Monday, November 30, 2009

Day 133: poem in 11 parts

what it feels like to miss the one you love in 11 parts

we've been holding each other for 11 months now
3 of those with broken palms
when im gone
ill miss how my heart feels when in crumbles in her palms
now it will crumble lonesome
we are victims of distance
we have no choice but to feel sorry for our broken hearts
masturbation is not an option
spain taste like lonely winters
hawaii feels like only half a home when she isnt there
stanford is a waste of space
im learning to take life as it comes
i wonder if i will forget how to feel
if she picks up an accent will i still dream to her voice
how quickly can someone fall out of love
when she returns will she still let me hold her
whats the point of crying anymore
11 days
everything falls apart
until then, i will hold it together

Day 132: bigger dreams

a friend told me about a woman who wrote 365 plays in a year
so today instead of writing a poem worth remmebering im just saying that
i feel like a failure.

Saturday, November 28, 2009

Day 131: i miss you already.

what does this lonesome stare taste like stale
when you leave will we forget what touch feels like
in winter
will you forget my taste
my tears
how there solidify slow
fall frequent like rainfall
will you remember to listen
from spain
feel my heart on your sleeves
listen beautiful
we've already taken time
broken hearts
how much more space do we need?

Friday, November 27, 2009

Day 130:Best friend

her heart is stale of old love she loves him
but what does in love taste like anymore
she asks me
i hear her questions
but i have no answers
still mending my own heart and relearning what it feels like to be so in side of love that you cant see anything else
i am the worst friend for advice
but i can hear you cries from Hawaii to New York
DC to california
can hold your hand like best friend watch back from anywhere on this planet
whatever you decide
i'll support you
ill be there

Thursday, November 26, 2009

Day 129: Haiku for my love

She's too far away
my heart cracking in her palms
i love it this way

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Day 128: New York City

the city smells like old concrete
mixed with ethnic skin
extra spicy
we eat dreams on the streets like breakfast was late
we are hungry
thick accented
our skins speaks when our tongues cannot
we hold our grudges in our melanin
like history
i am new to this place
learning protocol from subway station advertisements
this city
never sleeps
never dreams at night
its saved for daybreak
here we wish for slumber
sip tea or coffee like liquor
like our past
they sting

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Day 127: Fuck


i'd be double fucked.

Monday, November 23, 2009

day 126:

im thinking about quitting.

Sunday, November 22, 2009

day 125: tomorrow she is

my hearts
beatless in her palm
there is no room for broken hearts here
our space to small
this bed only fits us if we are holding each other
so we hold each other
like tomorrow
we are gone
and she is
tomorrow she is
love is no longer make pretend
the future will have to wait because
tomorrow she is
and there is nothing i can do about it but wait

Saturday, November 21, 2009

DAy 124: blah blah blah

double flashing light poles
guide me home
like red lights
think twice
brakes hard
save that space where you want it cold
new england falls
taste bitter like
west-coast winter

Friday, November 20, 2009

Day 123: Waiting

i want your dreams and that space you've saved for me..
the world can have the rest...
just hold for me the night...
thats where i'll be..

Thursday, November 19, 2009

Day 122: idk

tongue tied dry
broken promises
we forgot to hide our crossed fingertips
in this life
we cheat for love
cheat for pay
cheat for life to live
pretend to have another back other than your own
but our hands
fingers and toes are crossed
holding up of backbones
our eye diverted
supersized pride
pinky promises sour tongues
sour patch
patch me a new set of skin from your fingertips please
i've gone none left since the last love ripped it away
where is your heart love
where are your eyes

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

DAy 121: Papa Hanau Moku

“Homeland is the source of your identity”
We have never truly impacted our soil
Not the way it has
Unto us
Left earth printed
Like feet upon our skin
Roots upon our veins
Papa- our land rained down wakea
Growth was forced upon us
chance by habitat
that we would grow strong, brown and bloody with roots
that would only extend under and to past
haloa never fell from any tree
there is no distance from mother to child
from past to present
we are just imperfection carbon copied
we do not reach out for identity
only dig deeper within soil to build person from place

“language comes from mother earth”
mai papa keia olelo
keia moolello keia
our tongues have been passed up to us like nutrients through our roots
and we breathe our mother every time we speak
be weary with your words
do not let too much of her pass
do not speak what you might ever want back
you cannot take back what you give to this wind

I have been lost before
But as long as I keep my roots here
I will know
I am Palolo
The clay
That’s grabs at me
Keeps movement stiff
Ka ua lililehua
my rain
Falling frequent to keep growth quick
my wind
A reminder of my inner strength
Is my creator
These are my mountains
My water
This is my homeland
She is my creator

Papa Hanau Moku- Keiki
mother birthed these islands- children
Owau kana Pua
i am her descendant

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Day 120: shitty haiku

where love did you go
i couldnt believe you've gone
im waiting heartless

Monday, November 16, 2009

Day 119: always

sleeps soundly
our hearts folding together
like our fingertips
like our hips transfixed
like our eyes
we are that love that braids
you and i
we are that love
you are that love
i am your love

Sunday, November 15, 2009

day 118: this is how we love

we used to listen to diamond fall to hardwood together
play peek-a-boo with out hearts like toys
listen to the tears break hearts like magic harmonies
she is my magic melody
tuned perfectly for me
somedays i feel like we dont exist anywhere other than in each-others arms and then im grounded
that i am rooted in salt stained soil
while she
flies like sky-scrapers
call her the traveler
the flight
call her the one thats leaving
and yet
i know
i left first
turning back broken like cheek to silence
i was the first mistake made public
and she
is the only reason i know i will never forgive myself for
she is my magical melody
the traveler
the one who's leaving
so i
i'll be the roots waiting
learning for the changes
never thought i'd be transfixed to concrete
be she is no building
not skyscraper
she is the melody
the beauty
the reason this heart still sings
some nights
you can hear me crying im sure
but if you listen harder you'll realize
its just me and my melody
throwing tears to the wind
watching them crash into innocent hearts like diamonds
this is how we love

Saturday, November 14, 2009

Day 117: why

split second silence
broken backbones breaching
afterlife always aching
telling tiles tropies
wheres the connection
why do i feel like there are already oceans between us
why does every poem turn into this broken plea for you to stay
and why wont you just listen
and stay
why am i not a big enough reason
and why do i know thats its not about me but still cant help feelings broken
why are you leaving
and why
i am unable to hold on to anything long enough without shattering it to pieces
including myself

Friday, November 13, 2009

day 116: sunshine

I wanna sing you a love song through sunshine

Break backwards tides

Like arched backs

Hold me closer

There is too much space between us now

We need no more blanket here beautiful

You and I are an ocean

Slow dancing in burning beds

A tidal wave on fire

Don’t think about it

Its too sexy to see

Our imagery doenst fit into cable tv’s

We’ve got that pay per view love baby

The kind that leave aftertastes for days

Invisible hickeys on my soul

So Love me like budda

Like im leaving

Like im fleeting

Like tomorrow im gone


Im spain

Love me now

Like love songs

On repeat

And bad chord progressions

But good acoustics

And taylor guitars


We can burn slow if we move fast enough

Don’t question the answers

Save that for the questions

Pose something with more than your body

We are a burning tidal wave remember

The kind that cant be seen

To hot to touch’

To painful not to remember

Remember me like im jesus

Like im forver

Like this life is forver like ill see you tomorrow

Like comminted feels when you want it

Like you are Stanford

And no one is spain

And no one has to leave

And we can just stay here

We don’t need the covers

Ill hold you like cotton


I wanna sing for you like sunrise

But the tides low

In sunsets time

Tomorrow is already dark with what ifs

and your leaving

Call you spain

Call me grounded

Call you traveled

Call me frightened

Call me foolish

Call me forever

Call me whatever you want

Just don’t forget to call me


And ill call you tomorrow

Don’t worry about the space baby

I’ve heard hearts can grow to drink the ocean

There is no space between us

If we keep speaking

Hold the whitewash and white noise away

Wait for day to break

Like our backs

Like our hearts

Wait for the ocean to break in silence

Wait for Spain to leave

Look for me under your covers

Ill be there waiting… for morning

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Day 115:freewrite

Downtown steam tear
follicle roots rip
sandy tips breaking
crowd of rich souls
see me

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

DAy 114: just for fun

a poets love taste like led
stinks like ink
burns like hand cramp
cold like brain freeze
love me like a brain fart
you can be my braveheart
will do it anyway what?
it was starting to rap itself
but i aint got no flow
no water her to drink
just works
few similes
smiles for miles
im getting pretty corny. :D
its a good day to be writing

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

day 113: elephant

im chinese
13 is bad luck
luck is the sweat that dries on my back
my back is brown
brown reminds me of roots
roots remind me of home
dad says home is where the soil is softest
soft soil is easy to grow in
growth is no longer my favorite word
i favor fat animals
elephants are fat and have cool spelling
elephant is my new favorite word
words hold my skin together
im still figuring out what holds my heart

Monday, November 9, 2009

day 112: 1, 2, 3

she held fire in her eyes
and rain in her heart
burning bushed heart
10 commandments whistling in the wind
broken eardrum chimes
she is the angled of the forsaken
halo folded neatly at her ankles
an example of love and mistakes and how they are never and always the same

Fire is the rapid oxidation of a combustible material releasing heat, light, and various reaction products such as carbon dioxide and water.
love is the desire to do anything to protect someone from the world
love is the question
fire just one answer
that is never and always right
the combination
is a mother and 2 daughters melting in a town house

it what you feel when you dont know the answer but you do and dont like it very much
love is how you learn to forgive yourself for taking so long to learn
forgiveness is a human weakness
weakness is what makes us human
human is an accumulation of sex and mistakes
mistakes make you stronger
mistakes help you learn
truth is absolutely relative
relativity cannot be explained without making a judgement on the absolute
the absolute doenst exist
if it cannot be explained it must not exist
thus truth does not exist
love does not exist
we are a result of love
thus we do not exist

i think she found out the answers before the rest of us
and they scared her
im not sure if i think shes selfish
or genius.

3. before she lit the room
i imagine her counting to three
like every suicide divers reminder that there is a split second before impact

there is a moment that follows the broken understanding that life
is not just a set of questions and contradictions
there are choices
we give numbers to trails we havent walked upon
and hope we still reach an end
3. in life we count in threes
stutter at the finality of the pattern
is there still a way out?

the flame burns
the body melts
the story
if there is an end, then maybe we did exist,
maybe she was wrong.

Sunday, November 8, 2009

DAy 111: Oscar

Life is far too important a thing ever to talk seriously about
-oscar wilde

today we put practice to praising in joke
hold humor in our hearts
iron satire to our skin
this is too important not to laugh at
i imagine a million people not giving a damn when oscar wilde died
and who would
care to talk seriously about a homosexual author
could they ever imagine his genius
how he loved like he wrote
through lying honesty
how he held him to his cheek like his did his punch-lines
black eyes page markers
"The public is wonderfully tolerant. It forgives everything except genius"
so we threw stakes at your line breaks
spat at your heart
held you like we did road kill on sundays
only because we couldnt forgive our selves for our own faults

Saturday, November 7, 2009

DAy 110: looks

She usually smells like coffee

Lips lick of chocolate

Fingertips melting grip on my hips

But this morning

I awoke to the stench of torn landing gear

The sound of metal and rubber scraping against concrete

Flight attendant instructions

Tight polyester rubbing against skin

Motion sickness

She smells like leaving

Like tears

Like goodbyes taste on Sunday afternoons

She smells like lies

Looks like heartbreak

Like I tore her skin off to see myself in it

She smells like me being broken again

For the 2nd


4th time this week

shes taste like im not enough

like I once was

but not for long enough

she looks like

she looks like

she looks like

she looks like she still loves me

but doesn’t remember how to hold me

I imagine I look like a lie

Like its time for goodbye

Like I smell like her being broken for the



12th time today

she looks like shes running away

I look like im letting her leave

We look like we fallen out of love

she looks

i look

we look

but we dare not touch

Friday, November 6, 2009

Day 109: Guns

In America we flaunt our guns like our dicks

Caress, click, trigger, pull, stick,


And when we are empty just get another dirty magazine

we've hidden from our mothers in our underwear drawers


springing cartridges into chamber

unload again

rinse, reload, repeat

its quicker this time

do you see the pattern placing death on repeat

ejaculation of steel distruction is a learned practice to be perfected

like hygiene

boys learn it like puberty

And our sons learn these games like birth rights, at thirteen learn to cum steel

take on material infatuation in metal magazines

Hiding their fascination in code switch

from cars to clips

Live in the "hang-fire" of hammer to fire

Like Jordan lived in the hang-time of push to flight

but our sons are falling stars

their glocks and cocks in their pockets are too heavy to move with

so they sit in living room couches

watching advertisements from mind playing manufacturers

in 1983

with firearm sales plummeting manufactures decided to broaden the target audience from adult white males to women and youth

making weapons more accessible, affordable, and appealing

one of the first guns to be release, "the viper"

just like the dodge

combines compact speed, power, and appeal for a price

plus sleet beauty

guns are sexier than girlfriend at 13 and these boys pay their lives to them in backyard brawls

eric, lives two doors down from me, knows the names of every gun manufactured in America today

And spends his lunch money on air soft assault riffles waiting for the day he can hold the heavy steel of a real ak-47 to his cheek

I wonder what he expects to do with this machine

will he kiss her on their firsts date

will he hold her like a woman or hold his women like her

will he ever learn the scent of shampoo to overpower gunpowder

will he grow old enough to ever know? i wonder

eric claims he was admitted to stanford because he knows how to build bazookas

he's the youngest boy in my dorm

and our society is already paying into his addition to explosions

already investing in his infatuation

he is 17 and spits gunpowder when he speaks

has a nack for disaster but a smile like candy

and i worry that soon he wil just ad to the thousands lost to metal


in america

we are spreading a plague like privilege

between 1979 and 1991 more children died on the firing streets of america than american soldiers dies on the death roads of vietnam

because we teach our sons to pull triggers like there is no effect

play. die. reset.






we cant

we die

its done

its death.

Thursday, November 5, 2009

Day 108: James

James says some nights

He can hear Jessica tap dancing on his scull

She is easels paintbrush dancing on his memories

Rhythmic broken screaming in his eardrum

When do you sleep james?

When are your thoughts silent enough to dream to?

Does Jessica ever feel like a lullaby?

James the last time I held you

it was two hours until night

two hours until I could feel your mind flip

dive into conversations one after the other dialogue

with persons stuck somewhere in the space between your ears

dancing along the place where your thoughts use to be

james calls his mother dreamer

and she tells him at sunrise

there is nothing in the dark of your mind

but he

he knows she doesn't know what teddy bears turn into in the dark

at sunset

she only sees her son turned christopher robin holding childhood too tight

and jessica is the only one who never forgets to kiss him goodnight

sometimes james mothers forgets what name he answers to so she slings silent prayers to her son


there is no room for more voices between his ears

there is already too much clutter there

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

Day 107: MAGNETS

broken backwards.

standing wordsmith.

pick your cards right.

chasing poison.

hold your hearts out.

which is prettiest?

is there something beautiful about shattering magnets?

i've read somewhere that the Strength of magnetic field can depreciate over time..

by being pulled apart..

rip my field apart.

place me on the opposite end on the table.


am i still attractive?

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

DAy 106: Kumulipo (expanded)

My father is a 5’10” brown skinned prophet

He speaks history bedtime stories

Recites distant time lines like family birthdays

Genealogies of ancient Hawaiian kings like they were his kin

he is cultural knowledge in collegiate skins

a phd in yesterdays but too many tomorrows have passed

and we live in a world where we only think about today and not past

Jonathan kay kamakawiwoole osorio is too much Hawaiian to count quantum

Too much love to hold

he is my father and my hero

but my father has forgotten his own grandparents middle names

Forgotten what color thread god used to sew him together with

And I am beginning to wonder how my whitewashed fingertips will pick up the pieces if my fathers own palms have named them forgotten

And when those palms are buried

Lifeline facing god

Tangled in tattered roots

Will mine remember how to fold into prayers and

will his voice still answer through soil

Will my father still be a teacher when he is truly speechless?

And how much will die with him

Will he leave only regret for me to remember questions too tongued tied to speak

And tears I cant seem to turn into anything resembling remembrance

Will my own fathers death be in vain

At my hand, The flame broken and no torch left to light

At whose fault will the torch be lost

its been only 230 years since contact

230 years since the last time our 2000 lined creation chant was sung in full

our kumulipo the genealogy of our existence

but we've already lost connection with our own grandparents

what happened to the ones forgotten before them

the ones who shaped my heart from their rib cages

i want to taste the tears in their names

want to trace their souls into my vocal chords so that i can feel related again

Because My history is breaking

Held together only marginally by cultural sovereignty

Only the few who care that

Our roots cannot remember themselves

Cannot remember how to dance if we don’t chant for them

And will not sing unless we are listening

And we, only speak hawaiian in empty classroom. from textbooks

and we fear our American accents

soo much that our tongues feel too foreign in our own mouths we dont dare speak out loud

so we can’t even remember our own parents names

and who will care to remember mine if I don’t teach them?

i want to teach my future children

how to spell family with my middle name- Heolimeleikalnai

how to hold love with Kamakawiwo'ole

how to taste culture in the Kumulipo


do not forget me

my mana

do not forget my soul

my father


who could not forget his own


we have failed you and forgotten the ones before

so do not forget whats left

cuz this is all we have

you wont find our roots online

we have no dances or chants if we have no history

just rants

no roots

just tears

this is all i have of our family history

and now its yours

O Elroy Thomas Leialoha Osorio he kane

o Clara Ku’ulei Kay he wahine

Noho pu laua a hanau ia o Jonathan Kamakawiwoole Kay Osorio he kane

O Jonathan Kay Kamakawiwoole Osorio he kane

o mary carol dun he wahine

Noho pu laua a hanau ia o Jamaica Heolimeleikalani Osorio he wahine

do not forget us

mai poina

Monday, November 2, 2009

day 105: she had eyes

She had eyes


Soft like the sincerest of apologies

She’s heard them too many times im sure

Its not you

Its me

Im sorry

How blind of a lie can build walls between her beauty and what the world sees

I wonder who built this masterpiece

Placed each limestone block beneath the one before to create a temple of love to worship

And how can no one else see its beauty

I am not a patchwork quilt

Don’t dare sew your history into me

She screams some nights through her dreams

I wonder

Why build a wall before you when you could use that same energy to build pillars within you that would actually hold you up

I’ll be the walls the stand after he rest falls

Sunday, November 1, 2009

Day 104: synchronized

She tasted like home

But only on the weekends

When time was spent beneath sheets

When we could stay up as late as we wanted to

That’s when we should sleep


Nights on the eves of papers and test to distant from our skin to feel anything especially pertinent

we laid awake upon each other

Synchronizing or breaths and kissing ourlips swollen