White Girl Swagg

Whenever I fill out a government official form
I'm always puzzled when I get to the race section
I wasn't aware that I was in any kind of race
and if so, who am I competing against?

Oh, you mean my ethnicity.
but every time I have to check the box that says "white"
I'm tempted to fill in the lines underneath "other"
as a little girl
I never used the white crayon to draw myself
it was more of a pale pink brown tan
swirled with the dark mocha freckles strewn across my skin like haphazard constellations
and deep murky ocean blues where my veins peeked through my translucent forearms

I learned to respond by the name society gave me
"white girl"
and it became
hey white girl, go be a cheerleader
hey white girl, why don't you shop at Abercrombie and Fitch
hey white girl, aren't you in a sorority? oh... well why not?
hey white girl, you're not supposed to dance like that
hey white girl, you're not supposed to spit like that
hey white girl, you're not supposed to have that much soul

I looked up white girl swagger only to get a error code 404
the item you have requested
does not exist

...yet.

Rhythm

I no longer have my rhythm
I broke it down into separate letters that I threaded onto a bracelet
that I meant to keep for myself
along with all the other words that still mean something to me

but I gave it away
to a man in a superhero's costume
I trusted him to know what to do with it

and now
I'm trying to learn how to walk off beat
off the beaten path
my footsteps are searching the forest floor
for a speck of sunlight salvation
that I can tuck between my ribs
and let it become a spark of inspiration
but I have shadows sewn into my skin
a darkness that manifests itself as half moon circles around my eyes
creating bulls eye targets on my face
to let the shafts of sunlight know where my secrets are all hidden

My feet have grown callused from traversing this rough earth
I remember when they used to be smooth
like the webbing between my fingers
the space that hold pens like the stems of roses
patient for the fragrant beauty to unfold itself
but now, my words cannot keep pace with my frantic mind
I've given my rhythm away
and received dragonflies in return
they've climbed the grass stalks twisting through my torso
sometimes, they turn their multi faceted eyes at me
and ask me questions in silence
a language i have never fully understood
i can feel their gossamer wings tickle my skin
whenever I'm pressed against the chest of the boy I gave my rhythm too

I gave my rhythm away
to a man with the ocean eyes and gentle seafoam fingertips
I can hear it when he falls asleep next to me
his arms locked tightly around my back
if I listen close enough
I find that I'm not surrounded by silence I'm unable to translate
but i'm being rocked to sleep by the lullaby
of his steady heartbeat
that keeps pace with mine.

Dance

I want to dance through the streets in full costume
something green and glittery
complete with a big fluffy tutu
so I'd look like the human equivalent of Tinkerbell

all the passerby people would pass by with quizzical glances
but I would just shase past them
with a balonce here and there
I would turn corners by doing tour jettes
and I'd pirouette along the sidewalks
and shenae across crosswalks

I'd move to music only I could hear
if I was allowed to actually live for a living
I would dance through the streets in a green sparkly tutu
and hope that someone would dance with me

Transitions

I stopped writing the way I used to.
when excess thoughts would get bottled up in my head
and manifest themselves in my fingertips

I wonder what changed.
I wonder when this happened.
I feel like I've been sleeping for the past 2 months
and I woke up as someone
I no longer know

so i guess it's a game of creation, now
and I'm supposed to shape myself into the woman I want to be
but I'm not sure how to do that
because I've never been as old
as I am now.

Dreams

I'm sorry if I look tired. I haven't been sleeping well recently.

after I check underneath my bed and behind the skeletons in my closet for anything worth fearing
I can't surrender myself
don't want to let my subconscious prey on my innocent mind
there are things lurking in the corners of my skull
spider webs in my sub arachnoid space
that harbor eight legged surprises
I'm not prepared to face

I am not ready
for the nightly battles that always end with sheets slick with sweat
snaked around my neck in the softest cotton noose embrace
the fingernail marks in my palms tell me that i'm holding on too tight
but I can't figure out how to just let go. I have tried.

See, my dreams are not nightmares,
they're stallions with angry hooves and destruction on their minds
they are trench warfare
they are a kamikaze plane in mid dive
they are the aftermath of a suicide bomber
they are a game of russian roulette I know I'll always lose

my dreams are senseless massacres orchestrated by creatures without faces
I still don't know who they are or what they want yet.

my dreams are handcuffs clamped on bleeding wrists
my dreams are switchblades slipped between my ribs like false promises
My dreams are trying to smother me quietly so the neighbors won't hear

My dreams... My dreams...
My dreams have tarantula legs dancing on my skin
my dreams are lead poisoning coursing through my veins,
weighing me down and pressing me into an unforgiving alternate reality
my dreams are molotov cocktails that ignite the fuses of full blown panic attacks

My dreams have politely introduced me to my own personal devil.
He smiles like the Joker with insanity scarred into his cheeks
moves like a heavy hearted tornado dressed in a silent venom
he runs through the streets of my fears with a magnifying glass
he has vocal chords shaped from needles that pierce my inner sanctuary and leave it in pieces so i may never know peace
and when I wake up, he whispers in my ear that I belong
back in the nightmares he so carefully designs for me
his laughter smells like gasoline
with black flames in the space between his fingers
so every night,
My mind's fields are set ablaze and explode for eight hours straight
I was never able with such an abundant light source

you don't know the meaning of no mercy
until your own mind holds you hostage
and the ransom is your sanity

so I'm sorry if I look tired. I haven't been sleeping well recently.

shedding

I woke up one morning and my thoughts were made of clay
So i dug my fingers into it and reshaped the way I thought about the world

My eyes had filters in front of them I didn't realize were there
so I took them off and changed how I see myself.

I threw out the old version of my dictionary
because I figured by now, the definitions of things have changed.

1 year anniversary

I've got a secret lover.
I only indulge her in certain places
I'm not allow to love her loudly
because not everybody understands her.
but you should see how my eyes transform into anxious candle wicks
how they light up whenever I hear her.
how I can't contain myself when she's around
because I feel like my soul is flying circles around my head in a dance i have yet to learn
like I've been on a scavenger hunt and she's after the final clue
I found something I didn't even know I was looking for
it's like I finally speak enough languages to actually know the true name for Love
like there and candy cane kisses tiptoeing in the hollow spaces behind my cheekbones
and my face hurts from grinning

see, I can only speak in poetry when I'm allowed to.
I'm restricted, strapped into this straightjacket of socially acceptable actions
I can only share her with others when they actively seek to know her
I wish I could explain that the reason I walk barefoot through the grass is because I've learned how to listen with my toes
those brave green blades sound like piano keys that are stroked by the fingertips of Grace herself
I wish I could stop and tell strangers I know them
because I can see pieces of my own old soul swimming in the irises of their eyes
I know we share a history because of the way that our hands are shaped to fit together;
we're not so different, you and I.

I wish I could tell you why I constantly keep my hands dancing,
how it lets me speak to my grandmother because she's no longer in a place where words can reach her
so I have learned to mimic the flight of swallowtail butterflies that she becomes on the days I miss her the most
I wish I could live inside the bubbles of words trying to burst from behind my chest bone
there are sea foam strips of artistic inspiration hiding behind my xiphoid process
that course through my veins with quick purpose like the few cars left on the 405 at 2 am
my dreams expand behind my ribs, they eventually find themselves lodged in my cheeks
so they can pull my lips apart to reveal teeth in rows like white roses
waiting for a honeybee who isn't afraid to let me get close to him
and translate my waking dreams into a tongue he understands.

I want to ask people why they're not comfortable in their own skin
we are spiritual beings having a physical experience
we receive one body to use as our connection to the world. it belongs to us for the entire time we're here. we should learn to love it.
I want to tell women that they're beautiful because I know sometimes, they really need to hear it.
and I want to tell men that they're strong enough as they are
I want break these gender stereotypes apart like a bar of chocolate
they're only useful when they're in pieces.

There are words trapped in my vocal cords
I'm choking on my own breath
like I can't exhale the truth unless I've been given permission.

I was silent for eight long years.
Until I came here.
Until I realized that people were listening.
because there are days where saying I love you isn't enough
letting my inspirations know that they're my muses just aren't the right words
and I wish I could just express everything

I wish that I was able to tell you, melissa, that our blossoming friendship feels we're both letting our flower petal faces finally soak up the light that comes from the other's words
I wish I could tell you, kevin, that I hate any magazine's list of most beautiful, talented men alive because they don't include your name and they should, the part of the world that doesn't know you is missing out
I wish I could tell you, Brandon, that I believe you are part dragon because you actually spit fire; sometimes I can feel it singe me somewhere between my ribs
Nghiem, I think you're a magician because your words have always and will always hypnotize me
Justin, you stupid. if you ever choose to not believe in yourself- just look at yourself through my eyes and you'll never be disappointed
Stich, your voice is like siren, piercing my eardrums with such honest eloquent truths and never failing to bring attention to injustices
Cesar, when I met you I mistook you for Julius because your words are so powerful
Dajanae, never mistake the word "fiesty" for an insult, don't deny the hot sauce spice that you have coating your throat
Meghan, your teeth must be about to rot from all the candy you ate, your words are always so sweet to my ears
Chris, you give me little boxes of hope for humanity that I keep to myself and open when I'm fed up with everyone around me.
Elaine, your quiet sentences will never fall on deaf ears to me- I hear your heartbeat writing rhythm all the way over here.
Andy, you're a rock star. You always have been, and I'll keep putting your pieces on repeat if you'll let me.

to all my wonderful bunnies
who keep this world uncultivated
thank you for letting me bring my secret lover
out into the world
where she belongs.

Believe

They told me to believe in something
but they never helped me choose what to put my belief into
so i've been measuring it out with teaspoons
letting it pour out slowly in small doses
like liquid faith that clings to your heart the same way that raindrops do to car windows
those droplets that turn the world upside down once they cling to the glass
just for just a split second
before they continue their race down to the pavement

I started finding myself investing optimism in the curiosity of children
they keep me hopeful that we'll stop ignoring what's right in front of us
that we'll always want to ask more questions, we won't be satisfied with the typical answer of "because I said so"
and that sometimes
we'll run through the sprinklers just because it feels good

I've begun looking at sunrises like they're family portraits
because I don't know the full story of any of the faces in the frame
but they're all somehow familiar
I can see parts of myself in them
there are memories in all the generations
all the time compressed into the same space of photo paper
or the same stretch of cloudless sky

but these days, I don't get to watch as many sunrises as I'd like
I've been staying up late counting my blessings
I have to be thorough
and the list gets pretty long sometimes.
It starts with my family
continues with my capability for the nearly impossible
and the simplicity of the world is tucked in there somewhere
but it doesn't end
I just fall asleep, usually around number seventy three

and I start all over the next night
because I'll have fresh blessings
that all taste like my liquid faith
that's still not entirely sure where it should be
I know i should believe in something
but at this point
the only constants in my life are varied
like the letter b in the equation for a line
I let my words be
constant on the lines I place them on

I believe in moments that get frozen in your mind like a piece of sand stuck in an hourglass
I believe in the dictionary because it told me that second chances come after after mistakes are made
I believe in people.
I believe in myself, like all hopeless romantics, I believe in love
but the important thing
is that after twenty one years of life lessons that could have turned me cynical
I still found something to believe in.

The face behind the makeup

You want to see me naked?
want to satisfy your curiosity for the location of all my freckles, tan lines and scars
but I can guarantee that my most jagged scars aren't anywhere you can see
They're stiched into the back of my retinas and scratched into the bones behind my eardums
the worst ones? they hide in the grooves of my fingerprints because they've long been part of the defining lines of my identity
you want to know me naked
want to know where my legs come up to meet my hips and be locked
in a ball and socket joint embrace
see how the skin on my side shimmers like the northern lights like vivid gauzy scraps of silk
you want to know the secrets hidden by cotton clothes
You want to see me exposed, stripped down, completely bare
unprotected and trusting.

Okay. I'll show you. me at my most intimate.
just close your eyes
and listen to my words.
I'll peel off every layer of the bullshit facade that I put up on a daily basis
I'll show you all the hidden chapters of my storyline that have been scribbled onto cocktail napkins and hotel paper
I've travelled enough to forget where my real home is.

like a three way dressing room mirror
I'll show you every angle of myself.
I've got the rhythm and the broken heart of a poet stenciled into my forearms
a love for trees twining with my shin bones
and a dancer's heartbeat.

I'll show you the face behind the makeup
applied with gentle fingertips
while most of my world is still sleeping
I'll show you the character behind the mask
I'll let the skeletons in my closet dance with yours
and I'll even let you know the location of the scars you can't see
I'll sketch you a map with hesitant glances and halting sentences;
I don't do this very often.

You want to see me naked
but you don't even know what you're asking for
trust me and let your eyelids melt into your cheekbones
let the skin of your eardrums stop vibrating
and wait for me
if you'll let me
I'll strip myself down
and show you what really lies beneath the surface
I'll give you all of myself
if you'll sit and listen to my poetry.

Capable

I am a seed.
I am a caterpillar.
I am potential wrapped in a neon cellophane shell
waiting to leave the taste of sugar on your tongue

I am raw.
I am unedited
I am purity in a world that knows corruption on a first name basis

I am simple
I am whole
I do not require assembly ; I have not fallen apart that much quite yet.

I am strength.
I am beauty.
I am human.

I am a seedling wrapped in soft pink flesh
with an entire history and an undecided future written on the inside of my skin
I am waiting. Patient for the right moment to let my leaves unfurl
I will not burst out overnight like the beanstalk from fairytales
Instead, I will let my tendrils seep down into the dewdrop soaked earth so that I can hold my ground
and you will think nothing of me
but when you return after years have passed
you will be astounded by the growth that has occured in your absence.

I am a caterpillar
I am camoflauged possibilities
the type you only see in your dreams because you've been told it's foolish to believe in that kind of reality any more
I am prepared, I am defensive, I am capable.
I am calm and unwavering.
wrapped in my own protections
I may not look like much in the chrysalis of my self confidence
Give me time.
there will be a day that they will mistake the eyespots on my outstretched wings for the real thing
my true gaze will be focused much farther beyond their attempts to get my attention
and the word surprise will taste like a foreign language in their mouths
because they thought they'd already learned the language of the secrets this world had to tell

I am the barriers I overcame
I am the long nights and hard work ethic that brought me this far
I am the voices that told me gravity existed and to bring me down
but
I am defiant of physics
I am a self defining definition
I am poetry in motion

I was a seed
I was a caterpillar
I am still potential
I have yet to fully bloom

I encourage you to wait and see
how well I will live out the words
I am strength
I am beauty
I am human

If you would let me

If you would let me, I'd pour cement molds for all your insecurities and let them rest at the bottom of the marianas trench.
I'd take all the skeletons in your closet and use them as decorations for Dia de los Muertos
I'm sure once they see a little sunshine and feel the touch of someone who wants to know your full story, they'll remember how to dance.
I'd draw fingerpainted pictures on all of your scars to remind you that I think your skin is beautiful- you know, I haven't been able to stop thinking about the birthmark on your upper back.
I would become a hazy sunrise over the skyline of Los Angeles, strips of orchid pink illumination that cut through the smog like a simple truth- just to prove that you find beauty in unexpected places

I want to hear the hidden track on the album that you've been recording since you were born.
I learned a while ago that patience is a virtue, and I've been practicing it in excess ever since we met.
and I heard that the only thing to fear is fear itself
so i can't figure out why you're so scared to be near me.

If you would let me, I would sing for you when all other music goes silent.
I would replace your wallet and your watch
because we would finally have enough time to spend together.
I would soothe the knots in your back that are tied by a worried mind
I would fold you into my arms and put your ear to my chest so you could hear my blood rushing to the last places your fingertips rested.
I would wake you up with jasmine scented butterfly kisses across your cheekbones and make you coffee because we'd been up late the night before

I would tell you secrets without even speaking
mesmerize you with my dancing body
and succumb to you completely.

If only you would let me... but you won't.
so your hesitant nature is multiplying and rebounding into my sub arachnoid space
there are spiderwebs of doubt weaving through my mind
with eight legged second guessing thoughts lurking in their corners.

so please, slide open the windows behind your eyes
I promise I'll step in quietly.
let the curtains flutter with the autumn wind that howls
like it's searching for something.
let it seep through the cracks in the walls you've put up in front of me
and outline all the flaws you're afraid to admit you have.
Because I would take your faults and stencil them them into candle flames that all eventually burn down,
leaving you with the scent of smoke, but no trace of the original fire.

if you would let me,
I'd become your new spark
I'd be embers that glow in your forearms and the soft flickering up your spine
I'd swirl through each vertebrae with gentle warmth
and become a wildfire in your veins.

If you'll let me.

Don't turn out the lights

Don't turn out the lights.

have you checked underneath your bed and in your closet?
look past all the dust bunnies and skeletons laying there
see if there's anything worth fearing.
lift up your pillows and see what scatters away
close your windows so you can keep the howling winds out
but beware- you might accidentally lock something in.

Don't turn out the lights

are you sure you're ready to surrender yourself?
to be completely vulnerable and let your subconscious prey on your innocent mind
there are things lurking in the corners of your skull
spider webs in your sub arachnoid space
that might still harbor an eight legged surprise
prepare yourself

don't turn out the lights

they're the only thing that can save you from the nightmares
the only thing that keep you sane
light is the absence of darkness
because darkness
is omnipotent and permeating
it hides behind doorways and in alleys
just waiting to swallow you whole
it holds hands with the underbellies of the streets
and runs frolicking through all your fears with a magnifying glass
because in the darkness, logic is useless

don't turn out the lights
there's something waiting
going to pounce if you let your guard down
if you lay your head down
and you'll be subject to hours of running
running from men with dark purposes
but your legs don't work properly
your blood congeals in your veins when you're dreaming
you're useless.
so you'll sit and watch as your friends get shot
and part of you knows
that this can't be real
but part of you can't help but feel
everything attached to the situation

don't turn out the lights
because when you wake up, sweaty and trembling
you'll want to know where you are.
you'll have forgotten yourself
forgotten reality
and for a split second, your emotions tell you that reality
is actually back in the nightmare

so don't turn out the lights
unless you're ready to face
what's hiding in the darkness.

Nightmares part 2

We've all watched the action movies
where the hero jumps through windows and into stick shift mini coopers that he can maneuver through the streets
and barely make a safe getaway
we think, even just for a moment,
hey, I could do that.
or wonder what it would be like to be capable. to have that possibility.

but these scenes flood my mind and saturate it to the point where the spill over into my unconscious hours
where I should be peacefully resting my mind I end up running from men with guns whose only goal is to terrify me
and it works.
these nightmares- they don't go away. they only get worse.
just the other night I watched as a best friend was shot right in front of me. twice.
my own limbs betrayed me; wouldn't move as i needed them to
I was screaming down my own nerve synapses for something to click
but my blood had congealed with fear and I couldn't snap out of this dream gone wrong

I have witnessed my own father become a victim of a nonexistent plague
my sister lose her life in a freak accident
and imagine that my grandmother really isn't gone

so when I let reality pry my eyes apart like elevator doors
I lay in the bed that is crawling with invisible monsters just waiting to slip into my sleeping moments
and try to convince myself that the emotions that carried over
have no place in their attempts to make me panic

These nightmares haunt me better than any ghost ever could
because they prey on fears that will someday be realized.
for now, they just make me remember exactly what I have
and to be grateful for it
because it could be gone in a moment's notice

and i know all too well
what that feels like.

Fucked up goodbyes

I don't want to be profane
and I know that you already know this
but I fucked up our goodbye.

I couldn't look in the eyes and say anything besides "I should go."
your fingertips, eternally gentle, traced patterns around my waist and up my sides
but I couldn't even move.
all my muscles locked in a cold war with themselves trying to deny your warmth
because if I released
truly spoke my mind
I wouldn't have broken.
I would have shattered.

I'm not good with small pieces;
I don't even know how to glue a fractured mirror back together
I think it's the possibility of a bad luck curse that makes my fingers so shaky
or maybe I'm afraid I'll slip and slice my skin
adding damage to destruction

So no, I couldn't give you the proper goodbye.
I left you in New York.
and I've been back in California for a month now.
Just biding my time until I find something distracting enough can make me forget what your voice sounds like when you smile

I rode my bike for the first time in months the other day
right next to all the orange county traffic
just to hear the engines roaring next to me
and hoping that my balance was what it used to be
because those trucks drive so fast
they drive so far
and my wheels will never turn over enough times to bring me close enough to you.

I swam in the pacific ocean so I could forget how the atlantic tasted
so I could wash your memory from my flesh
let it be scrubbed away by salt water and sand that has always felt like home to me
but it didn't work.
nothing works.

You're still right there, you're always right there
you're right here
in the front of my mind
even though I'm in a new place.
I moved into a new apartment.
My neighbors have songbirds.
The other morning, I woke up to them
and thought I was still laying next to you
because it sounded like the forest outside your window
and I realize that I actually left part of myself in your bedroom
not between your sheets
but in the space between our eyes when we laid there so quietly
trying to memorize your face and knowing that I would want to forget it in a few weeks.

I couldn't say goodbye to you.
I still can't.
Now I know what it feels like to be loved.
and I can't quite let that go
just not yet.

Honesty

My name is Victoria. I'm going to be honest.
I grew up raising rabbits and digging in the dirt for six legged surprises.
I have a weakness for really good mexican food and standing in the shower for an extra five minutes.
I have more curves that I know what to do with and I recently shaved the side of my head.
Sometimes, I think I can hear whispers from the tips of tree leaves and see into my past lives if I look into the horizon long enough.
my favorite color is purple, i usually wear japanese cherry blossom perfume
and if you ask me if your pants make you look fat- I'll probably give you an honest answer.
I'll avoid any insults but I'll suggest you might look better in a skirt.
I learned that truly being blunt is only really appreciated by stoners

although I've heard that honesty is the best policy
but I'm not a policy maker, I'm just a poet
I'm in the business of writing,
and I've been told that all I need to do is write one true sentence
But I’ve found that truth is in the eye of the beholder
And my eyes get distracted by all the beauty in this world
So I only get half truths
Partial pieces of pictures that I’m constantly flipping around
Making them look like they’re the right side up
Or the left side down
I never knew the difference between the two
so yes, I will write one true sentence
one true life sentence
I sentence myself to life unimprisoned, uninhibited,
finding freedom in the truths i discover

I'm going to be honest.
I love going running during thunderstorms
I have a certain fondness for the word shenanigans and my favorite bones are the phalanges
I love good milk chocolate and jasmine tea
I'm overly sarcastic, I hate when the bottom cuffs of my jeans get wet, and I'm about 5 foot 8 inches tall.
My tendency to be honest has gotten me into trouble more than once, but that doesn't mean that I'm about to stop.
I let my thought reel feed through my lips and project onto others
but the hardest person to be honest with
has always been
myself.

London Riots

It has long been a dream held by many
to see the youth united
grasping their potential in nimble fingers
and holding it up to the sun
demanding that change occur.
using their voices even if no one is listening
if there was a revolution tomorrow, you can bet that i'd be part of it.

but when I say revolution
I speak of a turning tide
of people taking to the streets
in an organized and peaceful way
putting their foot down for what they fight for
without fighting their fellow countrymen

so tell me, rioters of london,
what do you fight for?
what sort of change do you hope to cause
when you leave shards of glass spilled over sidewalks?
when you rob the innocents because you're caught up in the moment
when you take part in a group mentality and become a follower, just another destructive sheep
when you leave damage behind you because your anger has finally found a way out
you turn your backs on each other and on yourself.

tell me,
when you set cars on fire, do you see your own hearts consumed by the blaze?
see the hungry flames growl for more fuel to consume and leave a blackened twisted mess
like you do with the rest of the city.
these riots have not been deemed economic or political
these are greedy riots.

borne from inequalities that have been festering under your skin
like a poison ivy rash
bubbling red with rage
and just waiting for an opportunity to destroy.

can't you understand
you've already lost one of your own.
August 4th
Mark Duggan
bullet wound to the chest.
red roses of defeat flowing onto his shirt
and blossoming under the night sky.

you want to let the government know they're being unfair?
take your energy and put it to work
imagine the possibilities
if you lobbied for change instead of lobbing rocks through store windows
if you stood as one instead of drawing a dividing line between "us" and "them"
the officers you fight against have families too, you know.

Stand down.
or if you won't
at least take a moment
to think
about the kind of change you want
and the kind that you are causing.

poetry, now!

Part poetry, part stream of consciousness, full credit goes to my muse and inspiration Timothy "BigBrothaaa" Cheung



Sometimes, the world is just too much. there's too many emotions wrapped up in a single smile for me to respond quickly enough to a stranger's face seen in passing
there are too many memories to be made, too many picture snapshots of time that I should save in my mind but I always seem to find that I just don't have enough memory for all of them.
too many people to hold onto and too many to miss while they're not around

and i've been told that i'm just not letting go yet
and you know what? you're damn right.
I'll hold on to everything that I can
I'll grip all the depression and self doubting thoughts that I can, squeeze them out and deprive them of any air so that they can silently die and no longer wreak havoc on the sunshine spots of souls that surround me
I'll cradle joy in my fingertips, play happiness like the piano, tinkling and trilling keys that my hands flow across, always racing each other for an audible finish line, and watching the room of stagnant legs turn into a jellyfish tentacles that are unable to stop moving
I'll backhand any unruly thoughts that creep into my mind, trying to tell me that I can't or that I shouldn't. I'll leave them with stinging sharp welts that remind them they were never welcome in the first place, and they'll know what's waiting for them if they ever decide to come back.

These are just results from some of the lessons I've learned from unexpected teachers that have the tendency to appear when I want them the least. I am the universe's perpetual student, model, and artist
I have learned that if you always look down, the only butterflies you will see will have already died. You will never get the chance to watch them float like brightly colored scraps of silk in between leaves that wave me to them like welcome mats to the sky, to the tips of endless possibilities
and my own grandmother has become a swallowtail butterfly, so I really shouldn't miss any chances I get to see her again
still dancing, always dancing, only this time with wings instead of feet
but she still has so much grace and such a comforting presence.

I've been told that I'm a teacher to some
but that's not enough- I want to be a professor in the how's and the why's of this world
I want to answer the unanswerable questions by listening to my heartbeat thump out a rhythm like a metronome
translating it to music notes trapped between thick black lines
and then letting my fingers fly across a piano, singing you to sleep with a blanket of absolute truths and trust in the future
and we'll both curl up when the moon is reflected in the puddles of the streets
and dream about our different tomorrows that may not be so different after all.

Poetry Beginnings

The first time I read my poetry to a crowd,
It felt like coming home.

Well, first- I was terrified.
Hands shaking, skin sweaty, voice trembling
But once I started speaking, it felt like I'd been doing this forever
And I mean a feeling stronger than deja vu
this wasn't a memory I had glimpsed in passsing
This was my story waiting to burst from the pages
like my voicebox was a supernova waiting to happen

Waiting to explode and light up the silence of the night sky
pinpricks of stars that look an awful lot like pairs of eyes in a crowd
just waiting
for something
to happen

I found warmth in the spotlight, so I started shining more often
Became less of a visitor and more of a regular
Started leaving my clothes in the closet and my toothbrush by the sink
cause i knew I'd be back.

I found a home on the stage.
Found out that my words hold more weight than I realized,
so letting them go lightened the pressure of thoughts built up in my head
But standing up here being honest with you is harder than it seems.

I've always found difficulty in showing strangers my dreams
the pictures that my mind paints:
soft watercolor memories and harsh charcoal sketches of opinions
chalk drawings of my childhood and smeared pencil outlines of my future
None of them have frames because I never intended to show them off
auction them to the highest bidder
who doesn't mind a mind that sometimes tastes bitter

Alternates between
sharp and biting
and warm and inviting

I never thought I'd be up here, reading my diary pages out loud
because being honest with you means I have to be honest with myself
and there are some things I'd rather not admit
some flaws I'd rather not face
and some faces I'd rather not remember

But some parts of my story transcend my own fears and demand to be heard
to be molded, shaped, and put into words
so this brew of honest tea might be a little bitter
but it has such a nice aftertaste.

One true sentence

All you ever need to do is write one true sentence.
But I’ve found that truth is in the eye of the beholder
And my eyes get distracted by all the beauty in this world
So I only get half truths
Partial pieces of pictures that I’m constantly flipping around
Making them look like they’re the right side up
Or the left side down
I never knew the difference as a kid
Never knew how I was supposed to look at the world
Always figured that my mind didn’t work the way it should have
My own mother thought I was autistic- even had me tested twice
Became worried when I didn’t speak until I was 2 years old.
I just didn’t have anything to say
I was always quiet
Preferred sitting and observing, drawing pictures in the dirt rather than trying to capture a flag
Found out that I could be happy with earthworms and snails as friends
Rather than trying to create a relationship with acid tongued children who only knew the world as cruel and mocking when it came to feeling like you belonged
The smart ones figured out that they could bring themselves up by pulling other people down
And I was always hunched over with my face looking at the roots of trees; I looked like a stepping stone in their popularity game
But I didn’t mind
Because when their freckled cheeks got sunburned from trying to chase ideas in the clouds that were too far away from them
I would have mud stripes that looked deceptively like war paint
Because I never battled with mother nature
We had peaceful discussions and playful arguments
Sometimes a game of tug of war
Where I would pull and pull and pull
Trying to prevent the inevitable
But she would always win
Always held firm
And her roots went far deeper than I understood
But I learned quickly enough not to fight things I don’t fully understand
Learned that I preferred being a lover to a fighter
Which still holds true
But sometimes I don’t know where to direct my love
So it comes out in jasmine scented bubbles that land on the page and turn into a poem
But I have to be careful when I catch them
Or they’ll disappear before I can get a good look at them
And the way they reflect my face
With oily swirling rainbows where my eyebrows should be
But I learned a long time ago
That my perception of the world is not really related to how the world is
And I was told that all I ever have to do is write one true sentence
Except there are too many words in my head and adventures to have to constrict them
So if you want me to take your advice, I’ll write a true life sentence
My own story line that I’ll pump in as much honesty as I can
That tastes like honest tea
Steeped in late nights spent thinking about the sunset I just saw
Sweetened by the honey of my memories made in the beehive of my childhood mind

Yes, I will write one true sentence
I will write one true life sentence
My own
I sentence myself to life unimprisoned
Uninhibited
Spending my days discovering what it really means to be free
Remembering that I already learned it
When I was a kid
Hands deep in the dirt
Chasing after earthworms and avoiding the earwigs
Skin dappled by pine needle filtered sunlight
When my own backyard was the biggest adventure I could ever need

One day I’ll find myself back there
Realize how much smaller it feels now that my global perspective has grown
Overturn a few rocks to see what I find
Because there are still a few mysteries just outside my front door
That I’ve forgotten to try to solve
There are some words in the back of my mind that I’m sure I’ve forgotten to say
But I was always a quiet kid.
And I’m still just fine sitting in the corner with my notepad
Letting silence expand from the corners that it was waiting from
Just to make sure that someone
Is still
Listening.

Life. I like it. But sometimes, it is scary.

My mother always taught me not to be scared of the unknown simply because it was the unknown
she always pushed me past the edges of my comfort zone
and I've been training myself to learn how to face my fears
to not back down,
not let my adrenaline high heart convince me that I should run and hide in my room
to stand my ground even if my legs are shaking

But
I am terrified of the future.
I can handle the day to day happenings
the slow process of shifting myself from the past into the present
with a wary eye on the days ahead

but the thought of not knowing where I'll be in a year makes my pulse thump like a bass drum
The realization that I have no fucking clue what I'm doing induces a fight or flight response
but I don't know where to direct my punches, so I'm fighting a losing battle against myself
and I've always wanted to spread my wings and fly away from this world- so I always settle with being flighty
staying airborne above everyone's expectations of me
I've already achieved so much.

But I have grandparents who want grandchildren
and the fourth finger on my left hand is apparently missing its halo
missing the string tied around it in a promise
that I’m not even sure I want to make.
Forget all that white flowing gown, silk trains, and glistening tiara shit
If I get married, I only want two things:
I want my father to give me away so he understands that I've always known he was walking next to me
and I want everyone to dance like there will be no tomorrow
like they forgot how good it feels to move
like they want to make love to the music that fills the room
Like their hips are mountainsides just waiting to start a landslide
Like their limbs are radioactive and can’t be contained by the lead lined walls of their list of social rules
like
like their hearts are just balloons full of hope that need to remember what it’s like to kiss a cirrus cloud

but I've never even been in love- so my wedding dreams are just momentary indulgences
desserts that always leave me with a stomach ache
and a bittersweet tang on my tongue

See, I've been so focused on my own progress that I haven't taken the time to let anyone in yet
My heart belongs to poetry but my mind belongs to science
and my fingertips are just confused as hell
not sure whether they're supposed to hold a pipet or a pencil
to bury themselves into the rich sun warmed soil, or to dig out the most honest thoughts of my mind
so I let them do a little bit of both as some sort of self conflicted promise
because sometimes the tree i love the most is a poet-tree.
dropping new ideas like ripe fruits

and I'm supposed to continue with my academic pursuits
but right now all a PhD stands for
is a Pretty Hard Decision
I could spend my life in the shimmering solace of the spotlight on the stage
or I could warm my skin in the sunshine of the tropics
Let myself translate the beauty of the world into a sick rhyming, boundary climbing, mental priming, good timing poem
or become the voice for the trees- for the trees have no tongues
call myself the lorax 2.0
or V rabbit

and it's not a black and white thing so much as it's green and purple
leaves versus limericks
flowers versus flowing lines
meristems versus metaphors
springtime buds versus budding ideas

So I figure I'll wrap an ivy vine around my left ring finger
commit myself to a cause that I know I can always stay passionate about
sit on the lap of mother nature
let her slide dewdrop secrets along my spider web connection made conscience
but I'll stencil the alphabet along my right hand
trace the outline of letters that are just a framework so I won’t fill them in
letters that become so much more than themselves once I can conduct them like an orchestra
creating verbal symphonies while trying to keep myself composed

because when it comes to the future
I'd like to think I have everything figured out
I have a set plan that I can follow and nothing will explode like a poorly designed nuclear reactor
i can act like the world doesn't like to throw curveballs that hit you in the face
or I can just admit to myself
that yes, this life is scary
but at the end of the day
one way or another
I'll be doing what I love

The Goddess Poem

You say you don't know the name of this goddess
Don't know what to call her when she walks in like a thief to steal your attention
She has been called Isis, Aphrodite, and Oshun
has been known to respond to Epona, Mazu, and Devi
but you don't know the name of this goddess who appears in front of you.
with a spine straight like an oak tree trunk
eyes like paintbrushes,
silken edges dipped in the different shades of this world
with a sapphire skeleton and an amethyst voice
she shifts her weight like there are diamonds between her thighs
just waiting to drip down to the arches of her feet,
caressing every natural curve of her flesh on the way down
where the basement level of her legs kiss the earth hello on both cheeks every time they meet.

She shines with a rose colored starlight
that emulates from the edges of her fingertips-
Ten soft half moons at the ends of her branches of palms
with crop circle fingerprints
she can make you tremble with a single half note staccato touch
make your skin split apart like the grand canyon
so you can see all the smooth layers that have been flowing through you this whole time.

She has honeysuckle kisses from seashell lips
that have been smoothed over by the constant coming and going of the ocean
but the strength to shut out the tsunami waves of life that strike so unexpectedly
making her start fresh.

a new beginning.
a morning begun with a flower tucked behind her ear
so you can literally see the ideas blooming in her mind;
the thought that she is a unique beauty
filled with hope
and wrapped in secrets
raised by the wind
with a soul made of lavender scented band aids
stuck across the scars in her chest
she can't pull them off for fear of bleeding again,
for letting herself flow out like the angry red clouds that tear apart the sky
for just a moment
before the sun leaves.

But in the warmth of the moon, she will dance.
She will adorn her limbs with pearls
so you can see them roll across her skin,
you can hear her move to the rhythm she creates herself
tracing patterns in the stardust with her eyelashes

This goddess moves.
This goddess breathes.
This goddess will wait
and if you are patient
This goddess will speak her name.

Wishing on a firefly

the first time i realized what hope actually looked like
I held lightning bugs in a water bottle on the beach of new york.
It was the beginning of summer but it was still raining
but it was more of a mist than anything
like the clouds wanted to kiss the earth but were too shy to make the first move
so they just leaned in and kept their chin tilted in the right direction

and i watched those little bugs flicker
realized that i couldn't see any of the stars through the thick stretches of cumulus that had accumulated above me
but i was holding pieces of the night sky in that empty water bottle
I had taken street lamp lights and captured them
no longer let them shimmer across the bay
the way they do when all other lights have gone out
creating ripples of bright streaks in the water
that never reached all the way over to where i was standing

I held wishes in my hands
because those fireflies had just fallen out of the space beyond us in the universe
and into my fingertips
so i watched their gossamer wings dance and asked them what secrets had been whispered to them
but I don't know if fireflies have ears
so i touched their antennas
hoping that they would be able to feel my curiosity
at the desires that had been cast at them by small children who look up when the moon rises
and say
star light star bright
first star i see tonight
wish i may
wish i might
have the wish i wish tonight

and send their thoughts up like balloons to reach into the heavens
but i never understood how wishes could get to the stars if they actually carried any weight
so i would imprint fingerprint promises to the backsides of coins and toss them into fountains
wait until the clock became a palindrome of one's
or hold my breath through a tunnel
to make the wishes i wanted so badly
until one day i figured i was too old to wish for things any more
so i put my thoughts onto scraps of paper like the insides of little future fortune cookies
tucked them into a jar
hoping that some day
i would find a carrier pigeon with strong enough wings to carry all my wishes to the stars

but when i held those lightning bugs
it was like I was a kid all over again
and i touched them with my jar of wishes and asked them to tell the other stars
how long I'd been waiting
to feel hopeful again.

Nightmares

Saturday morning.
which turned into saturday afternoon
I sat motionless and silent on a bed different than my own
in a place unfamiliar but I was supposed to call it home
supposed to fill it with new memories, tuck my comfort zone around the edges of the doorframes
and trace smiles into the pillowcases while I slept.

but those smiles were hiding
suppressed by enough turmoil in my recent history
to make it feel like I had a tornado in my chest where my emotions should have been
so I sat in the eye of it, where everything was calm and I could be content with being numb.
and I learned that the center of chaos loves the sounds of vowels.
loved me when I sat and looked around with my eyes at the inner edges of the eye
breathed deep to let out a sigh
full of the times I almost said goodbye
to four different people i know
in the last two months
and I was the only reason why they didn't go.
the world came at me so fast and i just wanted to set the speed to slow
less rushing past all the beauty just outside my windows
less phone calls from people I loved who were about to be harmed by their own hands
less hurries, less worries
less times feeling like i didn't belong.

and I tried to make a home in the middle of the storm
only to realize that the second half of it had yet to hit
so I shouldn't build a home, but a bunker, or a fort
made of security blankets and pillows without smiles
because the nightmares wouldn't go away.
they would steal my composure and almost stole my sanity
I would wake up unaware of where I was
convinced that my sister had just died,
or my father and I were victims of a new plague
that someone I loved had gone missing
and I couldn't do anything about it.

My soul was screeching like a banshee, trying to get out of my chest
but I shoved it so far back in myself that it fell of the edge of my mental desk
back where it could collect dust and mingle with other things that i've lost or forgotten
like how to be myself
a multitude of life lessons
or how badly it stings when you have to say goodbye.

so it makes sense that it found a way out through my subconscious
it found a voice when I had lost mine
so that saturday morning turned afternoon
I immersed myself in spoken words
poetry from all over
and I watched video after video after video
I re learned all the lessons
I felt the pain I've been trying to hide away because goodbye isn't really goodbye, it's more of a see you later when our paths cross again
and I remembered who I am.

the edge of that tornado hit me when I felt the rhythm in the poet's voices
remembered that as a little girl, I found that rhythm
rode that beat with my arms that I thought were wings until my shoulder blades were tired of trying to reach something so out of reach
but I craned my neck to stare at the sky and imagined I was a crane
I felt that flow of words, flowing out of my head, flowing out of my pen
it is in that universal one, two, three, four
that I found a home
that I find a place to belong.
right. here.

Honeysuckle kisses

So the other day I performed a poem called "goddess" and there's a line in it that goes "she has honeysuckle kisses from seashell lips", and my friend Andy Tran came up to me afterwards and asked where he could get one. I texted him a few days later, and this is the conversation that unfolded:

V: I figured out where you can get honeysuckle kisses from seashell lips. You can get them from letting her laughter dance on your lips like bumblebees that spend too much time near the sea because they want to know what it's like to fly along the horizon.

A: But what if I'm afraid to let the laughter in? You see...i'm bad with commitment. I've made some terrible choices in my life that I've got to live with--the kinds that cant ever be remedied, not even with honeysuckle kisses or dancing bumblebees. Not even with the raw touch of the ocean breeze. You could, spend a lifetime trying to convince me otherwise but it won't work. Trust me...I've tried. Cuz when the laughter fades, it'll be me..not you..stuck with the sounds of what could have been haunting my dreams at night.

V: Who's to say that the same ghouls don't haunt my dreams after floating through yours? Maybe I've just made my mind into a river scene that's so beautiful, no one wants to see what's at the bottom of the river, so I don't show them. They don't want to see the twisted curls of metal that have begun to rust or the layers of watery dust that have permeated the cracks of all the baggage I don't want to be carrying anymore.

A: I've swam through enough of these stories-- shallow and deep. I've bent metal bars with bare hands and watched as they dived into river waters just to show her how easy it was to sink. She said she wanted to try it and so we jumped. And that's where she left me. A place where the sun never shines. Where the rain drops get so cold my bones refuse to dance in them. Not because they can't, but because my heart tells them the pain isn't worth dancing for.

V: But sometimes you have to leap into the space between where the air and the ocean meet to feel what it's like to fly. Just for a moment, before you realize that you have to spend an eternity with your wings clipped, feeling the gusts of wind under your feathers but know you can never be free. Those moments of pure exhilaration- those are the ones worth living for.

A: I've found plenty of things worth living for but I have yet to set eyes on something worth dying for. Now I've been told that means I'm not fit to live. But I'm ok with that. You see, I've never seen eye to eye with social normalty. Give me clipped wings and I'll soar to eternity. Distance myself from this world of negativity and flourish...on my own.

V: I have never seen eye to eye with the roles I was supposed to fill. I was too high up in the trees I climbed to be wearing the glass slippers of poor self image that were made to fit my feet. And when I got down to the ground, I was too busy kneeling in the dirt, staring at fallen leaves to slip into the ballgown of feminine grace that has been hanging in my closet behind all my other skeletons ever since. So I grabbed a thicker skin made of out the iron edged gleam I was told appeared in my eyes and asked the goddess of unfulfilled stereotypes to bear with me.

A: I used to think it was destiny. That I was destined to be a hero...catching self esteem suicides that would throw themselves from treetops. I was not their good fortune, I was their miracle. Their second chance to learn how to fly. But all the while I was really just waiting to find that girl with the honeysuckle kiss. They told me she was in need of a hero.

V: Honey sits on her lips because it balances the bitterness that rests on her tongue. She's been tasting it ever since she realized that her hero decided not to give a damn. She became her own hero and her own Atlas, carrying the weight of the world atop her entire spine.

Imperfection

This world is imperfect.
it is chaotic and messy
it likes to break you and throw obstacles in your path
that will make you stumble
make you question yourself
make you say things like "I didn't ask for this"
or "why me"
or my personal favorite, "this isn't fair."

no, it's not.
life isn't a fair
it's not a ferris wheel ride that you can expect to take a ride around and end up in the same place as where you started
it's not sweetness on a stick, dipped and deep fried if you request
it's not flashing lights on a july night

This world is the aftermath of an explosion
nothing is where it should be
just mayhem and destruction
pieces of shrapnel strewn in the street
buildings toppling over
forever increasing entropy

but if you can look carefully enough
or you wait long enough
you'll see the tip of something green
poking through the rubble
if you can train your eyes and your mind
you can see that this world isn't perfect
but that doesn't mean that it's not beautiful.

Redwoods

Sometimes, I feel like a hundred and twenty year old redwood tree.
I have seen seasons come and go
I have felt a thousand rainfalls flood me
and basked in the sunshine of countless summer days
I have had so many birds nest in my branches
and squirrels skitter among my roots
I have seen children playing, growing, maturing
until they bring to me children of their own

I am no stranger to the humming insects
whose lifetimes are so short
they appear as a short cymbal crash in the rhythm of the forest

but for me?
I am the low humming bassline,
a long bow drawn across a cello's strings
a vibrations that you don't so much hear
as you feel in your core.

I have pulled everything I needed from the earth below me
combined it with the warmth of the sky above me
so that I may stand here, tall and upright
arms like branches outstretched
always straining for something just out of reach

so if you cut open my skin
and a trickle of sap oozes out
you glance in and see rings
circles and layers from the years I have spent in this green world
Don't be surprised
It's just that most times
I feel like a hundred and twenty year old redwood tree.

Procrastination

There is something so daunting about a blank word document.
especially when I have to write something for a deadline.
Some kind of biology paper about the research I've been doing
where I've been spending all my time when I'm not behind the mic
or letting the world wash over me
smooth all the jagged edges that have a tendency to appear whenever the order in my life is torn apart

and I know that my fingers know how to fly over the square silver keys in front of me
forming letters
forming words
forming sentences
forming ideas
forming thoughts
forming the entire summary that just feels like it's stuck in my head
and I can't properly translate it.

So I lose myself in my social circles
indulgence in facebook and text messages to other friends who hate blank word documents just as much as I do
skimming through my music, saying that I'll start once I find the right song
I'll write once it feels right

but there are so many other things that I want to say
so many other dances on my keyboard that my fingers want to partake in
so I feel restricted
structured
straight jacket bound into producing something useful
proving that my mind has been engaged for these last 9 months of school
that my head has been pregnant with ideas i'm just waiting to give birth to
letting them develop until they're ready to stand on their own
supporting them until they've been properly raised and can be alright in this world out on their own

but I can't get my mind to tell my neurons in my brain to electrically shock my muscle fibers to start the translation of information that is stuck in my head due to procrastination.

most days

Most days,
I feel like I'm waiting for something.
for a moment when an inspiration will hit me
a muse will appear out of thin air
when I can bend my way of thinking
re route my train of thought

but
most days
feel kind of empty.
like something is missing.
like I'm at the precipice of my life
and I just haven't figured out how to jump yet

most days
i look around like i've lost something
with curious eyes that pry around corners
and into personal lives
scrying for stories of people's pasts
because I already know my own so well
and I like to think that I can collect stories like pearls
and eventually string them all together
to have around as a symbol of all the beauty in this world that I've found

but most days
no one has a good story to tell.
they've forgotten their story entirely
or they're too scared to tell it
or they can't find the proper words to describe it
or they think their story is of no importance

so most days
I just sit back and watch
become an observer in the crowd and let all the pairs of feet wander past me
always hurrying off to an unknown destination
it makes me feel like I should be hurrying too
but then I remember
that I know my destination
and I want to enjoy the journey, too.

Independent

I-N-D-E-P-E-N-D-E-N-T do you know what that means?
Actually, I don't.
Not anymore.
Not since I was told that the only thing missing in my life is a man-
but I don't see his face on the side of milk cartons
there's not police search team going through my personal life
and I sure as hell don't miss something I don't even know yet.

I can't help it thought
my mom raised my sister and I to be independent
but even growing up I didn't understand what that meant
because when I fell down, I'd get back up; wouldn't wait for a hand to be extended past the life expectancy of a half hearted promise
I'd brush the dirt off my knees because I always fell in the direction I was going- forward.
and when I stood up from being stood up, I'd brush the dirt off my shoulders
because one guy isn't enough to inhibit my swagger

Being independent means that the little things don't shake me
If I break a nail, I won't need your shoulder to cry on
I'll be too happy about the dirt in my fingers
See, I'm a goddess of the earth
which means I enjoy getting muddy, running in the rain, and I'm not afraid of killing spiders
I'm not some delicate fragile china shop of a girl
so you can take your bull elsewhere if you're trying to break me

So I've turned into a 20 year old independent woman
with a tendency to speak my mind and take all challenges head on
but I haven't discovered anyone in the male population who's been able to keep up.
but to anyone who thinks they have potential, let me tell you
I'm not going to let my hormones rule my better judgement
as long as you think with the head on top of your shoulders
but don't be surprised when I put I before U
it's just how I learned the alphabet
and you can bet that this alpha female will always have herself taken care of
I'm too sweet to need a sugar daddy
but I'm not a diva
I can be a backup dancer while you're in the spotlight
because I'm a duaghter of the moon
so you can be a son of the sun
and shine as bright as you want to
but remember that your nights would be much darker without me
and honestly
I don't need you.
but that I want you
which should make things easier
you only have to think about being with me
and not being there for me
and that's fine, because I'm trying to date you, not your wallet.

and to the haters-
Don't call me crazy just because I'm not crazy about you
Don't say I'm out of control just because I won't let you control me
Don't act turned off by my tendency to be passionate
when you wish you knew how to make me passionate for you
Don't hate on my hair or try to mock it
I'm not gonna be your life size polly pocket
I prefer to straight up faux hawk it
you can quit jabbering because you know that I rock it

So if you've got a girl who
can't stand her ground
stays silent when she has something to say
hides behind you instead of standing up for herself
send her my way
and i'll show her what it really means
to be independent.

Don't stop dancing

Author's note: this poem was written for a specific prompt- I was asked to write a piece as a response to another piece I wrote as the person that I wrote it about. The following is my interpretation of my grandmother's response to my piece called Babushka.




Granddaughter, you are now a young woman
that I remember so well as just a little girl in flowery dresses at easter time
and black velvet outfits during Christmas.
Our relationship thrived during the holidays
when multiple families were crowded in the living room and the kitchen
but the children were always running around and exploring
up and down the stairs
inside the house and out on the balconies
weaving through the obstacles of legs that belonged to mothers and fathers, aunts and uncles, grandmothers and grandfathers
and your grandfather would act like a child
chasing you all around like the giant from Jack and the Beanstalk
the house was filled with the smells of cooking and the sounds of catching up conversations that appeared so spontaneously and sounded like sweet melodies
family gatherings are just relatives creating poetry without writing anything down.

I remember your little legs, granddaughter
always moving even when you sat down
kicking and thumping at the edge of the chair
or tucked up underneath your body
like you had to put your whole weight on them in order to get them to hold still
always running, spinning, jumping, or dancing
I hope you never stop dancing.
Even if there is no music, let your heart sink down into your feet
and feel the rhythm in your toes
let it carry you away from all the worries of daily life
whisk you away into a floating fantasy land
where your only partner is your happiness.
If you are lucky enough to find a person who can dance to your rhythm
hold him close
and know that it's just as much fun to fly around the dance floor like your feet are made of the clouds
as it is to sway slowly, pressed cheek to cheek
hand to hand
and most importantly,
heart to heart

I'm smiling down on you, you know.
I think you can feel me, some days
when the sun kisses your face softly
and the breeze is at your back
gently nudging you forward
and your lungs pull in all the life that surrounds you
and you'll see my grace in the butterflies and hear my laughter in the spring sparrow's song

So i'll leave you with this last thought
Always stay hungry for more
have an appetite for knowledge and greatness that you never allow to be satisfied
read quietly when you get the chance
but don't forget that change is made by raising your voice
and while you'll find that change is inevitable
my presence will remain constant
I'm part of the heartbeat baseline that you'll find yourself moving to
a steady rise and fall of your chest that fits in time
with a universal rhthym,
know that I'm there.
know that I'm here.
so even if your feet get tired
if your legs get weak
or your heart gets heavy
keep them light with hope for a fresh start tomorrow morning
and I hope that you never stop dancing.

Checkpoint

I feel like by now, I should have more things figured out.
I should know the landscape beyond the mountains in the distance
I should know why the flowers bloom in the spring or why the trees lose their leaves in the fall
I should know how to get a baby to stop crying but I don't remember what it's like to feel that much raw innocent emotion

I feel like my name should have been graffiti scrawled across more trains- of thought
like i should have found a star with my name so when I get lost in the darkness I can always rediscover my identity and remember to shine
Actually, fuck the stars, I want to be a daughter of the moon and become part of the sun
so I can shine the brightest and bring warmth where it is needed

I should have trained a guide dog so that I can have some part in helping a blind person find their way
I should have given back more to a community that's given me so much
I should take my zipper and tack it up like a poster so I don't forget how to be a fly on the wall
I should have gone skydiving just so I'm sure that I'm not afraid to fall- but I'd want to check my parachute before I jump, just in case
I should have taken more chances to ghost ride the whip to remind the OC that I've got as much norcal hometown pride as my music has slaps
I should practice my handstands more so I don't forget how to see things from a different perspective

I feel like I'm so much older than the timeline of my spine indicates; I've been carrying enough weight on my shoulders to hunch over like I'm crippled with old age
I should have learned how to be a thief, so I could steal time back and spend it with the ones I've lost
I shouldn't have denied so many muses when they kissed my mind and asked to spend the night, because I hate waking up next to an unloved pencil and blank pages that stare at me with empty lined eyes

I feel like I should stop asking why and start asking why not?
I shouldn't be so afraid to sing in public
even though I suck
because sometimes
I've got a pocket got a pocketful of sunshine
and I just need to express that
I should run through the sprinklers on my way to class so I don't forget what it's like to be a kid
I should remember that poems are never finished, only forgotten
But I should also remember that poems are just a piece of my soul put onto paper, so I really shouldn't forget about them

I shouldn't be jealous of the girls that strut around like pretty flowers when most days I feel like a cactus because
I should remember that a cactus has spines because it has something worth protecting
I should never hesitate to let my friends know how much they mean to me
I should remember that my personal rite of passage is a passage of writing
I shouldn't pass up an opportunity to say how proud I am to be a rabbit- so let me tell you right now that even if you can't see them, I've got two big fuzzy ears sticking up like satellite receptors
Waiting to hear my next inspiration; always alert for a good rhythm or a moving metaphor
or even just a guy who isn't afraid to admit that he is fucking cool
I should remember to listen to my teachers instead of texting
I should remember to spend less money and more time on those I care about
I should remember call my family and tell them I love them more
I really should start remembering to remember.

Superwoman

I'm living a double life.
See, I have two identities.

If you're surprised by this, then you probably only know the one that I use on a daily basis.
If this is making sense, then you probably already know what I'm about to say.

I'm superwoman.

I'm flying high
above expectations
and like any good superhero,
I try to help those who truly need me.

See, it all started back when I was a little girl
Born to two mortal parents who never failed to support me
but I was also an orphan
I was the daughter of hope; I was sired by justice
I'm not sure if they're both dead, but some days it sure feels like it.
but when they were around,
She taught me to always look forward even when your past tries to blind you
and he reminded me to always join the battle for what is right
or i would be left
behind by the potential person I wanted to be
and I became a wishful wide eyed warrior
who preferred being a pacifist to clenching a fist
learned that holding a hand was easier than holding a grudge
and being able to make someone smile through their tears
felt like making a rainbow appear in the middle of a thunderstorm.

See, being superwoman gives me certain powers.
My middle ear is super strong
so that I can always remain balanced.
My hands are super sized
so that I can hold many people close to me
I can cradle their worries and fears in my fingertips
and soothe them to sleep with the lullaby rhythm
of palms that softly sweep across their back.
consequently, my feet are super sized too
which means that I can stand my ground
firmly. Steadfast. Stubborn and unrelenting.
but it also lets me take huge steps forward
in my life; always getting closer to the future I've set up for myself.

and yes, I wear a cape
because it reminds me of the weight that I carry around
it lets others know exactly who I am
and because it looks damn sexy.

And so I've learned to use my powers for the better.
If my symbol should light up the sky or light up the screen on my cell phone
a simple call for help or a plea for reassurance
I don't arrive empty handed;
I'll show up with glitter glue in one hand and a broom in the other
to pick up the broken pieces of dreams
and put them back together
They may not look the same,
but they'll still be beautiful.
Or I'll show up with lotion and a magnifying glass
so I can massage away the knots that are tied by a worried mind
I'd break the magnifying glass and replace it with a paintbrush
because this world is about creating beauty, not finding it.
Or I'll show up with chocolate and rain boots
like a wise young woman once said
because there's no heartbreak that chocolate can't fix
okay there are a few heartbreaks that chocolate can't fix
but that's the rainboots are for
because rain will wash away everything if you let it

My only weakness is the truth.
Fear that those around me will realize what I'm trying so hard to hide
that after telling you all of this,
you'll realize
I'm not really superwoman.
I'm just someone who's somewhere past halfway between being a girl and becoming a woman
who likes to take on the problems of others
as well as her own
just so that there's a little less sadness in the world.

But even super heros have their breaking point.
So if you look on the underside of my cape
you might see tear stains
etched into the shape of memories that sound like the last conversation I had with my grandmother.
My solid, planted stance was almost uprooted
when I got the phone call from one of my closest friends
who had tried to take his own life.
and my super hands are just fine
but I'm mildly afraid of the hands of others
because I've had two different pairs of hands
that wandered the canvas of my body
without my permission
and took certain things that I can't quite name
but I know I can never get them back.


So my balance is a little bit off right now
because I've taken so many blows from recent events
that my head is still spinning.
I'll still try to wear my cape
still try to wrap my fingers around all the sadness that I can
still try to walk like I know where I'm going
try not to fall over from being so worn down.

and I hope that sometime soon
when I hear people remark
it's a bird! no, it's a plane!
I'll shake my head and smile
let them know that I may look like superwoman
I may act like superwoman

but I'm still just
human.

Fast Forward

There are times when I want to be just a few years back in my life.
Not so I could revisit high school, but just so I could appreciate my innocence and naive attitude towards the world.

When I would sit on the floor of my room, surrounded by my dogs, my homework, and whatever music I had become addicted to.
I remember cycling through John Mayer, John McLaughlin, and Jack Johnson in the same year. I understood exactly what they were talking about- and yet I had no idea whatsoever.
But that was the beauty about still being a kid with the responsibility of an almost adult. I had the freedom to make stupid choices but I had enough years of experience to usually figure out not to- usually.

I miss only thinking in terms of then next few weeks.
When I still had a curfew, so staying out extra late was a big deal.
When I spent my thursday nights home sleeping instead of out dancing
When my days were more structured than they are now
When I had to make less decisions for myself

and if I got upset or I decided that I couldn't focus any more, my entire family was just upstairs. One flight of stairs away from the comforting arms of my dad or the constant positivity in my life that is my mother or even the joking attitude in a tall body that's always been my sister.

I miss my pets. I'm only responsible to take care of myself now, and even sometimes I suck at that. I forget to sleep, or eat, or just remember that sometimes I'm bound to screw up.
But a few years ago, the first thing I would do after waking up was taking care of both dogs and both rabbits. I woke up because they were relying on me to get their day started, and they were the happy moments at the end of a long day that I always looked forward to.

It seems like things were simpler, then. My dreams weren't close enough to touch; my ambitions were so far from being realized that I could just sit and wonder if I would ever get to where I thought I was going.
Little did I know that the path I was on would change so much, or that the scenery would look so different than I expected
I've grown a little taller, a little stronger, a little smarter
and sometimes it feels like my life has just been set on fast forward until I got to this moment
but I'm still scared shitless of the future in all of it's grandeur
so I guess that means that part of me is still a kid.
hopefully, part of me always will be.

Dreams

This is for all the kids who ever stared out the window during class,
cause they were caught up in their fantasies.
who ever wondered when they would finally get their chance
their shining moment to burst into bloom
who ever thought that they were meant to be a part of something bigger than themselves
who ever got told that they couldn't achieve the goals they set
and chose not to listen.
for everyone who's been told that they can only reach their dreams
when they're sleeping

I've heard it, too
voices of disbelievers
full of "you can'ts" and "you won'ts" and "you'll never"
but I've been running towards my future for too long now to listen
but you'd tell me I've been sleep walking
and right now you'll have the audacity to tell me
that this poem is just me sleep talking
so you can jabber on and
continue your cheap squawking
but you might wanna stand back
because I'm going to keep rocking

with the badass attitude that I had to earn
from the lessons in life that I had to learn
on how to get a thicker skin
when people try to tear down what's hiding within
I've got this passionate fire
filled with my dreams and fueled by desire
can't be smothered by your disbelief
I'm not sure if you're jealous or if you've just got beef

Because I've heard it all from people like you before
the ones who can't face the challenges in front of them
so they try to save face
and say that they never really wanted it in the first place

but I know that their lies are based in fear of failing
seeing their ships sink instead of sailing
turning their tongues into daggers
cutting down anyone who has a hint of swagger
finding those who follows their heart
tearing their thoughts and egos apart


So to all you wish makers
don't listen to those who settle for less
they're all just fakers

to all the go getters
challenge anyone
who says they can do it better

and to the dream chasers
remember that we make mistakes
that's why we have erasers

and I hope you're catching onto my main theme
that really we're all on the same team
trying to make this world more than what it seems
trying to be the cream of the cream
with eyes that gleam and smiles that beam
we can join together to tear reality at the seams
and start living out our wildest dreams.

Palm Reader

It was a warm day sometime in March
the wind whispered promises of a new spring
and that girl looked at me
like she knew something
that I didn't
told me that she could read my palm.

So I let her take my hand and lead me to her grandmother
who said she could read my heart
through the lines in the pads below my fingertips

so I looked at them and said
you can tell my past, present, and future
just by looking at my palms?

You can see back to when my hands were barely big enough
to grasp my tall father's pinky finger
letting him lead me through the first years of my life
I stumbled behind him
but his footprints were always too big for me to fit into
it took two of my feet to fill his shoes
but I preferred my own anyways
because his didn't light up when he moved his feet.

You can see the way that it felt
to feel my baby bunny curled against my chest for the first time?
the way his fur felt, so silky soft and cold at the tips
that as I intwined my fingers in his ears, I could feel his tiny heart beating softly
and I promised him that we would be friends forever.
That friendship lasted for 7 of my best childhood years
but he continues stay close to me through the rhythm of my own heart.

You can see the way that my fingers stretched to reach an entire octave on the grand piano
the way it felt to finally master one of Beethoven's masterpieces
Then learning how to stretch my hands to cover my face
from the prying eyes of high schoolers who were quick to judge
and slow to understand
coupled with the countless volleyballs I touched
my hands got big enough that I could pick them up with one hand
but the other girls never saw my unique qualities as endearing
they preferred to label me as an outsider and then return to their mind games.

You can see all of that?
and now, you can see all the different things that my hands are tied in?
see how they flow swiftly across the paper to create letters to create words to create thoughts to create ideas to create revolutions to create movements
how they follow the swaying of my hips and the lightness in my feet as I dance across the floor
how they hold delicate growing plants
nurturing them, holding them steady, directing them towards the sun, towards the light

and you also say that you can see my tomorrows?
You can see whose hand I'll be holding when I say "I do"
or how it will feel to touch my own child for the first time
or the reluctance my fingertips will feel to wave goodbye to so many that I hold close
that will greet death like an old friend
all the lives that I will touch
or the ones that will touch mine.

you say you can see my future?
see how the lines in my hands run like rivers
one of wealth, one of love, and one of life
well I can already tell you
that in this life, nothing is for certain
except for love, which I know I'll always have
and as long as I have that, I will consider myself the richest person around

so I thank you for your offer
and i'm sure that your talents are quite impressive
but I don't think you can tell me anything
that I don't already know.

Home

I've got
rubber duckies and bubbles on my teal PJ pants
that i'm still wearing at 1:30 in the afternoon
with a warm laptop on my legs and a storm raging outside
I'm home.

Maybe I'll walk around in the parking lot outside my back gate
and splash through puddles
sing Banana Pancakes
and remembering how I used to zip around the blacktop on my rollerblades
until I took a corner too fast
and limped back inside with asphalt embedded in my palms, bruises on my hip, and tears in my eyes

it took me two whole weeks before i would take that turn again.
I was always cautious of the danger that it held
but i loved speed too much to stay away from it for too long.

so while I'm here
maybe i'll bake chocolate chip cookies
read an old book in my bed
curl up on the yellow leather couch with my dad
and just listen to the rhythm of the rain.

or maybe i'll reminisce in my old room
talk to my bird
whose cockatiel crest looks like my new hairdo
stare out the window into my backyard
that i remember being so much bigger.

where the rabbit cages still sit
only now, they're empty.
wire mesh memories of my childhood best friends
with soft flickering noses pressed under my chin
round brown eyes that watched me carefully
and those long fuzzy ears that i would intertwine between my fingers

they say that home is where the heart is
but as far as I'm concerned
my heart is still right here, in my chest
but my home will always be
that two story house
with big windows in the front and back
and years worth of stories and secrets whispered into the framework
home will always be just a little too far away to drive home on the weekends
home will always be where I stay for the holidays
but at least I know
that home will always be there.

Tribute to Shihan

I want to be in love.
that I'm gonna hold your hand even when it's hot outside and our palms are sweaty
that look at you longer than anyone else because I can't help it
that wearing one of your t shirts when you're gone because it smells like you
kind of love.

That hearing a terrible love song but I turn it up on the radio
walking around with a glow around me
big stupid smile on my face
kind of love

That thinking this is gonna be forever
but being so lost in the moment
kind of love

That waking up next to you and falling back asleep in your arms
that hearing your heartbeat next to mine
that knowing your soft whispered stories are the best lullabies
kind of love

that never wanting to miss a second
that missing you every moment after you walk away
that walking on clouds because i've got wings in my stomach
kind of love

that I want you to meet my parents because I want you to know my history
kind of love

that I don't really mind if you see my embarassing childhood pictures
kind of love

that "oh, that's her?"
kind of love

that I'm gonna call you home because you're where my heart is
kind of love

that I don't feel scared anymore
kind of love

that finally learning how to trust someone
kind of love.

I want to be in love
but mostly
I just want to be
with you.

Something like that

I want to write something that sounds like an acoustic guitar.
Something that's soft and slow, with a simple rhythm behind it
that's played out onto your ears by my agile fingertips
so that the chords I play resonate with your heartstrings
as I pick out the melody that picks at your mind
asks you to stop and take a moment to think.

I want to write something that feels like a warm laptop on your legs.
A gradual gradient of warmth that's so soothing when it's gloomy outside
Something that reminds me of home; something that's an unexpected nice surprise
something that leaves a space that you notice once it's gone.

I want to write something that looks like a sunrise.
Something that you wait for, that you anticipate
knowing that the end result is just a bright sun that's shaped like a round of applause
but it's the colors that the clouds are streaked with
and the shapes that they take
that make the patience worth it.

I want to write something that sounds like a heavy bass line.
Something that surrounds you and resonates in your chest
something that makes you close your eyes and feel what it's like to be alive
To feel what it's like to be possessed by a beat other than your own heart
Something that makes you want to dance
because there's no other way left to express yourself.

I want to write something that looks a rainbow
you know what happened for it to form
but when it's in front of you, you stare at it for a moment
give it its time to shine
because you're not really sure
when it will disappear
or where it ends.

Little Squishy Chimeras of Awesome

I always feel the need to write whenever I start studying.
Like there's a little switch in my mind that lets me ponder many things at one time, and it only turns on when I try to focus on just one thing.
Say- right now.
I have a final tomorrow (AND IT'S NOT EVEN FINALS WEEK YET WHAT IS THIS)
and I've already figured out that there are at LEAST 5 other things that would be so much more amazingly better than studying right now.
Liiiiiike writing.

But not even writing poetry. No, no. Writing a stream of consciousness that is just me rambling via my keyboard so that I am entertained by my procrastination.
If I could produce something worthwhile to read later (which has also been known to happen), I could very easily make and excuse for me to be doing this right now.
But this is just nonsense. That makes sense. (Haha- I can make puns)

I also can focus because there's been something bothering me for about a week now.
Just popping up in my head at random moments
When I'm driving
When I'm walking around campus to dubstep music and acting really epic
When I'm making a delicious quesadilla

I keep thinking about gummi bears.
Gummi bears? Gummy bears? (WHY IS THE LAST VOWEL INTERCHANGEABLE?!)
First of all, where did they come from?
Who came up with the brilliant idea that it would be a good idea to put some semi edible semi solid goo into a semi bear shape and then color it- ta da! candy!
(I know that I could just wikipedia this- but I much prefer being hypothetical)

but think about it. What's the deal with gummy bears???
They have an extremely strange consistency. They don't taste good when they're warm- trust me, I've tried. Even if you heat them up on purpose, something happens to the flavor that makes it seem like they've been sitting in a mini van in the sun for a few hours. Not just a regular car- a mini van.
and they SUCK when they're cold.
Ice cream? Delicious and full of sugary goodness.
gummy bears? Usually delicious and definitely full of sugary goodness.
Ice cream and gummy bears together? DEATH OF YOUR MOLAR TEETH.
The gummy bears no longer even taste good; they become these evil little technicolor rocks that you have to chew through or let them sit in your mouth for 2.37 minutes (rough estimate) until you can get back to eating your delicious ice cream.
Also, I just used a semicolon properly. I love semicolons so much; I could use them every day.
TWICE IN A ROW. GRAMMAR WIN.

Anyways, the thing that I don't understand the most about gummy bears (gummi bears? IS IT AN I OR A Y?!) is the fact that they have a strange counterpart- the gummy worm.
BUT gummy worms are MULTICOLORED.
Who decided that the worms get to be all cool and have ridges on them and have multiple colors/flavors?! (I'm still not convinced that color is directly correlated with flavor. Experimental results are still under analyzation.)
Why can't gummy bears also be little squishy chimeras of awesome?!
I have also just decided that I am now going to call gummy worms "little squishy chimeras of awesome".

But none of this helps with the fact that I should have been studying... but this has been infinitely more entertaining.

One final thought:
Why must it always be SO DAMN NICE OUTSIDE whenever finals roll around?
It's like mother nature just loves mocking college students
"haha, you usually have free time between classes so you could play outside and frolic in the sunshine but too bad it's been so gloomy recently. Oh, what's that? It's finals week? I'VE GOT A POCKET FULL OF SUNSHINE!!!!"
Well I'll tell you what you can do with that pocket full of sunshine, mother nature.....
YOU CAN USE IT TO MAKE ALL THE DAMN GUMMY BEARS EXPLODE SO THAT THEY WILL STOP DISTRACTING ME.

thank you.

My generation

I'm talking about my generation
who grew up playing with legos
because they wanted to know what it was like
to build up something bigger than themselves
who has GPS on their phones
but no idea where they're going
who can raise the roof
but don't know how to raise expectations

I'm talking about my generation
The young girls who will become the mothers of the future
the boys who carry their ambition on strong shoulders
perfectly poised on the precipice of making a difference
cradling our fate in their fingertips
singing it to sleep with linguistic lullabies
promises of tomorrow that are just sweet sounding lies
because we can't go forward
if we don't know what's behind us

I'm talking about my generation
the ones who learn from their own mistakes
but don't take advantage of the lessons of our parents
We should know by now
that victors of brawls over resources only end up with
oppressive guilt, damaged psyches, and trembling bloody hands

I'm talking about my generation,
growing up in the shadow of destruction
that's actually bloodstains in the sand
sending soldiers off to an unknown cause
because digging holes is good for finding oil and for making graves
Where are the marches, the protests, the resounding voice of youths
that know we've got our guns pointed in the wrong direction?

I would talk to my generation,
but I don't think they're listening
the volume on their ipods is too high
blaring out the fact that
my generation wakes up in the morning
to brush their teeth with a bottle of jack
so that the taste of last night's regret is fresh on their tongues.

I'm talking about my generation
who needs to take a physics lesson
to understand how to turn their potential into kinetic energy
how to get this revolutionary ball rolling

I'm talking about my generation
who binges on role models
eating up the images and ideas
that we have supposedly chosen to define success
media men with mass produced metal spoons that have been feeding us since day 1
but we can't get any nourishment from
stick thin models with hollowed out eyes who see the rest of the world as extra calories
and juiced up guidos that waste ink on their skin
don't understand why it's a bad thing that the number of chin ups they can do is higher than their IQ

I'm talking about my generation
who have closed the blinds on their windows to the world
and have become blinded
to all the people that need help
to all the problems that are about to fall into our unsteady hands
to all the facts that tell us that we are killing ourselves slowly

I'm talking about my generation
who's dying for change
but can't find a cause worth dying for
who will never see tomorrow cast in granite
because the future isn't set in stone.
who can look up destiny in the dictionary
only to see that our fate isn't defined

I'm talking about my generation
I'm talking about achieving greatness
about the next leaders
about the impact we will have
I'm talking about today
about right now
about quitting
the apathetic lazy lifestyles that has infected us faster than a disease

I'm talking about our generation
but actions speak louder than words
so i'm taking a stand
right here, in front of you
asking what you're willing to do
asking
how many voices will raise up
how many sparks of passion will blaze up
because the timer's counting down till our days're up
I'm gonna lift the bar until it stays up
to make a better society
enlist in an alternate reality
where we choose empathy over apathy
Change is now. the future is ours.
whatever we decide
we'll make it to be.