Buried In Words
Truthfully, I'd love to give you
A tongue lashing and remind you
Of why we are here
But out of self-consciousness
Knowing you will find it so annoying
Don't call it whining! Whining is for those who
Can't pick themselves up for no actual reason
For sore losers who can't can't
See their treason
I hate it when people keep sayin' we're weaker
Than them for 'complaining' or giving this
Obnoxious 'cry for help'
A cry for help? Like I'd fucking care!
To say it so easy like nobody's there
Especially the person with force-dirtied hair
That you pushed to the ground
Then asked why they cried out in surprise
If you think I'm a whiney little bitch
Then what the hell are you when you bitch about your problems to me?!
Oh sorry... did I get too angry for you?
I tend to do that when people say dumb stuff
Focus On Me
I am a camera
observing everything
through a lens
printing stock photos of
everyday life.
my battery draining from this
selfish photographer
who only wants to
capture beauty, and turn
a blind eye to the ugly
things she deems unworthy.
rushing through her day
snapping scrapbook shots of
passerbys and
never really recording the
important moments.
she memorizes them, so while I
sit idle and sleep after 1 minute
of being forgotten,
her mind is working
furiously planning the next shot
to photoshop into
a happier memory,
editing away my authenticity.
Where anything less than 'beautiful'
Is not worthy of being shared among friends
To the world
A social tragedy that we should keep ourselves hidden
Under this illusion, because you
Have worked so hard to attain this perfection that others are just
Born with!
Ah, but that would be unlady-like of me
Who decided what the hell 'lady-like' is?
Shall I be dainty and forgiving
Willing to endure everyone's careless griefs while
Maintaining a smile?
Is it to be boyish and cast out because I am not 'respectable?'
Smile For Inferiority ext.
Looking in the mirror, I am surprised
By the face that presents itself to me.
When I look in my mind, I see not
The face or name I was given at birth
I do not see Chinese, nor almond eyes
I am snow through and through in my head
No one sees me as white, just yellow skin
With glasses of superiority
But I'm not. I'm just as lame as the next
I judge my own work and marks and never
Pass it on to someone who will disown
My being for faulting naturally
It is expected of me, who is white
Only to herself in her adoptive
Mirror that adapts to mind illusions
That I must be perfect in ever way
Not by family nor conduct, just by how I look
This is how we are taught. Somehow, some way
By genes in my red blood, I should thrive
In math, science, accounting and business
Be a master of every instrument
Piano and violin are not enough
Don't settle for standard, that's failure
Only the top marks are acceptable
​
I live like my age and spend time with friends
Take long walks, take time to inhale fresh air
And I've wasted another good hour
Asians should be diligent, they all say
Get good grades, study, all work and no play
But it takes me some time in the mirror
To realize that I'm that minority
Searching For Myself In Newspaper Clippings
I'm adopted. Big duh
But I guess that means I never had a real identity
You see, being abandoned in a supermarket at only a few months,
Identity was turned into: I was dented into the 't' of a crossroad
I've been told missing children are sometimes in newspapers
So I went on a quest to try and find myself in articles of strangers
I didn't have a real, Chinese identity, so I thought of a plan
To search for myself in ink and become the artwork recognizable to anyone reading
I spent years searching for myself
Through paper clippings
Even pretending that the amber alerts were for me
And that parents I'd never met were searching for their child
Worried and caring, ready to welcome their lost little girl into their arms with tears
And a foreign language of joy
But I'm just pulling your leg
I was abandoned, so even if it's by law, they've probably long forgotten about me
As I never remembered them
But it begged the question to my identity
So I challenged myself to put another 'dent' to the 't' that
I-dentity was oblivious to
What could I know about identity?
We use that word a lot, it seems, but there's mixed opinions on definition
It's all quite daunting, I think
But I was determined to find myself printed in ink, and no
Kink in the road would stop me
When the birds of my heart migrated for the winter
They became injured
And like your instincts told you
You left behind a few members of your kind to support us
The rest would fly away and ahead
In this world, they'd never meet again
But would join another flock
The birds may pass each other
Though that flock will never feel the same
Just as you migrated away from me
You have changed; missing the parts that you so gladly lent me
Leaving grounded feathers for me to try and make fly
Using all my air to blow them back into the breeze and hope
That they would reach you
But fallen feathers will never reach you from across this continent
Even though we pass right by each other
The birds come here every spring
I still do not know what color sky blue is, for it was your eyes that I can no longer find the focus of
Migration
I feel like you
saw me when I wasn't looking
and surprised
my shadow.
Saying I was more than
a shell,
I shouldn't pull into
shelter.
It's a friendly world, you'd say
but I don't know how you could be so deceitful,
merrily off in your world where I
don't exist.
I am forgotten in
the den of time
that ticked away until the hour
til the minute, til the second
and you returned to feast on my trust.
Now
I feel like you don't even know
I'm here, and you
devour my energy
in conversations, when I smile at you.
But you merely gloat
over a
flawless
catch.
Snarls become whispers
that shut out my name
and savor
new prey,
but I don't exist
to any of their cruel senses.
Loneliness is so many parts watching your back
fade away and
some parts echo of
footsteps taken & words exchanged,
where you lured
in my sense of fear
then sunk your jaws
into my insecurities.
Prey like me moves under
the cover of night,
skittering into quiet
cities where they can
disappear
from civilization, to
forests of buildings, away from the
sound of hungry predators,
who soon lose the scent and
slink away into the dark for
another round.
I do my own sort of hunting
scavenging for acknowledgment in
trash cans because I am
starving
for someone to see me as
more than just another
body to fill space.
Don't tell me I
am scented roadkill
for some other hunter
to sniff out,
when they feel the same
as my picked flesh
rots
from the pain you've
wrought
Predators cannot track me.
Scavengers no longer see
the space I take up
because atoms are nearly made of nothing.
Hunting For Existence
To Be Said
There is a lot to be said
about those who dare to dream,
about those who will wander,
and the ones never seen.
Those whose flames are
candles in the dark,
lighting the way with
burning wax and
ignited souls.
Those who will take the world
at their feet
when all seems lost,
and we are the
mere passersby...
counting the cars that
pass by.
The car goes round,
and the cargo fills with
another round of
those pretty lights,
those who loved,
those whose love
was never understood,
but falsely returned.
There is a lot to be said about
those who fear the dark,
because they see a stolen sun
buried deep in our hearts.
Or maybe we cried
MONSTER
when all there was, was an
angel.
We taught them how not to smile
and fear their own halo.
For even in fear
they might have felt safer
where the torches did not
seek their eyes
seek to
light the fires
and condemn them
to the farthest place from
home.
There
is a lot to say about
the ghost.
A bodiless onlooker
that once took up space,
was once a person,
once had a reflection in the mirror.
There is a lot to say about those
who have been forgotten.
Too quiet that they
have faded into the
background noise
in the backs of classrooms,
the backs of minds,
and facing the backs
of those they once called friends.
There is a lot to say about
the people we pass,
that we
never seem to know.
And as I stare into myself,
wondering how I've missed
seeing them all,
I wonder if I am any
part of them,
for maybe the only
reason I can notice myself,
is because they are,
instead, a part of me.
I Close My Eyes
and see worlds and lights
stretching along a vast expanse
that none but I can see.
That I cannot explain,
that an artist could never paint.
Where expression is a secret
we cannot unlock,
for our minds would explode
in awe.
Our guns would become the
idea that everything is nothing
and nothing exists as anything.
​
When I close my eyes,
I meet people who will never exist,
I meet the dead,
I meet the yet to be.
Yet I don't know what I am meant to be.
When this world is covered in blood
and meadows of flowers and nothing else,
and an ugliness we could call beauty
I close my eyes
and see everything that is and is not
the universe, but
everything else that can only be seen
through sightless eyes.
I see we only played last night.
Even for you, it has been
decades since
you last saw my photo.
A dusty thing, laid next to
my old grave.
When you close your eyes,
do you, too, see me at all
as I was young, so long ago?
Missing You
At 12:28am, I texted to him:
Hey, this text may seem pointless but I want to see you.
I don't know what we'd say or what we'll do.
I just want to see you. Is that okay?
I sent it, and laughed at myself.
What kind of validation could I look for from him if not from myself?
I texted "I'm on the fence about whether I'll regret that in the morning :)"
Maybe I miss you too much
Or I'm feeling lonely and melancholy
Maybe I do not miss you enough
And am making up for it
By thinking of you out of the blue
Perhaps in dreams you tugged at
My heartstrings and set
My field of dreams and nightmares
Alight with your blazing figure
So raw and powerful
The crushing feeling of your embrace
Wraps itself around me
Choking air out of my body
While offering tender love & care
And warmth that used to thaw me
Now, just that simple feeling is
Enough to create a tsunami
Of love we said to each other
Only as brother and sister
Though we were not by blood.
But by stronger bonds than fish wire
I guess that's why I'm still floundering
Thinking of you on the dock of
Memories long forgotten
And festering in the sun alongside me
Gasping for water as you finally
Come down for your vacation
To revive me and toss me back into
The pond. To swim away for another
Year where I'll be fished up again
Left on the docks with the worms
With loud shouts ringing in my ears
As I was trying hard to disappear
Winter Trek
Wind grew fierce and buffeted her face
The camera shaking violently
Sound of the gusts like standing under a waterfall
Loud and disturbing as her breathing
Became a shallow tide of trying to remain silent
Fingers freezing and senses becoming numb
She paused to server the area
In this tundra, where nothing but snow was visible
But where the sky connected everything
The snow fell in light sheets
Wrapping its blanket and coating the land
Pressing on, she watched as her friends tread away
She watched as their backpacks drew the distance
The camera wavered in her exhaustion
Seeming to hurtle to the ground
Weariness took her body and she closed her eyes
The camera’s blinking red light tried to wake her
But it could also say nothing, only record the fading body
Acting as a second eye, it watched as they turned to check on her
Captured the shuffling of their feet to the freezing body
Grabbed roughly and brought along, the camera swung, still recording
Still again as it opened its eyes, becoming the girl’s sight again
In a warm, familiar hall as they brought her through
Placing both girl and camera on the bench, heat seeped around them
Coming to, the first thing she saw was the lens, staring back at her
“Did you save me?” she asked in delirium. She reached out to end the video
And closed off its sight from the result of the raging blizzard
Untitled​
Personal Opinion
A personal opinion of the standards of this life, you
Give me a reason to matter, live like
Fires dousing water, burn into air, take back
Everything you felt in that moment of strife
No, I don't know what we've done
To melt out flesh to dew, or how and why we
Came so far to spin backwards.
Walking, running, twirling too fast
For the air of our dreams to keep up
Control. What we could not. Why
Should I, who is content with my being
Allow such a tragedy to strike the roots
Of the soul? I don't know, can't voice, can't
Think for you but for myself , find solace in the
Whistle and rustle of fallen leaves among shadows
The Girl
Although she may look beautiful,
she's a monster if you
make her upset.
Because when she
is on fire,
she looks truly alive.
Branded with life
and a spark of ferocity
unmatched by anyone.
There are few things
that light her soul,
but maybe because
she has seen so many towns
burn to cinders,
and other's ashes cool
too quickly, she
is careful
about her explosions.
Raining pyres, torching coals,
she is
easy to make angry.
But that is beautiful
because she
chases the oxygen
of the worthy, to make
shields
of the flames.
To the Adults Who Say They Know Better
the thing that keeps me up late at night
is not sleeping and wondering why such sleep does
not come to me easily. Though I assume
it's because I'm facing the crushing weight of knowing I
will someday die, and it this point of life,
I still have a lot I want to do.
Therefore, I lie awake and use up time because I want to
accomplish even menial things, for when I sleep I lose that time. It's
an existential crisis where I have to consider
that I will not experience anything until much later in life where I
might have money, but no capacity to travel or drink in my surroundings.
What Is A Fighter
With your blinding smile,
strong mind,
strong spirit,
fighting disease like it was nothing,
you seemed invincible
and I nearly forgot that you
aren't.
So as you now lie
eyes closed,
lips straight,
stomach still,
I am reminded that you
are more mortal than me.
You don't have to be
a warrior.
You hated the word
"warrior."
But as I chanted your name
and others worshiped you,
some last-ditch effort to be recognized
snapped and braced itself.
You ran with it,
that wretched title,
in defiance of me,
in defiance of us,
so we could see that
you were never
a warrior.
I just never realized it...
until you lay still
in my arms,
in a peaceful little town
that has never known war.
And neither have you.
To the adults who say they know better,
brace yourselves.
I am unapologetic for my opinion
after seeing so many different populations
get screwed by your high-horse thinking.
So if you can't handle anything less than comfort,
I'd suggest fluffing a lot of pillows
and getting deep into your comfort zone.
I was in an arts high school,
and our precious repertoire courses were stripped from us
without anyone having a say.
It was to accommodate a law that
"every child has a right to take a credit course."
To the adults who say they know better,
maybe you could answer the questions that
our board chair could not.
"What does the law have to do with anything?"
I understand every child has a right to get a credit.
Sure. But if you're in choir, or band, or a dance group,
if you're not there and the whole routine is screwed because of your
drop-in habits,
you shouldn't have registered in the first place.
You have no right to kick up a fuss.
The world isn't like school, so you'd better learn how to function in it.
They tried to take school choirs out of churches, and nearly succeeded.
I thought choirs started in the church,
but maybe you know better.
We live our majors in the arts.
Every minute, every day of dedication to our craft
and it's gone in a single complaint.
The student body was up in arms, but
our voices never matter.
We are just lost in the hallway chatter
of authorities that do not see our raised hands.
You trained us to be polite and to "not speak when
another person in speaking."
Does just talking over us because you're "above the rules" seem just?
Ah, perhaps, if you think of it politically.
But since when is children's education
just a throwing pebble in your chalk-drawn,
hop-scotch system? How long has it been like this?
You say you've taken an
educated guess,
but you haven't shown your work.
You haven't studied or tried to
learn about the problem.
It doesn't seem like you ever
passed that course in "empathy,"
and you lost a few marks in
"compassion."
Maybe you missed a few classes
in "understanding and listening"
and you definitely failed "trust."
I hate that you tell me
"You're too young to understand"
when you don't even try to.
You make decisions "because you can."
I'm young, definitely.
I haven't lived as long, but by pointing out the obvious,
you're just dodging questions,
the same way elementary school children
dodge dodgeballs in gym class.
It's kind of like training to dodge the bullies
that you refuse to do anything about
until it's too late.
Where did you get so much power anyway?
How come you get to be so entitled,
up on your chair of authority?
Is it the proof that you passed uni or college
with a degree and diploma?
I'm not sorry for accusing you, because I don't see
any "Certification of People Skills" on your office wall,
or a "Tolerance License."
Speaking of tolerance, how
do you expect us to forgive your mistakes
if you never forgive ours?
What even qualifies as a mistake to you?
Is it a protest that became more like a riot?
Then sorry for that.
But when you call the assault and shooting of hundreds of
innocent black men and mentally ill people,
the destruction of our planet,
and the cultural genocide of First Nations peoples
"just a mistake,"
there's no way in hell you are being forgiven.
I love how you use "just" in your statements.
Like, "Sorry we just shot someone."
"Another girl under age 18 just went missing."
The accused was just acquitted. It ain't no big deal."
Realize that the word "just"
is the first part of "justice,"
but I see no justice in what you reap from suffering.
You preach about acceptance, but
won't go near a religious site that's just been blown up.
Hell, the people who were directly affected,
in spite of fear and continued death threats,
go back
to pray for the dead.
But you? You sit away from the horror behind non-affiliated
tv screens for nightly news to repeat verses and statistics.
When did "honoring lost life"
become 'choice' candle vigils and forgotten the next day
or week, or month?
To the adults who say they know better,
would you agree with this statement?
"Most people aren't even remembered after a year."
But we love glorifying criminals.
Yes, every one of us. You, me, the news, society.
We talk about how horrible they are,
publish their faces, speak their names
like holy grails in a world where
I see homeless people night and day,
beggars at Starbucks, MacDonalds, I could go on.
Dinner talks and friendly get-togethers always drift to the subject
as we perpetuate those who should have died
from our memories, just like how we forget all the
trafficked women and children in the sex trade.
To the adults who say they know better,
can you find answers to everything
I have asked you?
I Don't Understand​
I was reading a pamphlet about animal cruelty
in factory farms.
Learned how they kill animals.
Learned how they "raise" animals.
I don't understand
how we devolved into such
filthy cruelty.
I don't understand why
we torture animals.
I don't understand
how we could say
that the way they suffer
is okay.
The taste of veggies are bitter.
I won't be going veggie or vegan
anytime soon.
But I don't understand why
we resort to such extreme executions.
Scalding water, shot in the head,
wild diseases, tiny cages, cut throats.
I was faced with a dull sorrow,
a dilemma of questions that
no one will give me the answer to.
Why is it okay to do this to animals?
Have we no humane ways of killing?
I don't even know if eating meat
is natural,
but the way we do it
is barbaric.
And we say we have evolved.
I don't understand that.
I'm nearly 18,
and I have never understood humans' cruelty
to the ones they never asked.
If humans were actually smart,
we wouldn't be doing this.
So I don't understand why
we still are.
If murder is punishable by law,
then we have committed
millions of unforgivable felonies.
And I don't understand why we are
so often acquitted.
Erosion
There's a lot of erosion
on roads, sidewalks, our hearts.
Since when did poverty
sprout between cracks
more than flowers?
I'd love to see a garden
of riches and all happiness.
I'd love to water it,
and prune it,
feed it nutrients of gold.
But it seems the air of our wallets
is made of pesticides.
We kill off the beautiful ones
and can only see the rest
as weeds.
Can never photosynthesize
enough to reveal their
true colors.
I often wonder why road reparation
takes so damn long.
I'm reminded it's because people keep
driving over them, trampling
the crystal progress
and drive them
over the edge.
Since when did
"being poor,"
"being homeless,"
being alone.
since when did it become as normal
as the cracks in the sidewalk?
Basics
I am so exotically basic
In the way that I
Say I am a hopeless romantic
Yet never lose hope,
And romanticize all the beauty
That will befall me from the sky.
I enjoy spending seconds
In basic silence, even though
Everyone around us speaks of
Complexities.
I am so simple; the little things
Are precious to me.
You are a wonderful mystery
That I do not seek to solve,
For that would extinguish my
Reality.
I love when we may match our smiles
And harmonize our laughs,
And in such a simple fashion,
Fashion ourselves into
Peaceful oblivion
In the cloth of transparency.
We are too distant to connect
Even when you sit in front of me
And I can feel your eyes
On the other side of the world.
When you call I am transported to
A white space of searchlights,
Where you are the only one in sight
But my eyes are sealed shut.
Our lips are sewn, but the seeds
Of hearing are sown, and I can follow
Through deafness, the vibrations
Of your hummingbird song.
As faded background visions
Drag us back to life's requirements,
I find I am basic again.
There is no magic in looking around,
And gazing at people's backs,
I can no longer see sacred scriptures.
Your name is no longer sweet nectar,
But merely a sound I create
That you never reciprocate.
We are simple and only
Basic needs can be followed,
So I'll sit in simple silence
As I realize you left long ago.
I was only dreaming of your love.
2 Minutes
2 minutes, and I'll see you. I'm looking forward to it. We haven't spoken in a while. I hope you still think kindly of me.
2 minutes, and the wind rushes by me. It signals your arrival. I barely recognize you walking toward me. You've changed, so have I.
​
In another 2 more minutes, we'll be glad to see each other. Wow, are you taller than me? How did that happen? That's kind of funny.
In another 2 minutes, we'll be talking and laughing at each other. It's like we never parted. You tell me about your life, how you've been.
After 2 minutes, we embrace at last. It's been too long since I've felt your touch. Your hug is warm and comforting.
After 2 minutes, we are separated again. You look at me and grin. It's an expression I've missed.
​
What is worth 2 minutes? It's such a short time to see you. Maybe if the sun wouldn't set so early. Maybe if I stopped coughing. I wish I were warm.
What is worth 2 minutes? It's such a long time. Neither of us wants to let go. But in such small time, we must continue. I feel cold suddenly.
​
For the next 2 minutes, you tell me stories. I listen well to each one, for I love them. You speak clearly. It soothes me.
For the next 2 minutes, we are silent. Only thoughts pass between us. It is the unspoken lie in the room.
​
In another 2 minutes, you'll apologize. It is hasty, but I don't blame you. The situation has been made awkward.
In another 2 minutes, I tell you I've missed you. I love you. How much those words are stuck in my throat! I force them out straight.
​
The clock says 2 minutes, you gape in awe. A silly reaction, and I tease you for it, embarrassed. I'm glad I was able to tell you.
The clock says 2 minutes, I miss moments like this. Where you and I can stare at each other for ages. It is a very calming gaze. I can barely control my heart.
In another 2 minutes, I'll be gone. We'll both be sad again, but it's okay. We'll be able to meet again, maybe. I wonder how long this time.
In another 2 minutes, you'll say goodbye. Then you'll go home, and I'll be alright.
​
In the last 2 minutes, I close my eyes. I think of you, of course, and smile.
The Talking House
I have conversations with the living room.
It just seems to 'get' me, you know?"
When I cry, the desk is a nice support partner.
There are so many familiar things here that I
Don't know what to do with when you're gone
I found myself saying goodbye to the house like always,
But you weren't in it.
I also walked our old routes,Bout you weren't beside me.
The house told me to say "hi."
I miss you.
Sometimes it feels like a ghost is watching me.
I wonder if it's you.
I often hear about haunted houses,
And frankly, I was terrified,
Albeit skeptical and curious.
But recently, you absence has felt like a haunting, itself.
Supposedly, haunted houses emit screams or cries,
To be left undisrrubed.
But not you, not this pace. This house comforts me,
Doesn't try to scare me.
Instead, it welcomes me back, asks how my day was,
And always tells me that you say "hi."
Movement
There are some days where
It's a struggle to drag my bones
Out of bed.
There are days that feel like a struggle
The minute I open my eyes.
Then there are days when I feel like I'm the struggle,
And people have to live with my
Semi-smiles, and halfhearted interest.
I don't mean to be like this.
I wake up only partway.
It's been hard to smile lately,
But I don't enjoy worrying others.
Best be considerate to them,
And keep my selfishness inside.
There are days that you will
Feel like waking up is a struggle.
You may feel like you are
The struggle.
Many people bottle it up,
But that kills quickly.
So remember, no matter what,
As long as you are alive,
Your body is in movement.
Always,
No matter what you think.
So believe in that much.
It's enough to crawl your way through
Enduring the pain and numbness,
When you are aware of your own
Breathing.