Friday, December 31, 2010

Day 533: fathers

my fathers
dreams of being the kind of man
that hands down only his good jeans
but hawaiian fathers
have not yet learn such a skill
to give only the strength
rather than the pain that comes from carrying and island chain on their shoulders
there are secrets we hide under our smiles
they catch fire like cancers
build this boulders broken
surround our hearts with marble
praying to only be the best of our ancestors
we fail
they failed first
we say
make ourselves feel better
it doesnt
we dont
everything here is broken
we still want to give someone our strength
hoping they leave behind the pain

Wednesday, December 29, 2010

Day 532:confessions

she was not afriad to die
asked the doctors
to make it smooth
make the going away
too fast to feel almost
but death
is not something you rip off like a bandied
and sunrises
dont flash
they cascade
somehow has to break slow
contort herself into forgotten
for you to be at ease
no one ever leaves without being remembered
or forgotten
somehow its the same today
the things we never said
are piling up like regrets
but we dont have time to call them that
we call then tears
try not to notice
rip them from our skins
like Band-Aids
try to make the forgetting quick
like the pain never existed
like not feeling
is worth it
when its not

we kill ourselves in our foolishness
at the end of it all
i hope we notice
i hope it hurts
i hope it destroys us
tears us to bits

Tuesday, December 28, 2010

Day 531: the chase

These days move slow
not like the last 5 hundred and 30
something inside me is shattering
with the seconds
i can feel each shard
forcing itself into tissue
looking for a home
every part of me is searching for something to hold
and call its own

this morning i woke up and dreamt i was sleeping in the cradle of california
wishing to come home
wishing to be somewhere else
thats familiar too
the glass pieces you call skin
are sheltering
turning to ash
still trying to move
when everyones been sayin
its inanimate
not able to define the term
just that it means i am broken
and weak
and not what i should be
not who i wished
5 hundred and 30 something days ago
when i believed in more than women
loved more than the stage
when there was something beautiful inbetween my pen and the page
something i was hoping to hold
something i've been running for for years
somehow its still missing
and i feel myself slowing down
growing too old

Monday, December 27, 2010

Day 530:

keep your faith in the space between my ribcage and my lungs
theres a place there i've kept for you all.
i've thrown mine to the horizon
hoping it finds a home somewhere near your breath
or at least to your lips

i am lonely here
too lonely to even move
everything around me quakes
even your memory
but i am still
unable to feel you all
unable to remember what it means to be me

Sunday, December 26, 2010

Day 529:

when you have lost all your poems
forgotten how to sew words into your skin
when it hurts
and you have no were to turn
but the sky
run to the edge of it all
soak yourself in the ocean
find home with the parts of you that are buried
and broken
shake the thunder from you fingertips
the sweat form the skies
it is the darkest part of our bodies that hold such secrets
hold them still
they will emerge when the time is right
and not a moment before

Saturday, December 25, 2010

day 528: remember

all the good poems have the same name
love fits around most shapes
life is easy that way
try something new
force a square through a circle
marvel at your own miracles
the one thats finds that your pigments match perfectly with her
how you melt into each other in ways you've never wished to with anyone else
call that love
cuz it will fit, perfectly

life is easy that way

Friday, December 24, 2010

Day 527: love

i have run out of words
everth i've ever had is now yours
and i am dried up
gone dead
gone broken
gone gone gone
to the edge of where humanity sits
i am watching the sky fall
my hear is fuller than its ever been
done empty still someone thinks i feel robbed
but i feel beautiful naked
like this
watching you
the sky is crying
but i am happy
thinking about the oceans i will find
in your eyes

Thursday, December 23, 2010

Day 526: pain

well tell ourself
stop when the pain comes
turn away
in the opposite direction
nothing good could possibly come from this
but with enough time
we find ourselves past our demons looking into mirrors
at souls that are pure again
growth works that way
through pain
through the parts of life you try to ignore
wish to avoid
you get caught under the needle
and you are better for it.

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

Day 525: kakau

Ho'i hou i ka iwi kuamo'o-
return to the backbone.
the process begins at birth.
the promise begins today.

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

Day 524: hehehe

the only constant
is the love family brings you
and of course the pain

ahahah. :P

Monday, December 20, 2010

Day 523: body

we are given bodies
a canvas of sorts
to do with what we wish
i do not believe that god wants me pure
why then would he give me choice.

Sunday, December 19, 2010

Day 522:

you are a reminder that mistakes happen
can happen again
can make you think its right
when it wrong
over and over
til you are broken
she is broken
everything cold
anything is justifyable
if you give yourself time to crack the code
theres nothing honorable aboutthe truth
i promise you.

Saturday, December 18, 2010

Day 521: rain haiku

that falling is only growth
learn to make your own

Friday, December 17, 2010

day 520: tie my hands remix

i left some of the lyrics the same cuz it fit and cuz i've never tried to write a rap before so i needed to take baby steps. listen to lil waynes tie my hands while reading. enjoy

Yeah some say tragedy is hard to get over
But sometimes tragedy means its over soulja
From the islands we seem too spoiled
but its hard to move on with feet like anchors

My hold is strong, tryin to prove them wrong
They say they aint doing nothing but moving on, but let the truth me known
When they ripped our queen from her thrown
They took more than just our homes


They knocked down our homes, told us to go
Built sugar in our fields, played games we didn’t know
Don’t bother with whats right, they only know wrong
We been trynna teach um all along

lost almost everything , but we ain’t the only ones
got natives on the continent, singing the same songs
first came the sailors, then missionaries son
spreading Jesus like disease through their steel and guns-

best believe we keep our eyes open
our islands under water, rich haoles still flaotin
nd they wonder why our brown brothers still moking
cuz crazy politicians still choking

no pro football team, or basketball team
all we got is the warriors to rep our family
but lingle passes out furloughs like prayers
so we all just struggle hoping someone’s got some to spare


and if you come from under that water, then that's fresh air
just breathe baby God's got a blessing to spare
yes i know the process is so much stress
but its the progress that feels the best

we came back from death fighting straight TO success
keep your head up high
they can't steal your pride its inside.
then find it and keep on grinding
Cuz in every dark cloud theres a silver lining, i know.

Thursday, December 16, 2010

Day 519: P.R.I.D.E

you are a generation of children born into silence
the darkness of your parent's secrets
you held those burdens
like stones in your pockets
and wished to be something bigger than those who came before
asked more than your parents would've imagined or wanted

we call you movers and shakers
for a reason
there are volcanos in your breath
earthquakes frozen into the soul of your shoes
you leave change in your wake
breaking the foundations of our 4 heteronormative fathers
there is something to be said about the blood in your footsteps
the secrets that are still causing tornadoes in your torso

i hope
these are the parts of your mornings you remember
when the wind is calm
and the secrets fly like butterflies in your chest
like fires that are wishing to burst from your lips
you have the strength of every evening hiding in your pigments
whether you can see them or not
dont dare forget
there is a power in your voice
even during their silence
the truth you hold evident

they do not fear you because you are ignorant
they fear you because your knowledge is dangerous
they know
that if you chose to speak
and you will
it will destroy
everything they've lived by
for generations

Wednesday, December 15, 2010

Day 518: 518 is my birthday

i want to write more about the days we left behind
more about the oceans
and the people
the women
who carried us for 9 months
and the ones who held us longer
the palms we were pried from

how much of your skin to you actually know?
how many of your mothers do you remember to pray to
how many of your daughters
did you push back into ablivion
in fear of what motherhood would mean

we have too many secrets here
in silence
where the prayers you to hang
like the heat thats been left behind
over our skin
its something we feel in sweat
in fear
in salt
and oceans

i am here to remind you
that you are part of the songs you have forgotten
a piece of all that will be lost

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

Day 517: music

i have forgotten
how to play your skin's guitar
wont you, teach me, love

Monday, December 13, 2010

Day 516: kumulipo

what do you call your darkness
the one that rises with the sun
the kind you'll never be free off
what do you call your gods
the ones who've forgotten to fly
and live in the space between your blood and pigment
wishing you'd look more like them
you wish that too
im sure
what do you call your children
the ones who dont remember the taste of your kiss
how its bitter
like the ocean
like every other part of you that used to have a name
and now sits
in the slime
waiting to be called upon
waiting for someone to remember
even a letter
a grain of sand
a chant
a prayer

Day 515: haiku

you feel like the sun
some days you warm my skin. but
others you just burn

Sunday, December 12, 2010

Day 514:

i wonder
if there really is enough darkness
to be written every day
if there is something ore to be said
something i might say
that would be new
make you think
make you change

Saturday, December 11, 2010

Day 513:

family always
bonded in our roots. never
do we stray too far

Friday, December 10, 2010

Day 512: darkness

there are a thosand different kind of darkness
i've named each one after the nights we've spent apart
each is cold
but in a different way
the same

Thursday, December 9, 2010

Day 511: idk

"the woman told me the sadest thing i ever heard" i spit on it
stuck it to the bottom of my shoe
and walked 10 miles
trying to scrape the tears off the rubber with each step
these kinds of moments last lifetimes
cause you to breathe slow
she told me sad songs like they were laughs
and we were supposed to be joking
i hid myself under he bed
spat at the ceiling
wishing someone would hear me

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

Day 510:

this place wreaks of mistakes
but its the closest we have to a home
so we lay our bricks where the world can see
building promises
we never would have trusted
but we make our way
like mistakes are just cracks in the road
easily forgotten
unlike our love

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

Day 509: terisa

brown and beautiful
you are never very near
never too far gone

Monday, December 6, 2010

Day 508: itch

theres a song i slipped under your skin the first time we kissed
i've been waiting for you to sing it
back to me
break the barricades
like promises we shouldn't have made

i've been thinking a lot about time lately
and how it passes
and grows
and leaves you feeling old
and forgotten
you hae that affect on me
make me feel small
and shadow like
in your pressence
breaking into melodies that cant be heard
or found
under your skin
like an itch

Sunday, December 5, 2010

Day 507: To finals

Fuck, I Never Actually Learned Shit
seems to be the common consensus
we are spreading our time thin
stretching our sentences thick
trying to build essays and thesises out of thin air
and 4 lokos
it is dark tonight
and quite on campus
i want to go home
but i've got three teachers
an exam and 20 pages in my way
thursday im going to the beach
you can fail me on paper
but my life is SWEEEEEEEt


Saturday, December 4, 2010

Day 506: To San Francisco Airport and John Mayer

you are cold
and feel more like home than Stanford does
some days
I wonder if I know this place better than my own school town
I’ve made myself a space among the places that move
Where no one else stays
For too long
I watch people come and go like rip tides
Listen to voices of people I cannot see
Peoples who need to be heard
And aren’t any other way
This is where the voiceless come to follow
To listen
To break beneath the weight of fake marble floors
Stainless piallars
Come to watch the sleek travel into forever

I am in the place where no one stays
Not for too long
On chair that only hold you for a couple hours before you feel the needs to run
Far far away
Too home or a place that looks enough like it for now

Today I want to write a song by a white boy onto the inside of my fingertips
Want to sing like on ones looking
But everyone here is always starring
Wondering where the worlds going
And why so fast
That’s the plight of flight I suppose
We’ve got to keep moving
We don’t know what else to do
What else will prove that we are still alive

Friday, December 3, 2010

Day 505: To the little blond haired boy riding the escalator for the first time…

You are the smile of every sunrise I haven’t seen yet
All the ones im still waiting for
As patiently as possible
Every reminder that although the thought of labor and hospitals makes me want to cry and scream simultaneously
That theres still nothing else in this world I want more than children
You terrify me

You fathers joy
Is the look I remember every morning from a 5’10 brown man
The look that told me I was beautiful before I could feel it myself
You are proof of humanity
That theres something more to be living for
Something to look forward to
With more than just fear
You make me want to leave this long beach plane behind
Find one crossing the pacific
Board and never leave home again

Thursday, December 2, 2010

Day 504: To the last boy I ever kissed

You were a stereotype I stitched to the inside of my thighs
The kind of things we sleep to forget
When you told me you loved me
I didn’t believe you
But I said it back
I didn’t mean it
You were too small
And tool weak
Too nice to be a man
Couldn’t hold me up
The way I wanted or needed
Couldn’t imagine sleeping with you into the morning
That’s why we only ever kissed standing up
Pushed against walls
Back into corners
Against the door of my closet
Because ethat how you made me feel

I took my first girlfriend to ever place we touched lips
And kissed her like we were oceans
Like we were endeless
I told her the same thing I told you but meant it
And you wouldn’t mind im sure
The love you had for me
Was the kind that come and go with the wind
With the day
Only around when its cold and no one else is answering
We had that kind of love

The funny part was I think we thought the other didn’t know
But thres nothing left to hide
You were my back up hand to hold
And for what it was
It was enough

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Day 503: To the cold

you are the bitter bitch
's husband done left her
who thinks she's nothing without a man
without a dick
so you cut yourself into other women
in spite of the universe
do your best to get under anyones skin
make them shiver

i see you cold
see you basking under cloud cover
like vacation
like you're gonna bring the storm
like you're gonna make me as miserable as possible today
but you forget to do your research son,
us polys hold ray in our blood
sunlight shines bright in darkness
we've seen lots of it
theres no space for games
just fake haters playin
dont worry
you'll learn soon enough
how to hold your man
keep him coming
and know that you dont really need him

Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Day 502: To one night stands

You were the beautiful shadow that taught me love can saturate over night
Leave you thirsty by morning
Nothing quenches me quite like cuddling
But the sunrise finds its way through every windowpane eventually
Here comes the wind
The parts that make sure nothing settles properly

You are the memory of tears for women I do not know
Do not need to
Not this well
And the expectation for tomorrows
And next weeks
And picnics
And movies
Date nights

You taught me sex isn’t synonymous with love
But in this skin
That I wished it could be
Kissed like it should be
Like it was
The way I’d have to hold bits of your taste on the inside of my skin for months
Maybe years
I haven’t gotten that far yet

But its been forever and 2 women since
And your eyes still make me feel wasted
And inside out
And used
And dry
And not enough
And ugly
And all the nightmares I’ve had since February I’ve named after you and the dirty things you hid under the covers
And the beautiful words you wrote into index cards
And coffee shop napkins
And on my palm
There’s still a dent of the stories you traced with you fingertips

These are the stories that shouldn’t be told
You are the shadow that had to fade
But maybe shouldn’t have saturated on my skin
Saying no and going home is what’s right
Even in the dark of night
45 miles away from an empty bed
a crying heart
a stuffed dog that used to smell like a blue eyed beauty
and regrets that pile like papers
those are the times saying no is right
even if it means
I will cry alone
In an empty bed with white walls
Save for a board of pictures of what love once looked like
A stuffed bear that remind you that sometimes the smell made fade
But there’s still someone there under all the things that are easy to remember and forget
Waiting for you by the computer
Broken in the same
Not so easy to put back together
But far more fulfilling
Than waking up to someone you thought you knew
But is only a stranger

Monday, November 29, 2010

Day 501: to my grandmother

throwing this out there in case anyone else was thinking about her today a little more than usual. Love you all!To Clara,
You were the woman everyone around you was afraid to be
so we tied our dreams to your curls
watched them fall to your sides
called it a failure when you died before the turn of the millennium
and cried to the morning
to the mountains
to the rain
to the magma
and cold
to all the things we could see
all the things that remind us of home
and you
and fire

we were the people too weak to let you go
when you left
it cut holes in our skin
like pores
more like oceans
like ducts
like things that drip
and leak

we crashed your car into a telephone pole at midnight
and called your number
to hear your voice
over and over
even when it was gone
we kept calling
pretended it was a wrong number
hoping the universe would restore you
if we insisted that we needed it to
but it didn’t

we kept your subscriptions anyways
we collect your mail
we laugh at the irony of magazines with our faces smiling with obama and your name addressed at the bottom
we try not to but we are weak so
we cry when no one else is looking
because we think we are supposed to move on
supposed to have let go by now
11 years later
we're still holding on
even though we've lived a longer life with you gone dead then alive
it still feels wrong

we still visit the white stones
the turtle designs
you and your granddaughter
my cousin
who i don’t remember
didn’t know well enough
who was so young
couldn't have been that much older than i am now
how years close distance with the days
how that’s terrifying considering the circumstances
we don’t know what to say
we look at pictures and see ghost of women we miss in the most tangible ways
we weep over the ocean
trade salt with the sea

we cry when we realize how similar we are
that genes travel fast through Hawaiian women to men to women
a Hawaiian family spreading cancer like wildfire
we are afraid of the realities of our existence
the possibility that someone somewhere is afraid to be the women and men we already are
our curls may too be tied to someone else’s dreams
soon they may fall to our sides
we may be called failure when we die
before letting go

Sunday, November 28, 2010

Day 500: orbit

There is no space for anything but dreaming
we are the promises that the star forgot to follow through on
that why we've been banished to soil and roots
the dirt isnt dirty
its just brown
you are foolish
just young
there is space here for growth
so the first line was a lie
something to get your attention
cuz the space is big
and black
and empty
we can dream and breathe
and grow
and be something more
and different
and strong
but what about the promises broken
like gods fallen
who wings are too wet to soar
so they weep

and we watch
praying to the moon
wishing on dying constellations
taking pleasure in watching the beautiful things around us break
the downfall of the solar system

Saturday, November 27, 2010

Day 499:

you can leave your skin behind
when you forget to return
ill make sure to make something beautiful
from the shards
something unforgettable

Friday, November 26, 2010

Day 498: Dear brother (More edits)

Dear brother,
You should know,
most mornings
i wake screaming to the pacific
to the bluest of silences that stand between us
they are the constellations filing the space we've left behind
we are too scared to forget
so we leave blood in our tracks
like the oceans we built with our tears
where we learned to drown and fall

we are too many miles broken
severed sand castles
left to crumble
by the weight of our changed world
under our wandering footsteps
during our journeys
when we left, searching for homes in all the wrong coastlines and women

did you remember to count all the sunrises you watched falling over endless horizons
without oceans
all the ones you failed to ignore
because they made you feel infinitely far away from home
did remember how you searched for a flash the first 100 nights
until you realized that miracles don’t exist for you in California
that is the weight you will carry for the rest of your life
each green flash missed a pound on your shoulders
while you played islander on a continent
breaking your back for experience
for love
for things that should always bring you home
rather than tear you apart

but they told you that you could
find yourself away from your roots
and you,
like every other good Hawaiian listened to the beautiful men and women in suits
as they proclaimed that an education would lead you somewhere enlighten
away from the ocean your grandmother is scattered in
away from the mountains where you learned to breathe
from the roots your hung yourself from in adolescence
and you believed them

never remembering that your blood
is gold serum
you hold koa spears in your pupils
iron riffles in your first
every muscle in your body was built to self destruct
like your skin
10 shades too light
it a world obsessed with color and definition
building your soul into contradiction
into conflict
only your tongue can shield you from the broken you have and will feel

so mold your memories into bullets
into blades
into things that can break
and sever
the you that was born
a thousand years a go
is built of worrier breaths
of all the things we take for grated
and slip under our eyelids and skin
pretending that being something at heart is ever enough
that being here
will ever be enough
that doing all that you can will ever be enough
when its not
at least not today

so instead
i carry a white flag in my veins for every time i wished i could call
for every time i checked flight costs online
filled out the UH transfer form
but didn't have the strength
because it felt too much like giving up
felt to much like failure
and shame
but this
this feels too much like sacrifice
so i give myself standing ovations for all the songs of martyrdom i sleep by

you should know
it helps to feel you over the ocean
to know that i have a brother
who skin is the same color of forgotten
whose fits
the same textured callused
the same kind of severed roots
and wings
the things we are ashamed of and hide behind our jackets in closets
we all have them
but we are connected by the remains of umbilical scars
we are fighting the same wars
trying to write something beautiful enough to be remembered by
to sing our way into someone’s memory
we try to forget how our parents failed to love us the way we needed them to
we are dying to succeed in the meantime
in a world that starts burying us from first breath
we are sorcerers of the nights
calling out names of god we’ve forgotten long ago
searching for the wings
we left on shores
we shouldn't of launched from
looking for homes we'd never find

Day 497: the things we carry

remember to count all the sunrises you watch falling over endless horizons
without oceans
all the ones you try to ignore
because they make you feel infinitely far away from home
remember how you searched for a flash the first 100 nights
until you realized that miracles dont exist for you in california
that is the weight you will carry
each green flash missed a pound on your back
while you play islander on a continent
breaking your back for experience

find yourself away from your roots
away from the ocean your grandmother is scattered in
away from the mountains where you learned to breathe
from the roots your hung yourself from in adolescence
remember that your blood
is gold serum
you hold koa spears in your pupils
iron riffles in your first
every muscle in your body was built to self destruct
like your skin
10 shades too light
building your soul into contradiction
into conflict
only your tongue can sheild you from the broken you will feel

so mold your memories into bullets
into blades
into things that can break
and sever
the you that was born
a thousand years a go
is built of worrieor breaths
of all the things we take for grated
and slip under our eyelids and skin
pretending that being something at heart is ever enough
that being here
will ever be enough
that doing all that you can will ever be enough
when its not
at least not today

Thursday, November 25, 2010

Day 496: for now

Thanksgiving makes me think of
soft hands
and curly hair
of fireplaces
and the silly things we believed in by moonlight

but thanksgiving also makes me think of chemo
of breathing machines
liquid lunches
deteriorating bodies
there things we left behind
the things that don't shine anymore

the things we carry are heavy
but wright makes the weak strong
thinking of you makes me wish i was older
whenever other part of me prays to be
something else all together

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Day 495: to my brother

most mornings
i wake screaming to the pacific
to the bluest of silences that stand between us
they are constellations filing the space we've left behind
in light years and decades
like skin graphs
we are too scared to forget
like the oceans we built with our own blood and sorrow
where we learned to drown and fall

we are too many miles broken
severed sand castles
left to crumble
by the weight of our changed world
under our wandering footsteps
during our journeys
leaving only just to find home

do remember all the sunrises that didn't fall over oceans
the ones you ignored because of the empty taste it left behind
thats the kind of heavy we carry
when we play islanders on continents
breaking our backs for experience

today i carry a white flag in my veins for every time i wished i could call
for every time i checked flight costs online
filled out the UH transfer form
but didn't have the strength
because it felt too much like giving up
felt to much like failure
and shame
but this
thisfeels too much like sacrifice
so i give myself standing ovations for all the songs of martyrdom i sleep by

you should know
it helps to feel you over the ocean
to know that i have a brother
who skin is the same color of forgotten
whose fits
the same textured callused
the same kind of severed roots
and wings
the things we are ashamed of and hide behind our jackets in closets
we all have them
but we are connected by the remains of umbilical scars
we are fighting the same wars
trying to write something beautiful enough to be remembered by
to sing ourway into someones memory
trying to forget the ways our parents failed to love us the way we needed them to
we are dying to succeed in the meantime
in a world that starts burying us from first breath
we are sorcerers of the nights
searching for the wings
we left on shores
we shouldn't of launched from
looking for homes we'd never find

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Day 494: diamonds

leave your taste there
under my skin where
everything waits
until it is forgotten
until you are gone
teach me to remember

there are secrets we wear in our lips like constellations
they are diamonds that your tongue cannot dull
your teeth cannot crack
perfection that cannot be pieced
i spend my days wondering how many days i've wandered
picking at the rhinestones in my gums
bleeding myself into sanity
kissing you into memory
like its something i can wear under my skin

like its something that cannot be lost
will not be forgotten

Monday, November 22, 2010

Day 493: to be edited later cuz i have work in 10 minutes :P

meet me under the moon
leave your troubles at my ankles
we could run this city
paint it blue
and brown
for all the times we felt like outcast
away from an ocean
you'll find me cold and open
waiting for you

Sunday, November 21, 2010

Day 492: still sick... obviously

everyone wants someone they love to run to their side
in the middle of the night
when your body feels broken
and your screams are silent
coughing up your lungs
as prayers to god
asking for someone to come save you
or at least make you some soup

Saturday, November 20, 2010

Day 491: youth (edited)

You were the girl who played all the wrong games too well
Every sport or guitar string
Plucked too perfect
Only added to your walls
The parts of you no one seemed to even want to penetrate
The queer who was never smeared
Across your elementary school field
You were too fast and strong to be caught under dog piles
You played games with words
Spit vocabulary like fag
Just like the rest
You didn’t realize what the word meant yet
or its irony
you didn’t know how it would infect you
lay eggs under your tongue like spiders in your stomach if you slept with your mouth open
you were cautious of all the wrong things then
not of heights
and skaboards
but women
so cautious of them
so afraid to become one
in body
full in breast
and hips
you hid yourself in the hand-me downs of older brothers
Insisted that you didn’t “fit” into the clothes of your females cousins
Even if they were the proper size
So many games you played those days

you were told as a child
that youth was that sour taste under your tongue
the soil under your nails
and broken hearts
walls that crumble
like berlin
that it would be the most beautiful time of your life
that growing
and periods
and boobs
those were things to look forward too
count and measure like treasures
against your friends
no one mentioned the tears
how they would lay fire under your skins
or the blood
and saringes
and blades
those were bad words
like, fag should have been
but wasn’t just yet

your Youth was the tears your left on your pillow on your twentieth birthday
When u felt change tangible
Something u could count in 10s
In decades
The empty saringes
And full sharps contaners
Body bruises and tenderness
you see
your youth was a splinter at the back of yourneck
a stiffness in your hips
a sticky taste on your palms
alcohol under your fingernails
santination doesn’t come cheap
or without leaving a stench behind
you carried it like detergent
youth were the truths you hid like
blood under the sheets
its not the same lie
we lay under different worlds
its growing
its different
and your heart
isnt meant to crumble

you wish
someone could have told you
that hearts have to break and rebuild to grow
but that doenst mean to be careless in giving it away
that it should instead be held like china
like the daughtors who shouldn’t have been forgotten or forged into fires

Friday, November 19, 2010

Day 490: love is a dirty word (even more compressed)

a poem
for words like love
for girls who will call me forever
but wont call me now
and the nasty things we say in our sleep to each other about picket fences, dogs and adoption
bad words like
and dyke
ones that mean things like hate but still don’t hurt
like you do

like love.

Thursday, November 18, 2010

Day 489: bad haiku

a true poet writes
even when the wells are dry
alone. cold. and sick

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Day 488: Haiku again

you bit me soft like
we were the kind to play games
all we did was break

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

Day 487: for loving you again

your skin taste like home
you are everything i've missed
why'd i ever leave?

Monday, November 15, 2010

Day 486: youth

you were told as a child
that youth was that sour taste under your tongue
the soil under your nails
and broken hearts
walls that crumble
like berlin

your youth was a splinter at the back of yourneck
a sticky taste on your palms
blood under the sheets
its not the same lie
we lay under different worlds
the skys are always falling
this isnt youth
its growing
its different
and your heart
isnt meant to crumble
hodl it like china
long and great
let your skin obsorb
leave the dirt there overnight

learn to breathe by morning

Sunday, November 14, 2010

Day 485: “we all know that nostalgia is dangerous”

“we all know that nostalgia is dangerous”
that remembering the way yesterday taste can make you nothing but thirsty
make you crave for rewinds
but time
time doesn’t black flip
your hunger will only leave you empty
searching for yesterdays when there are barely even today’s on the horizon
is only after-taste
only broken dreams
and we
are too near sided to seek for things beyond ourselves so we live in dreams we’ve already breathed

everyone needs a little saving from tomorrows
and questions
and fears
like questions we’ve never heard
but tomorrows are just yerdays inverted
memories are just the best and worst parts of our past refusing to be forgotten
everything in the middle is grey
that what we are always afraid to become
blurry and forgotten
“we all know that nostalgia is dangerous”
but it’s the only thing keeping us above ground

Saturday, November 13, 2010

484: saturday's a rugby day

turn these muscles to iron
these bones to steel
under the weight of the expectations you would give yourself enough credit to create
build or break
im giving myself the opportunity to break
the chance to fail
the gift of experience
and pain
some things
are worth waiting for
others come right in time
when you least expect it

Friday, November 12, 2010

Day 483: til i collapse

i spent the morning
consoling my bones with concrete
turning my blood to iron
fake me strong silver
but mutated
but some mornings i just wish i were a diamond
cuz i'm putting every inch of these syringes in one bucket
one future filled with broken brittle bones
walkers and treatments
call me crazy
under the weight of arthritis
and the incoming tackle
theres no substitute for the pain
no way to escape the impossible
we are all broken already anyways
who to say crushing bones wouldn't make things any better

Thursday, November 11, 2010

Day 482: Bad words (compressed)

love is a dirty word
dont throw it here
it is nothing but letters
are nothing but skin
so this
is a poem
for words like love
and eternity
for girls who will call me forever
but wont call me now
and the nasty things we say in our sleep to each other about picket fences, dogs and adoption
for the bad words like
and dyke
the ones that mean things like hate but still dont hurt
like you do

like love.

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Day 481: bad words

this is a poem for all the shity metaphors you write about being broken
for ever simile and the smiles you didnt have to write in order to exist
for the space between love and loved
and the way the past tense feels
this is a poem for the girl who calls me forever
but wont call me now
will cry with me into the night
but still leaves by daylight

love is a dirty word
dont throw it here
dont leave it at my ankles
in your tracks
in your path of growing
dont run me over with it
pin me to the wall waiting with your breath
love or leave
but dont do both
it does me nothing but scars
it leaves me nothing but tears
and you
and memories
and shitty metaphors
and similes
that taste like tears
look like smiles
it doesnt give me you
love is nothing but letters
are nothing but skin
i am everything that has been forgotten
and pushed aside
you are remaking every mistake i ever wrote
i am watching from outside
the body
which has already been torn to pieces

so this is a poem for the ugly
for words like love
and forever
and the nasty things we say in our sleep to each other about picket fences, dogs and adoption
for the bad words like
and dyke
the ones that mean things like hate but still dont hurt like love
this is a poem for you
and the two years i've known you
loved you
and still do


Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Day 480: verge

its easy to mistake the storm in our chest
with the one brewing in the sky
they both make us cold
thats all i feel now
its everwhere
in every conversation we havent had yet
that might not happen
when we cut ourselves this way
theres no telling that we can be glued back together
but what about the forever you promised
that i trusted
im starting to wonder if it really exist
and if it does why it isnt more important than now.

Monday, November 8, 2010

Day 479:

waiting to shatter
broken heart on repeat
like hearts
like you and me

Sunday, November 7, 2010

Day 478:

i am not the kind of woman who waits
or stays
neither are you
we only pretended to be
but we arent those kind
and now im porous and you are hard
like granite
now we put all the wrong words in all the wrong orders
our lips suck into themselves
our hearts are inthe wrong places
it doesnt even matter anymore
the sun is going to set
it will be dark
and we wont know what we've become
or how it all came to be

Saturday, November 6, 2010

Day 477: the bitter

im trying to write poems to tear away the darkness
to take away the cold
the bitter
the parts that were left behind that time
the things we carried in our pockets
pretended not to be weighed down
pretended not to cry
and scream
but there are still echoes here
and scars of where our voices made the deepest cuts
where we left the hearts we severed
and we walked away with ourselves to learn to breathe differently or die

there are ghosts youve left behind
and lies of mine we havent moved from
they are the echoes and weights we carry
trying to convince ourselves that the other bodies we put between us make any difference in heartbreak
there is no space here
for other skins
you are playing with fire
and im the only one burning
the tears dont fall right in this place
sorrow is a vacuum of space i never learned to fill
your kisses are vouchers i cannot afford to check
we are that kind of dangerous
kite runners with broken wrists
and heavy wind
ugly in the sky
looks like we are constantly falling
it feels like im constantly sinking
into you
and out of myself
independence means nothing without someone to hold you in the moments that the walls are crumbling
when eyes rain like california in fall
and almost beautiful

im trying to write tonight to tear away the darkness
to bring back the moon
and the mountain
and the ocean
the water that doesnt come from my own skin
im trying to write tonight to take away the cold
the bitter
the pieces we left behind
pretended not to want to turn back
when thats all we ever did
and thats all we'll ever do

Friday, November 5, 2010

Day 476: time

late nights
ill never remember with people
ill never forget
we've got that kind of music
kinda of rhythm
breaking time into dusk
on the fretboard of your guitar
the strain in our voices
the smoke we've tried to break through in our breaths
trying to leave something behind
someone gets picture
so we dont have to forget it all

Thursday, November 4, 2010

Day 475: daddy

;ast night i was dreaming to your smile
your stories
the tenor of your breath
and song
i miss you like i miss the mountains
and the moon
and how they are the same
like you and i
one conjuring the other
only seen in the other brilliance

not every father has a daughter
but every daughter has a father
one who was there
but its not true
i know daughters without you
without a moon
to call home
to call when it gets cold and scary
and the world spins in every way you dont need it too

this morning i am dreaming to your skin
the tenor of your heart
the rhythm of your chest
all the tangible parts of you
i miss the most.

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Day 474:

some mornings i write you into my dreams
carve out your name into my skin
try to remember
the things i promised you i'd forget my morning
to make our parting easy
we scratched the inside of eachothers tongues
left our mark in bitter tastes
regrets like butter
turn our skin soft
wanting to hold on
but cannot
not to anything solid
not to anything like you

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

Day 473:

the things you promised never to hear
as the same things i promised to never say
we have that kinda heart breaking silence
and col
like water
when you only want to be dry
we have no choice in these tears
cut me open like you are interested
to be left to dry
ill wait
for you
to return

Monday, November 1, 2010

Day 472:

she left her door wide open
and never saw him again.

Sunday, October 31, 2010

Day 471:

when you speak
my teeth turn to milk
melt away like butter
like dairy
i am soft in your shadow
trying to live up to the creases in your palms
i want to create destiny too
but i am mortal
and simple
silly that way
with my skin
and stories
the ones you dont read
there are walls everywhere
we've found a way to hide there
be beautiful in our creations
the pictures we drew in the back of our closest
refusing to share
but wishing the other would sneak a peak

Saturday, October 30, 2010

Day 470: sometimes, i dream in your prismacolor still

"I hear heartbeats and see crumpled paper when I sleep"
they tell stories of other palms
and skins
and bloods
i wonder how i fit there
if i could scribe you a letter than would make your heart stutter
would you read me proper
i wonder
there are so many secrets we've come to be
broken in our own histories
pursing ourselves to be more then we are meant
and allowing our own failure to occur there

Friday, October 29, 2010

Day 469: fear

the body will bend
if you let it
teach it
try to hold it too close
to safe
break yourself in your expectations
or exceed them all in bravery
your bones are malleable
myth is brittle
break them into powder
show them what you are made of
show yourself

Thursday, October 28, 2010

Day 468: starrs

give me something new to breathe
in a kiss or
in your skin
soft in the same way
hold me backwards
the way i dont usually let you
lets me constellations
show our stories
to anyone
worth watching

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Dsay 467: distance has nothing on difference

Sometimes I wonder if your silence comes from you mission
From my speech
From the sides of prop 8 we were made to stand on
But I want you to know
I could really care less about marriage
There are bigger fish to fry
But I wonder
How your prophets would feel about me at your reception
I was already not welcome in those temples
Even back when I was straight
I still didn’t have the right breeding
trust me,
I understand the exclusive
Or at least I have learned to
But we used to be the ocean
The white wash
Now we are just propositions and picket lines

I am no more a sinner than you
I am no less human
So if its easy
You can love me like I am judas
Like I made some kind of mistake
That need forgiveness
Or you can love me like family
The kind we were when we still had secrets and silence
And questions we couldn’t ask
You can love me like that
I think
You are capable at least

We sit an ocean a part
But I don’t think it’s the distance as much as it is our differences
You have stories piling up in blog posts
I read them all
Someday I wonder if you’ve ever read any of mine
Or if breaking this way is easy
For you
For the divine
For the enlightened
I think not
But can be sure
I am sure I don’t know you
I am sure I miss you
But not of much else , these days

All I know is there used to be a chord tied to my index finger
That could have extended beyond the pacific to you
Could have build bridges like golden gates
Or tunnels
There are ways to connect things separated by seas
Separated by distance
But maybe
Maybe im nieve
Maybe there is no way to hold on
When we stand on opposite ends of picket lines
But you should know
Im here by default almost
And maybe you are too
If you’d like
I’d put it aside
We could meet by the shoreline
Grab our boards
Pick up our mother tongues
Paddle out into the sunrise

Like we used to

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Day 466: creation

They say it was dark
Before the burning
Before the explosion
Before our bodies melted into oceans
My father says it was dark
Po uliuli
The kind of darkness your eyes cant adjust too
The kind we haven’t adjuted oriperly from just yet
The night
He met with more darkness
Made love
Gave birth to the slime
Gave birth to our bodies
And blood
And the parts of ourselves we don’t show enough people
Our shame
It was created in darkness too
They say
That is where the secrets are
I think that’s what they say
Im not sure
I wasn’t listening
I try to listen now
To make up from everything forgotten
Like the silence
Like the darkness
all the things before the fire
before the burning
everything hurt

Monday, October 25, 2010

Day 465: a letter of love

if you're wondering where i've gone
you can find me at the tip of your tongue.
on the words im not ready to hear.
loving you like you never left-
like i never let you go.

Sunday, October 24, 2010

Day 464: hemmingway is a bitter old man- he has no flava

the man waits
the woman she cries
and there is an expectation to touch
but no one does
they sit
nd crying
watching the cars leave
wishing they were driving
or riding along
somewhere away from here
there is a child crying
and mother who doesnt want to listen
but here
there are no children
just the man
and women
and crying
wishing they were driving
wishing they were gone
near the children

Saturday, October 23, 2010

Day 463:the night

i often leave in the night
where everything that is loved is forgotten
in your darkness
in our silence
in the parts of forgotten skies
and constellation
where we left the moment of our bodies
dangling in your doorway
praying to be noticed
i levae then
when you are asleep
and i know you are breathing hard
and heavy
like you are alive
more than you are awake
i leave then
before the pain sets in
before the sun rises
and can show us all the scars
we have ignored
pretended to forget
that will never leave us
to be

Day 463:the night

i often leave in the night
where everything that is loved is forgotten
in your darkness
in our silence
in the parts of forgotten skies
and constellation
where we left the moment of our bodies
dangling in your doorway
praying to be noticed
i levae then
when you are asleep
and i know you are breathing hard
and heavy
like you are alive
more than you are awake
i leave then
before the pain sets in
before the sun rises
and can show us all the scars
we have ignored
pretended to forget
that will never leave us
to be

Friday, October 22, 2010

Day 462: cypher

often time i am afraid of speaking out of turn
so you can find me on the corner of your tongue
in your silence
in the parts you've hidden
in the darkness
where everything is moist and beautiful
but terrified

remember the cyphers in the center of your kitchen
where we learned that speaking out of turn was the purpose
so we flung our songs from our bodies
through our fingertips
in our breaths
in our stories

there are secrets there in my silence
in my fear of speaking
in that insecurity
the parts i am afraid to show you,
so beautiful in your strength
so strong in your beauty
i want to be that kind of sure
in the middle of your kitchen
speaking out of turn
turning myself
inside out
from your speech

Thursday, October 21, 2010

Day 461: Breathe again

Written to this song:

We left the weakest part of ourselves in our tracks
Walking away
We learned how to pretend not to look back
But you’ve got a glow I cannot forget
It is yours
It holds the scared parts of my skin
The parts that shiver easy
The parts that remember the fire in your cehst
And call you everything
And forever
And breathe
And life
Remember that
When we were everything
The sky
The distance
The ocean
We were all of it

We live in the cracks of sidewalk pavement now
The open parts are rare and dangerous
We avoid those steps
There is nothing but pain in full view
Those are the parts that are easy to remember
Your smile
Your skin
Hard to forget
That’s why I haven’t yet
I remember all the language we used in tongues
And skin
And hearts
All the dialects
The conversations we held over each others chests
Now those are fragmented
And almost forgotten

All I have
All I need
Hold me in your hands
In your breath
Search for the beautiful parts of me in the streets we took into distance
The strong parts are gone
But those can be rebuilt
From the ugly
From the scared
From the remembered
From the young

We can relearn to beath
You know,
Its possible
The answers are there
In the porch lights we left on
When we said we wouldn’t return
And hoped in our skin that we were lying

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Day 360: send me the moon

Written to this song:

Remember those days
When we wore our hearts on our sleeves like diamonds
Now they look more like smudges
Reminders of yesterdays
And promises for tomorrows
They make me uneasy
Make my skin flutter
Make me walk backwards
And remember the days before moonlight
Before we noticed the stars are brighter in certain skies
Before there was a color called “greener”
Before we learned what it meant to be breathless
And shattered
Before we knew what empty was
When everything was whole
Those are the parts of the universe I left with you
Under your sheets

There are constellations here these days
We call them by names
But I remember when we called them gods
Promised not to forget the ones we prayed upon
And that was enough
At least it was for us

Remember when we called distance the space between our fingertips when we embraced
When the ocean was just where we learned not to drown
We look at her like the miles she holds between our lips
The wet air under our pillows
the emptiness we feel in the back of our throats when there is nothing left to say
and no one to confess to
when secrets were about crushes
not loves
we didn’t use those words then
but we felt them
under our skin
between our short breaths
when everything was infinitely simple
life was a bluebird on a shoulder
the only trouble was that we hadn’t yet learned to fly away
but at least we knew then
how to stay

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

DAy 359: nothing but nonsense

‎"yesterday was simply what i was, and tomorrow- even that will be gone"
in a world where skin is only as thick as ripped pages from poetry books
we leave pieces of ourselves behind in time
in rhyme
schemes mean we arent playing fair
but fair aint loving
fair aint killing either
she said we aint playing fair
but shes not the one paying prices in tears
i've got the scars to prove her mistakes wrong
got the eyes to call her demon in the middle of darkness
we are gone

Monday, October 18, 2010

Day 458: the fall

the orange maple leaves here remind me of you
remind me of us
hanging from a thin branch
helpless to gravity
how we are stunning the way we fall
like feathers
crash like diamonds
stutter in the wind
sometime we make music in our quiet
sometimes we make silence in our tears

the trees change slowly in this season
its hard to notice by the day
until the branches are left bare
until theres nothing but twigs
and then you remember them being whole
but you dont remember the transformation as much
how nothing happen overnight
the way it seemed
how it tooks months to build and fall
how we took months to build and shatter

winter is coming soon
the environment is preparing itself in ways we forgot to
but spring will come after
the season we never made it to
maybe this time we will plant in safer climates
in places where the branches stay sturdy
and flowers bloom through december
maybe this time we'll pull caution back from the wind
lay it in our roots
remind ourselves of all we have lost
all that we have left
and all we have yet to gain

Sunday, October 17, 2010

Day 457: thinking outloud

we wear activism in are skin tone
some of us are more authentic to the eye then others
some of us have more heart
some of us are broken
but we are all in boxes
we paint our neighbors
and red
call it a process
call me an ally
call you the prospect
who are we fighting for
not for each other im sure
barely for ourselves
there is always an enemy
today shes ,sitting in the mirror with brown eyes
how far have we gone backwards
that we colonize ourselves

its raining in california
but its warm here in the midwest
im wondering if i left a part of me where it should be sunny
a part of what i am fighting

Saturday, October 16, 2010

Day 456: hmm

im writing you songs on the inside of my wrist.
lyrics youll never read.
melodies ill never forget.
you have a way of leaving your taste behind
in your tracks
they are deep
i can feel them
under my skin
like blood
i am trying to sing to you in this space
but there is no sound in this vacuum
no wind
nothing changes but change
and time
nothing stays quite the same

im not sure what there is to say but silence

Friday, October 15, 2010

Day 455:

some days,
i want to crash into you
i rather just dorwn

Thursday, October 14, 2010

454: secrets

Ive been meaning to tell you about the texture of your lips and palms
How they seem to sink into me
How your breath hits the back of my neck like bullets
Makes me stand up straight
Makes me wish I could do the same to u
I wanna to crash into you
Most days
But I keep these secrets hidden under my tongue
Where you can find the scars of passed loves
I want to lay there with u and feel beautiful
Take my hair down and let u count each of my insecurities
You'll call me stunning
And I'll wish I believed you

But when we kiss
Something seems to break through
The woman I am afraid to be breaks through this skin
The dust settles
Things make sense
Even being call beautiful
Its something I can feel with u
Naked on my bed but..
Those are scary feelings
They don't come out easy
I have to force myself not to tell you about how each touch of yours I've memorized
How I've written them into poems
And I've lined the inside of my skin with the taste of your tongue
I try my hardest not to write about you
Not to think about u
In your silence
I try to call myself distance
And call you the ocean
But I am a light house
Looking for lost hearts to bring to shore
And you may not be lost but your shining like a sinking ship
And I'm imaging us both
Hitting the bottom
Sinking in beauty
Suffocating in our pleasure
Praying to have enough air
For at least one last taste of your skin

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

Day 453: BRCA1/2

i've always wanted to be more like my grandmother
i should have listened when i was told
to be careful for what i wished for

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Day 452: cold

the darkness is cold
your skin
burns under my blood
under your breath
i feel you sayin everything i wanna hear
but nothing that i need
i wish i could write you to this page properly
but this world is full of nothing but distractions
and i am failing at keeping my head on straight
my eyes on the horizons
my body is crumbling
the weight of your hands stings
there is nothing here
but cold

Monday, October 11, 2010

Day 451: short story: Hearts Heavy like Pennies in our Pockets

today instead of writing a poem i wrote a draft to a short story. yes. i wrote all of this today.. does that count?

Hearts Heavy like Pennies in our Pockets
Draft #1

When we were young, we would run out into the cornfields to the train tracks that ran through Birdseye. We would dodge the stocks and play hide and seek- we played all sorts of games. The biggest game we played was at the tracks. We threw pennies into the tacks to see what the weight of our changing world would do to them. We’d collect the flattened copper the day after and give them names; we’d make up stories on how they had been deformed. Jenny’s favorite was nearly sliced in two. She named it cash- we weren’t that creative then. One day when we were 8 Jacob brought a Philips head and we carved our names into the steel. Jenny, Nick, Jacob, Julia, April and Katelyn; each name was written in our own handwriting- mine was the worst- I hated the way my Y’s were always uneven. The tracks were old so some of the plates were loose so one day jenny pulled at the plate under her name and realized they was room to hide things and that’s when we started leaving parts of ourselves at the tracks.
That’s when we were young. And curious. And scared of nothing but the speed of the bullet train. That’s before we were afraid of the world. Before we were afraid to grow up. Before we were peter pans and wanted nothing more then to be gone- To never-never land. That's before we started throwing our bodies into them. Because we were trapped here and we wanted out- and we always said the trains would be our only way—if only they would stop here- if only Birdeye would build a station and we could board them with all our memories and baggage and leave this place behind us. We’d imagine a new world beyond the steeple of our single chapel and the water tower on oak road. We would dream of freeing ourselves from these picket fences.
Our parents used to tell us stories of the town before the trains. How things were slow. But Things still feel slow. The trains still pass by every afternoon and sometimes even the night trains come through. Birdseye Indiana still doesn’t have a station so we are 16 and 17 now- still watching the world change around us while everything here remains the same. Jenny, Jacob, Adam, Nick, Julia and I. we’ve been in the same class since kindergarten. We were best friends once- the kind that hung out in public. But we have a different relationship now. Jenny was the first of us to follow through. To throw herself into the afternoon train that passed through the empty cornfields that’s is Birdseye Indiana. We made the pact last July- when we realized that getting out of this town wasn’t nearly as easy as we had imagined as children. The train still didn’t stop in Birdseye and so we got used to watching the changing world leave us behind. It seemed like the only way to over come was to find a way to use the train to leave this place in our past.
We met under the water tower after we had all received an email from jenny about some kind of emergency.
“I think it’s about time we get real” jenny started
“About??” Nick was always the first to ask questions.
“About getting out- its not gonna happen. And if we don’t do something we are gonna die old and bitter just like everyone else in this stupid place”
“Soo… I mean, what are we supposed to do? It seems kinda pointless for you just tell us that—we know we’re not going anywhere fast.” April said.
“We need to take things into our hands.”
I looked around to see I was the only one understanding where this was going. I imagined a conversation like this to be a lot more emotional but it really was pretty logical; at least jenny made it seem logical- and we let her. Jenna had joked about this before. That the trains were the only way out and if they weren’t going to stop we’d have to find another way to escape. Somehow it always went back to the trains. Jacob was the first to speak.
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” he asked.
That was the last we really talked about it. Jenny would be first because it was her idea. And after that we were to flip a coin to decide who was next. There had to be rules. We all promised to follow through and to write letter. The letters were really just technicalities, its something we had heard of people leaving behind so we thought we should be consistent. We also all had to promise not to mention the pact to anyone- especially in the letters.
I think we all had our beliefs for what would happen after it was our turn. Where we would go. Jenny already thought she was going to hell so she wasn’t worried. And I think most of us just decided to follow out of curiosity. I know it sounds crazy- but crazier thing shave happened. But not in Indiana, not in Birdseye. Nothing interesting or crazy happened here. That was the problem- it definitely appealed to us to be the first and only interesting thing that ever happened here- that we could go down in history. And of course on top of that was the whole taking control of our own boring lives.
The town dealt with Jenny’s death in an awkward way. The teachers refused to talk about it and the principle, who was also the mayor, sent home a one page letter with a help hotline number requesting parents to talk to their children. It was all really formal; too formal for the kind of town that everyone knows everyone else. And of course we didn’t talk and our parents were either too terrified or too stupid to know that we’d be next so they kept quiet too. In the mean time, we just kept running for the tracks.
Its been 3 weeks since jenny’s been gone. 3 weeks since we stood in the hallow chapel under the stain glass and the bare cross. After the funeral we all gathered at the tracks. Where we grew up, where jenny died, where we were all to die. We lined up n front of the plate with our faded names and pulled Jenny’s favorite coin from under the steel track. We took turns flipping the coin deciding that the odd man out would be next. This time it was Nick.
So then it was Me, Jacob, Adam and Julia sitting in the middle section of the chapel in the same black attire that we wore to Jenny’s funeral. I think we all wanted to cry, but I can’t be sure. We sat in the second row right behind the family. Nick’s younger brother was sitting in front of us, bawling. I wanted to tell him about the pact. I wanted to remind him that Nick loved him. I wanted to comfort him- but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. So instead, I just put my palm on his shoulder. It was becoming more and more clear that we were affecting the entire town. Families were crumbling around us but somehow that didn’t make us second-guess what we were doing. No one second-guessed anything until Jacob was gone- because the way he left shook us all.
After Nick’s funeral we all met back at the tracks. We flipped coins and they decided Jacob was next.
“I guess its time.” He said. Deadpan, like he had been waiting. We all were waiting as patiently as possible.
“Do you know when you are going to do it?”
“Thursday.” He let the words slip off his tongue as he jumped from each side of the tracks, flailing his arms through the corn stocks, as if he was examining his target. We all just watched.
That was the last time I saw Jacob. Now we were back in the chapel. Julia, Adam and I- in our finest black attire that we had worm less then a week ago and then again a few weeks before that. We sat in our same seats. In our same shoes. In the same order except now the seat next to me was empty- that was Jacob seat. This was getting familiar and it almost made sense except now there was uncertainness in the air. There was something especially unsettling about his funeral. Jacobs mother claims to have not found a note. So to the town it was unclear as to whether or not he ran into the tracks or slipped. But we, Adam, Julia and I, and anyone who grew up here knew those tracks like the back of our hands. We had stood at the edge of the tracks since we were 6- we’d learned not to trip. We knew logically- he ran. But there wasn’t a note. And we never want to believe in something dark if we don’t have to. So we say that he tripped. That he was misguided- Cuz we all were. Because to a small town there’s nothing logical about a boy running into an oncoming train- even if he is the third to do it in half a year. So we as a town decided he fell and decided not to investigate while the rest of us in the pact wrestled with the idea that maybe it was an accident. That was the problem; he left everyone with questions- even us. Now this wasn’t something against the town because we felt it too- it wasn’t supposed to happen like that- we were supposed to be in control.
When Jacobs mother walked to the casket I started crying. I think Julia started crying too because I felt Adam readjusting himself to hold her hand. This is the first time we had cried since it all began. At least it was the first time we cried in front of each other. Jacob’s mom gave a eulogy about integrity. About strength and will and she almost made it through the entire thing without breaking down. I swear she looked at us square in the eye. That’s when the real tears came. Because Jacobs mom figured it all out. And even if she didn’t she made us feel like she did- so it really was the same thing.
When we got to the tracks Adam was the first to speak,
“what the fuck was that?”
“I think she knows,” I shrugged
“she definitely knows do you think shell say something, “ Julia chimed in
“its hard to tell, but how the fuck did she find out?”
“First of all, Adam, Calm down. Second, I don’t think Jacob told her- if that’s what you are getting at,” things were obviously faling apart- I tried to keep them together.
“whatever, lets just get this over with.” Adam reached under the steel plate but instead of pulling out jenny favorite coin he pulled out a piece of paper. “don’t do it.”
“What?” Julia asked.
“That’s all it says, ‘Don’t do it’.”
That fall is something we carry every day. Adam, Julia and I. we meet at the tracks every July and cry. We remember what happened and we remember our promise to keep our pact secret but more importantly we remember Jenny, Nick and Jacob- we remember how they left and we let them. Somehow that makes everything so much more heavy. We don’t throw pennies at the tracks anymore- and we try our hardest not to throw our bodies. We have a new pact now- to live for them and to remember how stupid we were for not speaking up so they could live for themselves. The secret never got out- because if it did we would know, this is Birdseye- if one person knew the whole town would by know. Or maybe we all know and its something too dark to talk about, I don’t know. All I know is that instead of carrying flattened copper in our pockets we carry a piece of Jacobs letter. We carry a piece of his forgiveness and we hope that Jenny and Nick feel the same. We pray that we will see them again- and that someday the train will stop in Birdseye- that everything we tried to do actually made a difference. We pray that we wont be stuck here forever with heavy hearts weighing us down like pennies in our pockets.

Sunday, October 10, 2010

Day 450: tugging along

cover me with smoke and magic
make it all beautiful
name me mysterious and lovely and beautiful
all those things you wish you could be
here with me
we can play mirror games
call each-other beautiful
and ugly
and remember how the words sting that way

Saturday, October 9, 2010

Day 449: your lips

This is a poem for the texture of your skin
The lines on your lips
The taste on your tongue
For the softness of your neck against my lips
I have dreams of skinny dipping in your irises
Of swimming behind your corneas
of leaving parts of myself behind
Call me the vulnerability of secrets
The silence between your breaths
Pressed between my breast
You are a story that should be written
I am a poet who sometimes forgets to write of the worthy
But I think u are making me Better at remembering.

Friday, October 8, 2010

Day 448: forgotten the same


there are 9 names running down the list of kids we will memorialize
the template is familiar
we light a candle in our mourning
its something I’ve seen before
im used to this kind of sadness
the names are common
like holly, Billy, tyler and justin
these are people I could have known
these are people I could have been
people I have been
and I know I should be crying
thats familiar too
but all i can think of are the train tracks
Running along university
and the 5 crumbling bodies falling under
the ones with names I’ve forgotten
and all the other children
who were gone without notice
without us calling it tragedy
cuz we gave those words to Michael and heath
but tragedy
is not a drugged out celebrity
tragedy, is a girl having to throw her body into a bullet to be remembered
tragedy is our children dying
The ones running from something too big and fast to ever be free of

And I know,
I should be crying
But all i can think of is how long we've been running from these tracks
how long we been swallowed under
Taken asunder
the silence is gripping our vocal chords like the plague
so this,
This is a poem for the forgotten solders
For the children who didn’t learn enough reasons to live
This is a poem for the forged
The bodies beaten into sidewalk calk
The vigil callers
The ones who bring the storms
The tears come quick when its close
When its raining in California
During fall
It is easy to cry
But not so easy to feel
That’s why its taken me weeks to even write
For the names we trace in face book status history

To the boys I’ve never met
Here are my apologies
for the black and blue bruises
for the FUCK you FAGGOTS
i am soo sorry
To the girls
Quivering in closet liners
Hiding beneath straight jackets
Straight edge smiles
Switchblade wrists
The ones dressing into the genders they were told they had to fit
Trying to fill the hearts of men who will never fill their own

We are the same kind of forgotten
Like our secrets left in the back of our dark closets
The same kind of hatred
Colored red
And black
Call it scarlet
Call it a letter on my chest
We are the young
Quick to jump
Hanging on
Only by our necks
Waiting for someone to catch us
Or catch on
Waiting to be found where we’ve been hidden
With letters we never should have written
Waiting for a salvation
That’s too slow to come
Falling off our own burnt bridges

This is a scripture for the broken
For the ones sill breaking
For the ones barely surviving
I’ve erected a wall in your honor
Around my heart
With your names tattooed to the inside
Where all the severed memories are
Its made or plaster
But it looks like marble
Call my fear beautiful
Then break me easy with your sledge hammer
i’ve traced a place for you on the inside of my wrist
where I’ve held all my lessons on living

This is an epitaph for the tired and lonely
The ones who slipped under without noticing
Or the ones who just
The ones swallowed by iron
And rope
And left there likes old westerns
Like a damsel
Wearing scars like accessories
Looking for answers in tissue lining

This is a eulogy for the ones who fell
And the ones who were pushed
For the kids who’s hands got tired of holding so they hung form other extremities
Or flung themselves into oblivion
for the kids who were tired of waiting
and the tomorrows that don’t seem to ever arrive
for the beauty in the broken
and the ugly in everyone standing upright
like nothings even happened
For the kids who are still trying to live through it all

This is a talisman
For the ones who are still here
The ones trying to remember a reason to live
Trying to forget the names and statistics
Trying not to let the falling stars turn everything to darkness
But its dark
We know
Its hard
And cold
And the moon is not shining nearly as bright as we need it to
And the suns been lying to us
Cuz we’ve got only thunder in these chests left

This is a song for the storm
And the train
And the bullets
And the blades
And the bridges
And all the things that were or will be broken
This is for the hearts that are still crumbling
For the foundations that still don’t hold us
For the pillars that are still falling
For the children that are still running
For the parents who still wont notice
For the teachers who still cant change
For the country that still wont speak
For the president who’s forgotten the taste of bigotry
For the people who been convinced otherwise
For the ones who are ashamed
And sewn quiet
For the last screams left
The bottom of the tracks
the back of the bus
The inside of a barrel
The edge of a blade
The distance in the fall
The darkness of a closet
For the difference in hanging on
And falling over

Tomorrow the news will be quiet
So will the president
So will the teachers
And the governor
And maybe even your parents
But there’s a sea of crying hearts
Weeping in your distance
Wondering if they’re next
Wondering how to stop the pattern

Someone, somewhere is screaming into darkness

Beautiful child,
this is a melody for your lonesome soul
because I know, the right play list can pull you back from the edge
the right kind of song can bring you back to believing
I promise that You will never be alone
As long as someone is still running
And someone is still falling
we will be The same kind of beautiful
With ugly secrets hiding in our pockets
letters that never should have been written
in regret of our silence
all the good poets are writing
but a pens scratch is barely audible
and face book and twitter are still stuttering
so Tomorrow maybe some of us will speak into the darkness
Call out your names
Tattoo them to our vocal chords
And remind ourselves
That we are all
The same kind of lost
Children crying out
Praying not

Thursday, October 7, 2010

Day 447:

the ocean just got a little more narrow
i can see you on the horizon
happiness travels fast
i feel you moving on
i feel you loving yourself
i feel you love
far away
a little less broken

stunning as ever.

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

Day 446: score

remember when we said
we wouldn't compare ourselves with syllables
our metaphors
weren't compatible
and we said
it didn't matter
it was expressed emotion
inherently beautiful
inherently profound

but we put sunmbers to your scars
call one more beautiful then they other
say why

we are not there with you
we are detached
placing you on broken pedestals
watching you fall

Tuesday, October 5, 2010


call me by the wrong name
in the middle of the night
oscillate to someone else's heartbeat
just for tonight
let me be someone else
in your dreams

Monday, October 4, 2010

Day 444: trophy case

on the good days
i feel trophy like
gold like
sterling like
platinum sometimes
i hang on walls
performed perfection
i've got my movements practiced
i feel like the picture you leave on your desk long after its over
a scar
something left behind
and tangible

on the good days i feel like a catch
like something to be won
and worn with pride

today i want to feel human
with skin
heart beat
beastly love like
we are full
like everything still works
but instead i feel like im hung on your wall
watching the spaces change
the seasons leave
like falling autumns leaves
we are changing it seems
but i am still a trophy
the kind that stay there
leave dust marks
felt when

Sunday, October 3, 2010

Day 443: witness

so me where it hurts most
like fracture ribcage
where it taste like burnt toast
where everything is dark and chalk like
show me that nasty scar
the purple bruises
i want to kiss you in those fragile places
where your weakest parts touch god
i wanna be there to witness

Saturday, October 2, 2010

Day 442: sometimes i have no idea

its something beautiful to watch
but something else entirely to feel
we've got that kind of sacrificial love
like poets spilling stages with blood
we are the cut throat lovers
like yesterdays
call me beautiful look into my broken eyes
find something more human
than either of us could ever believe
you are the whole pieces that seem to be missing
a reminder that theres something beyond my skin
that has yet to be felt

Friday, October 1, 2010

Day 441: you are not my moon, sunshine

i left an empty green bottle back home
hoping it would sever and sharpen by the sea
where boys learn how to break hearts
and girls learn how to cover up
an ocean that forgives more than it should

i left a beautiful girl there
watched her fall more in love
let her become more attached
home is where you learn
that fooling yourself into love only slows the process
of a broken heart
only makes the shatter last longer
only breaks a little harder
i left her there
where only lost promises could hold
no tomorrows
i left her with a cord to hold
to tie
a bottle of vodka
a camerca full of memories

we are all shattered here
shaving ourselves into compact version
i wish i was strong enough to have love you right
to have help on
to not have remembered the other i had before you
its not a matter of giving up
and second tries
of what you lack
of what i deny
its the fact that my heart is like the ocean
it only reacts to the moon
can only conjure mountains from gravity
only call the storm through night
but theres no doubt that you were my sun
the brightest part about me
teaching me to cast shadows
to leave something in my wake
to pay more attention
to see beyond routine
i cant hide the truth with you shining on me
cannot pretend to be moved
when in your light
we can see everything
especially the cracks
where we crumbled
especially the mistakes
we tries so hard to hid

Thursday, September 30, 2010

Day 440: our maps look nothing like our skins

im only 20 but my mind is older
my bodys got cracked
broken boulder limbs
these are the kind of scars we share
the ones that work their way from blood to tissue
walking stories
moving contradictions
severed wings
ive been learning to fall property
since birth
from stork to tree limbs
to mothers forgotten promises
to my first girlfriend
last boyfriend
we are the walking corpses
of a generation destine for doom
determined for justice
running at the speed of light
our feet are the only wouls we havent failed yet
our palms
the creased tell of our days
but lie in the experiences of numbered ages
its been years since anyones slowed down enough to notice
im 20 years old
bold like red bricks crumbling at dawn
i am an new england territory
scoffing at the innocence of my west ties
pacific roots
colonial pursuits textualized
look at all the scars we've left behind
tracing on the spine of our rock mountain maps
while trying to grow beyond our soul
daring to own a landscape
of skin that cannot be conquered
we are the shards of a generation too afraid to slow down
breathe in
enjoy the scenery
and recline

Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Day 439: do not hear me

Some morning I wake up worried that you’ll still be there
And I wont
Ill be shattered
Ill be ghost
only body
where is my spirit
you are
Upside down
Holy that way
I am the kind of woman who worries about such things
Wonders if there is enough heat in our friction
You wont hear me ask you
Please I beg you not to listen

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

DAy 438: nothing left

You’ve got pain written on the front of your chest
I did that
I remember the way the ink tasted after it dried
Like burnt butter
and I’ve never seen you as anything less than beautiful
But today
I feel you crawling here
Looking for a back way in
When less than a week ago I told you the front door was open
Now everythings broken
I’m telling too many parts of me to stay silent
Kiss the hardness away
With a beautiful girl at bedtime
Hold her the way you wish
someone would remember to hold you
Cry when you need to
But stay silent
Do these things only in the dark
Only when everyone is sleeping
Only when no one can see the whiteness of your eyes
Your innocence
Do this only then
When everyone has already left
Where there are no games between ex lovers
And there are no songs left to be played
Do this then
When its dark
And no one in the world even knows
You’re still breathing

Monday, September 27, 2010

Day 437: scars

i’ve been disguising my scars as promises
showing my body to beautiful women
drink me in
-she tells me im gorgeous
but all im thinking about is how im drowning
my gills have turned hard, scar like
like promises
I try not to keep
they are useless

i want to tell her,
i’ve got soft hands and a strong grip
the kind that makes you want it to last
the kind that feels like love when its not
we are those kind of space takers
these are not promises
they are something more broken
they are blood and tears
they are the parts that the others wont let me name forgotten
these are the parts of me you wont miss
I promise

The parking lot is half full most days
Of complaints and reminders of things I said and didn’t quite mean
Im trying to mean more of what I say
Think more before I breathe
you see,
i let my self daydream into easier realities
i pretend that i am good at this
when in truth
i am new to these kinds of forks
i’m still trying to figure out how i got here
where these vibrations began
i must admit
i am pretty clueless

place your skin between my fingertips
lie there for a minute
let me hold you naked
like, i’ve known you forever
be something famaliar
and easy to return to
these are the things im thinking and throwing out to the horizon

but really,
all i want to say is run
run till the sky turns to ocean
past the last broken sound barrier
and even then
dont look back
dont stop

never return
everything is broken here already
this is not a place to build your fortress

Sunday, September 26, 2010

Day 436: taste this

she writes poems for me that she thinks i dont read
but some nights
i want to scream through my computer screen
i want to slit my wrist with my broken promises and tell god that i dont believe in forgiveness
some nights
i want to press my blood against this hallow ocean
breathe like i am floating
above every single broken expectation
take me off those cracked pedestal
im breaking my body trying not to fall
its like survival of the fittest and every choice is wrong
i am falling
cracking foundations on the way down
every answer is the wrong word
we're living in the wrong world
and im praying for air
dying for a little more time

Saturday, September 25, 2010

Day 435: my creed

i believe in love. i believe in truth. i believe people will do the right thing... eventually. i believe you dont need to do anything to heal except get out of your own way. i believe in the power that women hold in the darkness of their chests. i believe men are not as powerful as they think but more powerful then they could ever truly imagine. i believe in the truth behind every contradiction and in its inherit beauty. i believe i can be ugly. i believe when im ugly the beautiful parts of me are just terrified. i believe you and i would make great friends. i believe that spelling doent matter. i believe its self centered to capitalize your "i's". i believe we could do so much better but we are too afraid that we actually have the ability to surprise ourselves with out own humanity.

i believe in feeling things deeply- even pain.
i believe in believing even when every bit of you tell you that its not reasonable.
i believe in being unreasonable sometimes

I am 20 years old. i dont read as often as i'd like/should. i've lied and cheated and done horrible things to people i care about. but if i can be beautiful- so can you. -- at least, thats what i believe...

prove me wrong- i dare you!

Friday, September 24, 2010

Day 434:short

i eat my words
and you cannot taste anything but betrayed
behind your tongue
go away dont leave me
is not a game im willing to play

Thursday, September 23, 2010

Day 433: god

I have to admit
Some scars don’t have stories
Some are just proof of addiction
I am 19 months sober
30 days for every year that god and I have been breathing together
My skin is growing over itself
Most of the scars have faded
My stories
Are going back into hiding
But every time i see a switchblade
For just a moment, I still think about how its cold metal would feel against my skin
I am caught in a chemical warfare with myself
I know it doenst make sense
I know I must sound crazy
But I am hoping
There is a 12 year old girl out there who hears this
And through these words knows that she is not alone
That’s its not just her and a god that doesn’t exist in this world
Both selling themselves short
Beautiful girl
There is a goddess under your skin
She lives there as long as you let her
And whenever you second-guess yourself
God is still breathing
If he can make it
So can you

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Day 432: the grass isnt greener

im sitting on an airplane in charoltte
on my way home from a show in maine
the planes about to take off and the guy next to me
is the kind of guy that looks like he could believe in capitalism
but i can tell from his last phone call that he has at least 2 children
waiting for him in california
and he loves them
im watching him now
as the plane starts to foar
and i can see him praying
the kind of prayers you learn in catholic schools
the kind tht end in fathers sons and holy ghosts

so im thinking about god now
and the meaning of life
and wondering if there is anyone back in cali waiting for me with love
and im thinking about the girl whos heart i broke last night
for the 3rd time
and im wondering how her prayers end
and the girl from last year who i eaither broke too hard or is too smart to ever take me back
and im making fun of the single men in first class
the ones who look like old highschool quarterbacks
with beer bellies like pregnancy
cuz i can see myself becoming them
the kind of person that fills the void of empty women with fine leather and free shots
and im listening to the man in front of me
telling stories of his 18 year old dughter and how hasnt seen her in years
and im telling myself i do not want to be that kind of person
even it from here,
their seat seems far more comfortable

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Day 431: apology

Writing a new language for the sorry. A new vocabulary for the broken. New syllables for the untrusted. Reconstructing the world. Sending smoke signals to every heart that these palms have smudged, tarnished, smashed. Know that there is a fireball of tears in this chest. Bursting at the seems. Trying to hold you from the distance. Across the line. Through it all.

Monday, September 20, 2010

430: i wear my culture on my skin

i wear my culture on my skin
damned like windward springs
where children rain into leaders
our own contained colonization
our stolen evolution
can you see it?
from mauna kea to keaukaha
our empty answers with rich questions no one seems to recognize
how stale our containment must be
for our sands to prostitute themselves
from a revolting lili'u
who was so misunderstood
i wonder what color she would bleed before the missionaries told her she was human enough to
and what could their children have seen other then beauty
as they watched our rough empty palms turn dust
turn dirt
now we look at ourselves in digust of what we have become
but dirt is not dirty
it is just brown
we are not gone
just forgotten
liquid beauty
surviving colonization
one trickle at a time
my skin is murky
i like it that way
its hard to tell where i've been and from whom i sprout
i am preserving myself today
from my haloa roots
to my keaukaha fins
from palolos mud
to kaimukis winds
there is something to be remember
the water is warm today
my skin is waiting to be embraced

dive in

Sunday, September 19, 2010

Day 429: idk

why i write anymore
you can call this darkness
the bottom of the well

Saturday, September 18, 2010


the sun is deceiving here
it would have you believe that its warm and beautiful
but its cold
we are cold
but we look so beautiful
and put together
it makes me wonder how many people you are kidding

Friday, September 17, 2010

Day 427:

she wants to run away
but theres no where that she can go
theres darkness only found here
she lives in shadows
of broken dreams
and realities that just shouldnt be
i cant help but see her spinning herself cyclone from somewhere outside
i am outside of everything
forgetting that i once felt everything
so real
and rich
and perfect

Thursday, September 16, 2010

Day 426:eye of the storm

everything i've built crumbles around you
we are tornadoes
and disasters
but we have eyes
in our centers
they are beautiful
and piece
somehow in the middle of all of this
we could meet there you know
where everything is settled and pretty and not painful
but instead we play peek a boo in the worst of it all
in the winds and waves
the crashes that break
it could all be so much easier
i think
at least

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

Day 425:

im not ready to go
things seem so permanent
and broken
her smile
or tears
they look the same from here
hard and tired
i want to re-write the beginning
but then, what would remain?

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Day 424: how i feel about healthcare reform

fuck you queens
i cant afford to pay 200 dollars a month to pay off my surgery
ill give you my account number.. youll see theres nothing there for you.. insisting thats the lowest you can go wont help you get any money if i dont have it.

obama, get your ass in motion.

Monday, September 13, 2010

Day 423:Hali'a

there are oceans here
and warm at the smae time
breathing miracles
i call this place hom
from every chinatown mom and pop shop
to alamoana
this place has character
and its something to miss
its roots
and quava bark
its tight vowels
and glottal stops
but above all it is family
and ill miss the way it feels to sit on a couch until the darkness of night
with a 14 years old girl who doesnt know better than to look up to me
she is a breathing miracle too
the kind you think makes you one by association
she is the closest thing to a legacy i have
a walking reminder that my words
have weight

to heavy for me to carry alone

Sunday, September 12, 2010

Day 422: writers block

there are so many things left to be written
i am sure
and yet
i havent found anything under my skin
no kind of residue
no words
not even silent prayers
there is just silence
and pain
i wonder
when this all ends
into action

Saturday, September 11, 2010

Day 421:my mother

my mother is a waterfall of forgotten stories and homes
a basket of troubled histories
of stories never told
of all the parts we usually leave in the sand under our toenails
she is as silence as midwest thunder
the kind that can be felt in the floorboards
the kind that scares you
but you miss it when its been gone for long
like water
like thirst
like home