In understanding myself

If there’s anything I’ve learned
In the last 3 hours, it’s that
I’m impetuous
And inconsiderate.
I am selfish.


Water Tank

taken from

take me some place else where the water runs
deep in the woods and where
we’re laughing by the crackling fire
our arms close to electric
where our footsteps hide beneath
the sighs of the forest

take me some place where we can run
barefoot on hot sand
and watch it pass through our toes
pass through our fingers watch
the ocean take it from its place
only to return it on our breath

your words echo under the moonlight
and I am standing by the water tank
of my dingy home
like when I do
overlooking the houses weaved within trees
the expanse terrifies me


Persons and Things


When your brown eyes
Pierced through mine and
Your words danced on my ears and
Your fingers licked my skin
I tried to breathe evenly
But the hairs on my nape stood up
As I tiptoed to meet your face
With conviction I said
“You know I think we’ve met before”
and I let it linger
I curled my hands into fists
Even bit the insides of my cheeks
But you never asked me why
You with the stupid eyes and
That stupid grin and
Those clumsy hands
You never asked me why

Day by day I’m learning
To be a better person
That you weren’t the only one and
Life keeps on


Even though your smile
Could only set sail a few ships
It sure did sink mine

And now I’m marooned in this lonely island
With nothing but my shadow to keep me company
I’m learning each day
That the footprints on the sand are mine
That the trees are just trees
And the sky is bluer here than the city’s

Yet at dawn
I still raise my hands and scream
“Who’s there?”
And at nights I still remember your godforsaken face
And wonder what made me to decide
To sail in the first place



I shouted, yes, on top of the yellow bus
The dusk approaching
Pretending I was some person
Behind the smoke-belching crowd

You screamed

I tiptoed, thinking
I would eventually reach your sky
To grab you by the wrist
And say:

I whispered more to myself because
You had already turned your back

I didn’t hear you say
But I believed it so
I squinted my eyes
And saw
Your shoulders were horizons
For the setting sun


He was standing underneath the shower head, his hands covering his ears, whispering “it hurts, it hurts” hoping that with every repetition, the hurt would outright leave his body. But what it did was the opposite. Every word coursed through his veins like fire as it ran from his head to the length of his spine until the tips of his fingers and toes. He burned like candlelight.

for thomas

first of all, it wasn’t my fault
you got kicked out of your own apartment
it was the rats, i swear

it took me days to decide whether
to write to you or not
because the last time we met you told me
“don’t write! save a tree!”
and laughed the hardest
but see there’s something about paper
and the grip of a pen
that got me thinking

remember when i pointed to the sky
and i told you
the universe was constantly expanding
“see those stars might not be there tomorrow”
i blinked and you threw your sandwich at me
but told me don’t worry
because all your life they haven’t moved an inch
well let me ask you then
why you haven’t moved an inch
since you came back
because every time i look up
i see the stars move farther and farther



You came in like November wind
Chilly and soft
And smelled like Christmas
With the rolling snow on the porch
My stomach grumbled
For cookies and milk

So I put on my jacket
And went out the driveway
To find out that:
The late July rains
Have chased the snow down the pavement

I forget
That you were only November
As I took down the Christmas wreath
On a ladder I took down
The red lights, the green bulbs
Along with that store-bought tree
And stored them in a box
You swept them all
Out the door
Including my hunger



You were my first and
I did not know what to do
Besides run away

I told you my scars
And how disfigured they were
Yet you kissed each one

I hated you so
Because the way my heart buckled
Was terrifying

Your touch was wildfire
And I watched my body burn
Beneath your fingers

Every day I think
You were the last one but God
Was I wrong each time



When I told you I loved you, I meant it. I did. But not the way you told me that you loved me. It didn’t match the intensity, not so quite. My love was something lighter, softer to the touch. A bit loftier and hazy. It floated in the wind and danced in the air. It was the rain that tickled your noise, the first shower of September. Your love was stoic and full. It fell down like thunder, powerful and alarming as it woke up entire streets with its ferocity. It left people vulnerable with awe and terror. It lumbered with the sheer weight of its meaning.

I never thought I would write about you.

When I told you I liked you that night, the trees towered like giants. The air was still and the moon hid behind purple clouds. There were people, I remember, but suddenly we were sucked into a vacuum where we could only hear ourselves. I was scared and excited. I thought my heart was racing from the immensity of my confession but in reality it was only the adrenaline running through my veins. I fooled myself into thinking that rejection was a painful possibility. I mean that’s how it happens in the movies, right? But there wasn’t really any other outcome because you had said it first. In fact, you wrote it first.

When I told you I loved you underneath the dim lights, the room collapsed on us. The air was stale and there were no windows for us to see the sun. There were people, I remember, but we didn’t know any of them. We were strangers in a familiar place, faceless and wanton. I felt paralyzed and weak. My tongue caught in my throat. Your black eyes bore into my soul and my heart was racing because I thought you would finally see the truth. You grasped my arm. When I looked back at your earnest face and your confident smile that tapered to uncertainty at the ends, I knew I couldn’t do it. But there wasn’t really any other choice because you had said it first.

I never thought I would write about you because I was terrified of what I would discover. Thinking about it made me feel out of place. I didn’t want to go back. All this time I’ve been telling myself, “it’s done, it’s finished, there’s nothing left.”

When I told you I didn’t love you, the steel spoon rattled on the marble floor. The air was fragrant from the baking bread a few tables away from us. The sun shone brightly through the windows that stretched from the floor to the ceiling. There were people, I remember, but none of them mattered. It was after you gave me my birthday gift. My heart was racing from the courage it took to say those words. You allowed your face to crumple for a few seconds then rebuilt it again. You tried to smile, but only managed to stifle a tear. I didn’t expect to feel hollow but I did. I tried to find something to say but I couldn’t. There wasn’t anything left.

When you told me you didn’t love me on that day of March, the bell was pealing to signal the end of classes. The air was dry from the emerging summer heat and the clouds hid the furious sun. I don’t remember if there were any people because you were standing right in front of me. The words fell on top of one another on the ground. I hesitantly picked them up and you were still there. My heart was racing from uncertainty. You looked at me directly and I felt naked, exposed and vulnerable. There were so many things I wanted to say, so many loose ends I needed to tie. But none of them escaped my choked throat. I wanted to take everything back but that would be a lie. This was the inevitable truth. There wasn’t really any other way because this time I had said it first.

I never thought I would write about you because I couldn’t believe someone would love me the way you thunderously did.