not how i imagined crossing the bar

Do you remember when I climbed on top of your church?
The shingles were slippery from the wailing gales of rain
and the insistent dripping of alcohol from now empty bottles
it was almost cathartic, as if there was some hope for redemption

Do you remember what it was like
when my life slipped through your arms?
I forgot that I never trusted anyone
when for a moment, everything was safe and warm
and you told me everything would be fine if I just let go

I was so safe on the rooftops of the world
and so sure I would be saved even if I fell
but I fell alone.

Funny how I was told that salvation
is about a personal relationship with you,
but perhaps it was just that I was really fucking wasted.
Turns out the shipwreck of a life I was in
was caused by the lack of a pilot

The bright sunset and evenin' star
calling out for me to embrace it
must have been the same one those wise men saw,
although I am told that they were ambulance lights

And believe me when I say I put up a fight
Although I don't find much solace in the fact
that I ended up with a cross right through my midsection
(talk about poetic justice)

I am sure the church got a huge kick out of that
when they started their early morning services.

(Tennyson sure lied about how peaceful
this shit is supposed to be.)

I justify my screams by the fact that I can no longer hear myself
over the blaring shrieks of crashing waves

I almost feel alive
clawing through memories and regrets and spite,
and coldness and desolation
and crystal clear replays over and over of my life

and I hope you feel it every time
hurricane gales hit me in my face down here,
I hope you feel the salt caressing my face as I float away,
drifting every way but gently,

and I hope you miss me,
and I hope you cry.


They don't let you forget anything here.

whitewater rafting in your heart

I am dying to hurl every last word in my system out into the world to prove that I am smarter than I actually am,
and I want to blow you away with my intellect, diction, and syntax in this poem, but I know it's not going to work.

You're smarter than that,
and not so easily swept away-
which sends me down a torrential river
with orange and tan and streaky gold canyons
and white clouds of water rushing past my sides
and attacking my heart and soul,
the way that a razorblade cuts perfectly
into your skin-
and the water's rushing in the boat,
because I didn't take care to check
if the bottom had holes in it;
I'm sinking. Lord, someone save me.
The sun's right up above me, white hot and
glaring down and pushing me forward
despite the cries echoing.
The canyons are tall, and steep, and they glisten
with the sunshine's ferocity
and the water's edge.
Howard Roark would have stood at the edge
without a second thought,
and sometimes I wish I had the courage to
throw my head back and laugh at the world too,
but we aren't in reality; I am still,
the boat is still! I'm bloody fucking sinking
into the tide of salt and water and my angst, and fears
and I'm not sure if I'm more scared to
swim out into the canyon wall or hit the bottom
of the river, down, down, down into the jagged edges
of the rocks and holes here in our indeterminate future,
because it's almost
over.

---

This isn't poetry, it's rambling
with eloquent words that don't fit,
like the little girl in front
of the dressing room mirror,
trying on her grandmother's clothes
with shoes too big, and lipstick nothing but
a red smear across her face,
and a huge fedora and a big purple hat,
and she's content with it, and
so am I, if this gets my point across.

I don't care if you'll never make sense
of this, or anything that I ever do,
because these things aren't meant to be analyzed;
you're right, but please ...
don't go back on your words and
the things you mean but don't say, and
the things you say but don't mean.

Before this light in this life
is blown out, and the candle fades
and becomes a clump of wax and ashes,
deformed and molded into the cracks
of the mahogany table, that's varnished
and shines with a ethereal light,
let's remember that sometimes, we don't
want to see the candle hit the bottom
of the table, because if we did,
we'd go up in flames

and it makes me think of the way
that the sun hits your face, when
we are walking together and the breeze
lifts up our spirits
and flies away, and ... I almost feel free;
not constrained anymore by these earthly means.
You're standing on the sidewalk, and I'm
working my shoe on the edge of the curb-
I might as well bite it;
this could be over for all we know.

It hurts to not just reach out and
hold you 'til the sun don't shine anymore,
and we're just two frozen statues standing
on the side of the road,
but I'm afraid sometimes, that if I squeeze you
too tightly, for too long-if at all
I'm scared you'll break or run away,
and I can't determine which is worse,
to lose you, or to destroy you.

This is holding sand in my fist- loving you is,
because it slips between my fingers
and I can't try to catch it,
the more my other hand reaches out,
the more sand falls down and
disintegrates into ash,
and if I close my hand too tightly,
it-you'll- run away
and playing this game with you,
is like trying to solve a Rubik’s cube,
for every move I make
that builds up something new,
you always come up and brighten my day,
and tear down another wall.

This is fact, not fiction.

you're that door that I never opened

WHY DON'T YOU JUST GO
AND FUCK YOUR REAL GIRLFRIEND.
but not really

not really like I ever needed you in my life,
so get out

Not really.


Not really,
God, please don't go,
I didn't mean that,
don't you dare start walking out
that door
god, please don't start locking
yourself away from me
the key is turning
and my head is spinning
that golden piece of metal
just shut you out
shut me out
of my daydreams
now it's just this nightmare
fashioned out of antique
hand-me-downs
it's almost nostalgic when I think of
how my head crashed against the window
how shattered glass cradled my neck
like a baby
and my screams echoed like the
last call whistles at the station
my train is leaving
on railroads shoddily built,
but my ticket isn't good for two

so I'll just go on and ride alone

but God, please don't go ...
I need you in my life,
please stop turning away
I'll hang onto your
every last word
like that one time I clung to your sleeve
and refused to let go until you kissed me

you never did


and and and
god please don't go
I'm shouting at you through my door
this stainless steel commodity
or was it just a commode
you flushed me out of your life
and I was left without one
see you're a part of me
darlin'
the same way that the
scars you cut in my thighs
are part of me
those four letter love notes
you wrote screaming
at the top of your lungs
are part of me

cause honey
we're like fire and ice

I can't melt without your touch
and every time I see you again
I self destruct
until you turn away
and it's cold
and I'm cold
and we're both lying
next to each other

but I hope you're happy
that we finally fucked
our fluids don't belong together
my thighs are protestin'
and now I'm achin' inside
my body was collateral damage
in the war between you and your self esteem
another casualty you turned into a
statistic in an attempt to boost your self worth

and I told you once
I told you so many times
you're not the one for me
see honey, I don't love you
cause putting out just to see the
light in your eyes one last time is silly
begging you to stay one more night
is beneath my standards
and I want to keep what little self esteem
I have left


that was just a lie
but you ... you promised,

yet she's on her knees
and you're screaming at me

and you have any idea
how much I died inside
when I walked through that door

and you told me to get the fuck out

John's Poem

If I had to quantify
the different ways that I
love you,

I'd first have to qualify
the way that we kiss;

the stars sparkling in the sky
couldn't match the electricity
as our worlds collide
through our lips,
secretly enjoying each other's
irepressible fluidity,
secrets spoken in a tongue
no one can decipher
except for us

and if I had to number
the different ways
that I adore your presence

Iíd have to think about
the way we embrace,
Our touch conveying a sense
of belonging
Not to the world, but just to us
secret codes exchanged
through exchanges of clandestine glances
when we think that the other
isn't looking

now, if I had to personify
the way your hands grasp mine so gently,
blowing through the openings
in my fingers
like a summer breeze
through careless tree leaves,
whispering gently
to meet the roots of our serenity
never forgetting to linger
softly, brushing past my arms
into the angelic crevasses,
where song bursts forth
as you touch my cheek
to explain what words can never cover;
to be able to express how much you love me

internment for your mind

Let me spin you a tale of untold discrimination
That happens daily before my eyes
But is sanctioned by the American nation in your search for
Truth and justice for all, positioning yourself as the savior of
“THE REST OF THE WORLD”
the rest of us minorities are enclosed in a box we can't get out of,
because Asian people, are smart, quiet, and docile

No
I am yellow, and I will tell you
more than enough reasons, why thinking in "yellow" is wrong,
and why everything you've ever thought about me,
about the Asians and slant eyes and Chinese, is WRONG

and I'll lay it down quick in your mind,
so follow this yellow brick road of assumptions,
about me, my ethnicity, the very idea
that having Eastern ancestry MUST mean
I got me some 4.0 GPA and parents
that make me play piano-
that I am something not capable of free thought and free will

Why is it that it’s my genes, and not my own ABILITY
to surpass your mental capacity,
it’s because I am smart, NOT because I’m A-Z-N

So don’t tell me it’s okay it’s acceptance in America
When you take my culture and commodify it for suburban malls
My people objectified through images of geishas and erotic submission
Asian women in the media as a sexual representation
of the exotic foreign industry of human trafficking
Silk bound feet breaking out this time around because this asian woman’s had enough of this

Don’t give me your bullshit about cultural integration
when you stereotype the way I speak and the way I am for marketing purposes
Please explain to me why kimonos are sold next to images of Chinese calligraphy,
why people ask me where I’m from in an attempt to get me to speak a generic “Asianese”

In your search for the static identity of a minority to represent commodified diversity
All of our cultures become one size fit all for our continent
ready made instant noodle gratification for consumer America;
for those of you too lazy to learn what it’s really like

Why you so shocked when I say I’m from America-
why am I perpetually foreign?
Please explain to me why the successful Asian actors
are the ones that are typecasted as bad English speakers and kung fu masters

Don’t tell me that the Asian stereotype’s a positive one
Last time Asian Americans were perpetually foreign,
Japanese internment happened

So don’t tell me to be civilized
With your civil lies talking about freedom,
when you remain free, but dumb-

Don’t you DARE tell me that I’ve got it good
When you drive Asian stereotypes into my mind like we're in Hong Kong
Run down by YOUR ideals of a perfect Asian American,
full of predictable diversity,
where there's a little bit of everything,
but nothing out of the ordinary,
STEREOTYPICAL MINORITIES
This is institutionalized racism.

Inkstains on my heart

I'm going to spill out and regurgitate every last thought I've had of you in the last twenty four hours, from every mark you've left on my skin, every strain in my heart, every stain in my mind, to this ink and pen scratching into this paper, bleeding into the fibers, and staining it forever.

I'm writing my life story in pencil, just to stay safe,
and I've written your name a hundred times over, a hundred different ways,
and I figure it's all right- it's graphite, it'll erase
… but it still leaves a stain, a scar.
I'll press down even harder, and maybe
if I wear away the fibers enough, you'll finally go away,
but then I realize that I wrote so hard,
your name is engraved,
engrained into the cracks of the wooden desk,
reflecting upon itself-
a dull, throbbing pain against the
light bouncing off of the varnish,
into my eyes, blinding me,
and forcing me to smile.

Every time I think of you.

I hate half Asians.

I hate half Asians.
Now before you jump to conclusions,
Gasping in horror, a BLANKET RACIST
One who wants racial purity,
Look at that tiny girl on the podium
An ASIAN NAZI

Let me justify and explain
This conundrum.

Half Asians carry in their physical features
The burdens that EVERY “Asian American” carries,
Embodied in their HALF-slanted eyes
(we full breeds use eyelash glue to give ours the double lids)
Is the acknowledgment
That they belong to every culture,
And no culture, a combination that results
In the decapitation of their identity

Lunch boxes packed with mac and cheese
Eaten with chopsticks
Brown colored hair

“where you from china doll
Ni hao ma
Oh right
You’re not Chinese
YOU’RE A HALFIE”
Disconnected from identities
Wanting to sceam
“I’M NOT FAKE
I’M JUST THE PHYSICAL VERSION
OF THE ASIAN AMERICAN”
… the best of both worlds
Or maybe just one that doesn’t have roots

Trying to find meaning
Shunned by true “Asians”
Not white or black or brown or yellow
With no one to run to
No cultural connections
Maybe speak flawless English
but strangers in new yawk speakin’ slowly to them
maybe speak perfect mandarin
but perpetual foreigner to the Chinese
the yellow mulatto
shamed out of their heritage

you are not one or both,
but neither …
and that is why I hate being half-Asian,
half “American.”

an objection to mass media's portrayal of love

I decided not to slam how I feel about you,
for fear of tainted words marring the meaning
of these perfect emotions,
the way that an oil spill sinks into the ocean slowly,
poisoning it and congealing over everything like an infected scab,
taking no prisoners
and smothering everything with its grotesque black sheen.

And maybe I’m too scared of the fact that this "love" inside of me,
this "love" that I perceive
is now a word tossed around carelessly and treated like trash
in a society where marriage is a quick fix,
and the ceremony a drive-through,
Where 'I love you' means 'please screw me'
and commitment is gone.

And maybe I’m too afraid that if I said, "I'd do anything for you,"
this reality would warp my words.
in a world where morality has become arbitrary
in the 6 o'clock news and MTV
because there is none,
coz' we're over-censored
and not
all at the same time,
in a world where freedom of speech is the excuse for the inability to think.

And maybe I’m too shy for fear that abstinence means
'I'm a prude'
and sex means
'I'm a whore'
where your love life is a scantron
checked
'Slut
Virgin
or
Invisible'.

And maybe I’m terrified that I'm in
too far
too quick
too deep
in a world that is a parody of a soap opera;
with everything overstated and underplayed at the same time,
turned into statistics.
Religions gone to waste because the new mass is the television set
and our golden calf the media that turns fiction into truth
and entertainment into a news source.

And maybe it’s because in our Brave New World
we're disposable--
blink and be discarded;
dropped like a forgotten childhood toy,
trashed like a styrofoam cup--
disregarded in this world where promises break like frail porcelain dolls
and words are meaningless and forgettable.

But most of all,
I decided not to slam how I feel about you
out of respect for you
because in this world where the media is our soma;
where the telescreen has an audience that isn't watched by Big Brother,
but rather,
chooses to watch him,
I know
somewhere,
somehow,
some ONE
must
know better.

Someone like
you.

drafts

You are worse than any writer’s block that I’ve ever encountered;


My god!
You're God?
Your goddess,
That ethereal creature spun of wispy crystal and shimmering light,


That radiance, soft edges, jagged spikes-


Squint your eyes


Let your imagination take over


To glance at this full figured, hot blooded beauty ensures only blindness


The epitomy of clichés, because after all,


There really can be too much of a good thing.



I’m anxious


And struggling to find words that will fit this perception I have of you


This grotesque creation in my mind that you’ve become


The sonnet mutating into free verse with no structure


I can’t predict you- and I hate that


Screaming behind your back


DETEST AND LOATHE AND ENVY AND SPITE


If only because I can never have you



You refuse to answer me,


Evading every word I speak


My use of diction tone syntax imagery transforming into my defeat


There is no way around you except for what simply is,


Refusing to conform to my poetic vices, 


So I bottle these words


Up


Carefully or they may loosen the hold you have on my heart



Eloping with unconventional grammatical structure, 

Because really, who gives a fuck about an oxford comma?

You know my puppy dog stare 


Because I can’t see anything but you when you’re around me


And I’m in your arms


Your fingers resting lightly on my hipbones


Anatomically perfect
Catatonic


Can you even begin to realize what it’s like to be so speechless?


Hurling your entire body out into the world,


But missing the target?



Do you know how it feels when poetry throws you over its shoulders?


When it’s got you pinned up against a wall working you so well


It hurts


And you’re aching in every muscle, 


Begging it to stop, but so afraid of it pulling out


Because you might lose the magic in your verses


Asking you to take a hit
You know you can’t


Recover


From