poem: what is a woman?

when we were talking, he treated me entirely different from last year, he looked in my eyes and said, "i believe--and i'm sure you do too--", already giving me credit for having the right opinions, the right ideologies; this un-pretty girl who can talk of post-modernism, intersectionality and all the necessary college-activist ideals. but i… Continue reading poem: what is a woman?

poem: river flows in you (three steps for love)

i wrote a manual last november: how to fall in love, three easy steps. first, be a ghost, be silent and secret: your lips so dusty that even coughing cracks a new breath. then wait for a boy to uncork into greying Fall days, his eyes splashing wine, his voice nervous and young; while you,… Continue reading poem: river flows in you (three steps for love)

poem: last November was seeped through with color

sitting, now, on the other side and looking back through the blue-green sheen of November in Love, I am unhinged and wet, the wine running deep rosĂ© over my virgin hands, my soiled head.   he would come to me out of the rain, out of the dark, shaking mythos from the curling damp parts,… Continue reading poem: last November was seeped through with color

poem: what he almost gave me was not his to give

we are not yet dust, we are still holding on, breathing carefully; the solar lights in the club flickeronoff, onoff. I thought you were beautiful once and especially, as you smiled at me more and more, you become like art. Your eyes turned from drained out blue to exotica; you went up in clouds like… Continue reading poem: what he almost gave me was not his to give

poem: sad confession put to good music

i am still loving you carefully and cautiously and finally (finally!) the words are pouring out of me like music. they told me: forget, because he will forget. Do not bother to remember the faires breathing small and quick in the cracks of our lives. do not bother, because they die like moths in the… Continue reading poem: sad confession put to good music

he was like Japanese anime from the 90’s

he was like Japanese anime from the 90's: he made her melancholy in 2019, her knees pressed up against the computer screen, the little people smiling blandly into their porclein coffee-mugs. she was wearing white-blue jeans, her eyelashes were bleached, and the traffic went by slowly and silently: there is a parade of cars and… Continue reading he was like Japanese anime from the 90’s

poem: almost song lyrics. almost.

i burned my tongue on late november last year, we were still together. and now, lonely girls sit under fake blue moons, twisting their lives into small categories: the before and the after. hey, don't think it's romantic just because of the lo-fi coffee sounds. last year, we were bold and defiant: miniature buddhas bounced… Continue reading poem: almost song lyrics. almost.

poem: what do i call this

I guess I don't need to talk to him because I already know everything he would say. I know when he would roll his eyes, and that I would laugh; and I remember the few times I was charming enough to make him laugh; he threw back his head, all of his pretention going up… Continue reading poem: what do i call this

poem: what is not (lost & found)

I am looking for him everywhere but he is not even in my dreams he is scattered over the snow in kicked-up footprints he is the smudges on the windows when I breathe against the glass, watching my loneliness fog into my fingertips, watching him always not appear.   little girl (asked in broken english) why… Continue reading poem: what is not (lost & found)

poem: gods at small tables

she walked past him in a red coat. he was sitting in the hazing that comes in the dawn. his back to the window and the world and his soul in his typing fingers, the innocence in him always stark and fresh. his leg stretched out just so, his headphones taped over his ears, and… Continue reading poem: gods at small tables