fear to die? You witness us struggle, you witness us cry.
Instead of "how are you? can I help in some way?"
It's "snap out of it, you're fine, I know you're okay."
So why so surprised when we're dropping like flies?
You say it's not that bad, but it is in our eyes.
Pity isn't needed. It's credit we seek. Just tell us you're proud and we won't be so meek..
I have a voice, she has a voice, he even speaks too.
Yeah we are individuals, but that's probably news to you..
Because now were just numbers plugged into the grid
As much as we try, we cannot get rid
Of these titles, these brands - the "mindless" generation.
Before it's too late, please stop the degradation.
We used to be wild flowers, now we just count the hours
Down to when we may at last be alone.
When we sit in our rooms, sometimes we think,
We don't actually live on our phones.
We are believers, lovers, artists with dreams
But you don't speak our language, you can't hear the screams
For answers and reasons behind you and me
We aren't the delinquents you think us to be.
But our petals are falling, our fires grow dim.
We make these bold statements, going out on a limb.
Since when did self-harm and anxiety start trending?
I hadn't even noticed my childhood ending..
You say we're just kids, but then so were you,
So why act surprised when you see what we do?
We may not be equals but we ARE the sequel, to your life and our futures despite all the evils.
What a shame to leave by suicide note. I wonder what they'll think when they read what we wrote.
This is how wildflowers say goodbye, not with a cry, but with a whimper.

What once was a verdant field
carrying bright wildflowers
and soft birdsong
under brilliant blue sky
now lies dead and cold
beneath swollen grey clouds
and blank snow
I've grown tired
I've lost my passion
to fight through this cruel winter
not even for such joyous memories of these lands
I place my steel
upon the frozen ground
and peacefully retreat
leaving you to a civil war
of black white brown and grey
while I pray wish and hope
that green blue pink and yellow
will one day return to your soul

There is a place, before the kings keep
Where those looks of solemn dignity
Go resignedly to weep
Between the gray trees and under gray canopy

To the place where wildflowers wilt and muses mutter
Little words, falling like white feathers in the muddy water

If one walks between the trees
There is a basin, and liquid of silvery green
Imbued with the mutterings of agony unseen

It is the words of those sorrows frail
Spoken with a breath and then a look of fright
And then a frantic run from faces clothed by night
Dissecting looks unrelenting judgments
upon the unredeemed

all who have felt the pain such as muses sing
And cried at night or betwixt the thorny leaves
have drunk of this basin green
And felt the hot swell of sorrow rising from the deep
crevices of our frail corporeal shells

And the voices of all those who filled it up
Violently swell in undulating liquid wail

From those who walk betwixt the trees
Is sounded the great collective scream.

She follows the sun as it rises
in the morning sky
her hair blowing through the winds
caressing her skin and down her
body to her feet
as they run in the sand

sweating and panting she staggers and
falls into soft tender arms and is laid down
and kissed until she is breathless still

the smell of wildflowers is all around her as
she looks above her to see the sparkling sun
and sees not what is caressing her
melting her into a stupor

blinking she tries hard to see and feel what
has her captured and swollowing her
so deeply into a sensual fantasy while she hears
the sounds of water and the smell of those wildflowers

she must remember this place so that she may come
back to this land and swelter in it's glory
with the sky beaming down on her warming her

That's it,it's the sun that has warmed me and left me
to dwell in it's splender and joy.
Underneath the morning sun, those wildflowers
will never fly from my senses.

Close your eyes
*picture butterflies
escaping from a meadow of wildflowers
feel a gentle zephyr hug your cheek
imagine it's someone dear,
let the mind flow of babies breath
and first love's fluttery kisses
speak to the moon in enchanted tongues
feel the power of the majestic seas,
sing with birds on a captivating morn'
watching the burnish'd sun enrapture the earth
the world is easily our oyster'd pearl
if we seek the joy within our hearts,
find the ecstasy in simple things

Golden boy, tell me you love me
under the distant, golden sun
In a golden grained field
where we can explore this love
Amidst the grained plain
where wildflowers roam
where wildflowers it has gained.

My Wildflowers

He has gone now.
And the world is less
for the loss of him.
When we met
he would only
bring me wildflowers.

Flowers that he knew
every name and variation.
Bluebell. Daisy aster
Cone flower celandine
Colts foot.
Every possible flower.
He knew them all.

Your dandelions have
Infested the gardens
Since you have been gone.
Blowing light feathered  seeds
Into the breath
of summer winds.

The children you gave me
Are scattered in the world
like wildflowers.
Blowing carefree and wild.
Rooting where they are happy.

People call my garden
a **** patch now.
But I love it
Just as I loved you
My wildflower
For the wild unbridled joy
You brought me.

I still remember our first kiss
it was all of eternity
passing between our lips
it was wild flowers
blooming behind closed eyes

it was a field of dandelions
exploding in a windstorm
and then becoming
all the stars in the sky
and every star
becoming a wish come true

it was the first time I realized
heaven wasn’t a place
for the dead to go
it is a place for the living
it is here on earth
heaven is the sound
of a heart that stops beating
because it has
learned how to sing

that it is a moment
that goes by too fast
that stays forever
in our blood

and there it was
waiting on your lips
a lifetime of love
quite and trembling
in a single kiss

it is still there on my mouth
even though it has been years
since we last kissed
said our goodbyes
gone to our separate lives

I can still smell
the wildflowers that bloomed
in your eyes that night
I can still feel
your hand on my heart
I can still hear
you whisper “it's ok...”

it hurts a little now though
but it is still ok
it was a once in
a lifetime love
a fairy tale
my heart still sings

a dream time ago
that is still as fresh
as the sunshine
of your song

and I can’t help but smile
through the pain
because it was and is
the most beautiful pain of all

A wildflower painting,
Hung up on the wall,
No room to let it feel the sun,
Or grow up big and tall.

The colors still boasted brightly,
Of heavenly blue and pink,
But all that time on the wall gave the wildflower time to think.

About why it wasn't like the other flowers,
The ones outside in the heat,
The ones with chances to see the world and grace new people's feet.

About why the rain always hit the petals, so delicate and sweet,
Of the wildflowers outside that she never got to meet.

A wildflower painting hung up on the wall,
Turned out to not be such a wildflower at all.

Scene: You were standing in a field with lots of lovely wildflowers.
There was blood everywhere,
A gallon and a half,
(to be almost exact)
And she was pale-
Like the moon,
If you want to be cliché, if not
maybe a piece of mozzarella
Ha! (What a cheesy metaphor!)
She was Still
Still
Still
But she was not Still breathing
Her lungs were ice, you can't
Catch your breath with a frozen chest.
So there she was lying in the sun,
Absolutely and totally covered in blood
And here they come-
the butterflies.
Growing up you saw pictures
of butterflies, sitting on flowers,
you probably even learned about their life cycle.
And when you got older someone told you

Hey! Did you know butterflies drink blood too?

And maybe you did know that and maybe you didn't, but the important part is that it's true and you probably haven't put much thought into it. I mean why would you?

anyway, my point.

The butterflies come and they perch on her arms, and chest, and eyes.
They rest, and they drink, and they live just a little bit longer and soon she is absolutely covered head to toe and you can't see her pale moon face, you just have to imagine that her body is under this chaotic blob, and more of them are coming and now all of them are fighting, and you never even thought that this was possible,
and now they're hitting each other and falling and dying and you, the luckiest soul gets to watch the battle of the butterflies.

The terrible grace of beauty under pressure.

This is my idea of freedom:
That in this moment, I am me
I can just be

By a field, surrounded by trees
With the golden beams of sunlight shining through
Each leaf, a different shade of green
Dancing gleefully to the beat of the wind

By the pavement where weeds and wildflowers grow
Creeping through the concrete, dressing the ground
With a million speckles of yellow and white
In their simple grace and little heights

By the feathery cat tails and clovers
Listening to the gentle breeze, the crunch of leaves
With the cool scent of the air and warmth of the sun
A moment of impact, like the sound of a gun

That in this moment I recognise
With absolute clarity I realise
That in this moment, I am me
I can just be

I forgot the things that I know, the stories surrounding what’s been told, my lover’s heart is frosted cold cause I can’t live without you baby.

The water-wheel of that old mill,
the wildflowers growing on that hill,
the small town life, it moved so slow,
gave us time to get to know,
each other's hearts and let love grow...

…so fruitful all the time we had,
through thick and thin, good and bad,
but eventually you had to go-oh.

I forgot the things that I know, the stories surrounding what’s been told, my lover’s heart is frosted cold but I can’t live without you baby.

I cast your ashes in the stream,
beneath the water-wheel that made you beam,
that smile I will not forget and all the happiness that came with it,
and here I sit alone and sad, reflecting on the times we had,
coastal waves to pink sunset, on that first day that we met,
some later rainy but not to wet, -still I couldn’t live without you baby.

And I forgot the things that I know, the stories surrounding what’s been told, my lover’s heart now frosted cold, forced to live without you baby,

I forgot the things that I know, the stories surrounding what’s been told, my lover’s heart is frosted cold cause I can’t live without you baby.

I can’t live without you baby,
I can’t live without you baby,
Here I am without you baby,
I can’t live without you baby…

Forget the things that come and go, those stories surrounding times of old, your lover’s heart will not grow cold when you can think about your baby,

I can’t live without you baby,
I can’t live without you baby,
Here I am without you baby,
I can’t live without you baby…

...here I am without you baby...

Years and months of tidy weather.
A sunny and partly sandy time
Where did it all go? The breath?
There was no rain on my heart!
There was no greeny leaves on my garden
Like the desert with deserted heart
Then there was a rainy cyclone
It poured out with a thundering storm
The first day storm was cool and calm.
The second day was with heavy lightening
Why does it sound like thunder & blow like a lightening
There grew a little tiny seed inside the sand
The wet, rainy, eroded sand gave a little light of life.
The patchwork of the untamed desert;
The cyclone doesn't last long, knew the desert;
Could it be more alluring & enduring?
Do you say no to a thunder storm on a desert?
The desert cooled and calmed.
The rays of hopes & the pointy days with blacky clouds
Cloude move but not the rain;
Everyday it rained; somedays were sunny;
Desert knew the rain will stop one day.
But it started believing that the rain will last.
On a day when the rain went to the deepest of the sands.
How could there be water on a unwatered area?
Melted the poor sunny day light desert.
Then the subsequent day it stopped raining suddenly;
It was all sunny, dry and hot again.
But it was not like the time before the cyclone.
There was wet in the deep sand.
There was a leefy seed with blossomed flower;
All of them in despair, in confusion, terror.
It was a catastrophe for the desert's soul.
The cyclone will never know what made this catastrophe;
For it never looked back at the desert's aftermath;
The desert got the new ray of acceptance;
It actually grew and groomed, made more of itself;
Spread more cacti, cactus & wildflowers;
It was dry on daylight & cool at night;
The stars & the sun grew brighter on the desert.
The desert started making more of sandstorms & laughed;
It was what it was & what it will be with or without the rain.
The desert know that now. It's a good thought;
The desert  is overwhelmed with joy & happiness;
For it will find it's own companion one day who stays;
But the desert thought sometimes;
"one last time, will you rain again?"

the sea is wide open like the countryside;
blue waves replace green grass, and foam, the wildflowers.
the sky remained unchanged, though the wind was relentless,
each swell of deep blue water, a wild ride.
oh! how i craved the ocean air so fine!
the unfenced openness of the seas so free,
these waves that i could sail across forevermore-
there is no stopping me! no stop light nor sign.
maybe i'll stay here on the foamy swells forever
with nothing holding me back or tying me down,
and nothing keeping me from living my life's dream
of finding peace. i'll never go back... unless... you.. no, never!
finding peace- i'll sail the seven seas forever.

i just can't believe how someone like you
could see beauty within someone like me
for i am ultimately certain ambrosial roses
don't dwell with common wildflowers.

because darling when you bloom
i wilt.

for so long i aimed to be different
to the point where i rejected water
only to allow them pool around me
along my fragile bones so much
that my roots were no longer intact.

so tell me would you?

tell me how is beauty
even capable and allowed
to dwell within ostracized places
where there is not enough
sunlight to see it anyway.

head throbbing, no pop in my ear,
Or iPhone in my hand,
sitting on the steps of the third floor.
We sit together, after hours, in
the C wing halls
because you don't like books.
Beige tile meadows, sprinkled
Here and there
With wildflowers left by youth:
Doritos, Pepsi, lunch trays.
The brick sky overhead,
Gleaming with Edisonian sunshine.
We read the funnies,
Featured weekly on staircase rails
And bathroom stalls in Sharpie, we
Listen to rap in Cantonese and Korean,
Knowing that the open fights,
The stolen kisses, the dress code strictures
Are transient; what we'll remember
Is these walls and these rails
Breathe our lives, our thoughts,
Echoes our minds

You could have given up,
but you kept on going.
You could have seen obstacles,
but you called them adventures.
You could have called them weeds,
but instead you called them wildflowers.
You could have died a caterpillar,
but you fought on to be a butterfly.
You could have denied yourself goodness,
but instead you chose to show
yourself self-love. You could have defined
yourself by the dark days, but instead
through them you realised your light.

if i give to you a universe,
you said to me this morning-
what would you fill it with?
a blank universe,
you coaxed me this morning-
tell me what i'd see.
i said, unwillingly at first-
i would not take your universe
not your gift to give...not your stars.
i would not take your universe
if you gave it on
bended knee.
-but if i had a universe,
a blank universe i'd fill it
with ecstasy storms
and kissing maids romping
with bright hued braids twirling
and child's first prayer that electrifies grass blades
and butterscotch ice ponds
and fields of wildflowers
and books lining roadways and
words raining sideways-
with
trains running backwards and
time moving slowly
with music for dinner and
dancing for sadness
with
lovers and mothers
and
magic
and
you.
perhaps i said,
as i rolled close in the sheets
i'd just fill it with you and i-
and i would love you when the sun
did shine
and when the sun
did not.
and i would love you when you closed your eyes
and i would love you as you wept.
love you as you walked
toes tickling my ground and sand
and i would love you when you sneezed
and as you sang
        and as you aged.
and i would love you
sleep
to
sleep-
my tiny universe to keep.



sahn
11/19/2014

I walked along the fence line,
hands in my denim-jeans,
headlong into the warm-breeze.
Windmill-blades spun,
squeaking through rust,
wildflowers fluttered
as the sun bore down.

A flock of birds hung
on the top strand
of kinked barbed wire,
scattering as I approached,
spinning up
into a spiral above.

Cool-sweat dripped
down my spine,
reminding me,
reminding me of her,
my dream girl,
the sweat we created
in fields of clover.

The crows cawed,
mocked me,
reminding me
it was now over
and I,
I was all alone
in these empty fields of clover.

we resort to empty fields of grass
and call them our safe places.
my home is where a young beagle chases butterflies around her circle of dirt past the clothesline
and an old German shepherd refuses
the idea of privacy
and comforts me when my mother’s old Victorian house is too big for comfort.

we form bouquets from roadside wildflowers.
from susies, queen Anne’s lace and half-naked dandelions.

the front room is first to catch the eastern sun.
My grandmother leaves flowers on the window sill


and i can hear bumblebees from my bedroom.

In the end,
and by the end I mean
the day you realize
the moon was never waiting on the sun,
that she was always there,
only then will you know why wildflowers feel the pain you've been carrying silently.

The gentle courage that's found in the solemn nights,
where the wind whispers
"there has to be another way",
always seems to turn the tide faster than any man could

and once the roots of the trees find their way to your knees,
then you'll understand why you went down with his ship.

head hung low
where the road leads I will go,
it's a hard and a crooked life
when you're a dead man's unwedded bride.

the day moves slow,
where the road leads no one knows,
it's a hard and a crooked life
when you're a dead man's unwedded bride.

down by the road sits a man,
who's gray and old,
says the hardest thing I know
is to see your loved ones go.

where the wildflowers grow,
there's a lake that's dark deep and cold,
there I shall lay my bones.

down I go,
going to  lay my bruised bones,
and the hardest thing they'll know,
Is to have to let me go.

Can I ask you a question?
one of life,
or maybe living?
one that no one has answered
that is unforgiving--
why is poetry so ugly?
and deep?
and complex?

Why can't it be simple?
and happy?
about wildflowers
and running through them?
and stroking the mane of horses
who smile and dance?
when a pretty girl appears
with tulip scented perfume?
and a boy who's madly in love with her green eyes

can he pick her up by her waist and hold her close?
and whisper serendipity under her twisted brown locks
into her small, un-pierced ears?

no. he can't just be happy. he can't.
why?

because humans are a deep, suffering race
we are complex
no day can simply just be "good"
we won't allow it
rather,
we want to hear about the pain of others
death-sufffering-sorrow-sin-***
that is want we want to hear
and by doing so we create a life of our own suffering
death
sorrow
sin
***.

don't ask why we suffer
we want it
and we want others to, as well
but in our destruction
we find comfort
and manage to live another day
anew, fresh with hope for what is to come
we still manage to believe
that
the darkness of the moon will not consume
the sun's bright eyes

In the wee hours
I am wakeful
When clouds are nesting
And the wind is thrusting
Carnival wildflowers glow

Twinkling in painted fields
a moon overflowed
And the rain begins to rouse
I rise in a dream
where my spirits soar
I faintly kiss the stream