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

Friday, September 10, 2010

Day 420: steel

some mornings the martyrs in this marrow fantasize of fracturing bones
how my irises might change color on impact
i wonder,
beyond body limits
beyond warnings
crack cartilage
brave me with your danger
shatter me
within the lace of your leather skin

some mornings i dream of being steel
sexy even
but i have fracture at every seam
i am incapable of being whole it seems

but there is a joy in this game
of bone dust
and painkillers
of braces
and ice baths
of concussions
and overtimes
the only home where heroes are born from themselves
from earth
we wonder
how far we can travel til we crumble
how fast til we fracture
how strong til we quake at every corner
there is ruble of past victories and defeats in the lining of this ribcage
a lions maine in this koko
i am not what i seem
i can defy expectations
even my own
and i can fail
i can falter
o cam crumble
turn dust
i can bleed
sometimes we forget,
pain doesnt always hurt
sometimes its our strongest parts
sometimes its what keeps us going
sometimes its the voice in the back of your mind
that wont let you stop
because being whole
sparkling at the edges
thats hell knocking at your doorstep
a constant reminder
of every bit of life you neglected to live

Thursday, September 9, 2010

Day 119: water

a single drop can change the tide
a single tear can break bread
a single woman can call the storm
our bodies are creatures
gods of water
fiece prayers
brokens laws
we are holy scriptures
in a sining universe
learning to sing off kety
off beat
off tppic
learning to be beautiful mistakes
holding storms as pinky promises under skin
we are falling
creating the universe like we created gravity
by trying to learn to feel the roots beneath our feet
by trying to learn to feel the roots beneath our feet
look at the story tellers in the creased of your palms
at the rising surf of your traditions
every new wave still brings the same water
still holds the same change
stills breathes the same gods
our language sweating salt
our skin crting family
blood we are changing
adding drop by drop
a new child is born
every day
a new destiny is written
a new possibility realized
we are waiting to discovere our brilliance
our tears
the lines on our skin
spoken traditions
like our palms
change with the simplest addition
with the slightest recognition
with the calmest storm
a single drop can change the tide
a single word
puts thought to motion

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

Day 118: lover

fear is in my mind strength is in my bones
my pipeline memories
my grandmothers stories
her voice
breaking vocal veins
in her skin
subtle brysh with god
you are my written failure
my crying success
my screaming distance
you are my cold blood
a pipe frozen shut
a home with out water
3/4th of all i am
the horror of honesty laughing
like depressions sacred sleep
sung into infinity
tied into shaky bones
britle darkness
where abswers only suck themselves into oceans of screams
i wonder
where the stregnth goes when its gone
when the breath is distant
and the bones fail
where are you held

of a million miles
of skylines and oceans
of sand dunes and hillsides
of deserts and coastlines
show me the strongest bits f your terror
of your failures
if the fearing success
of your palms
show me how you hold you childrens dreams
your mermaid songs
piano whispers
uyour cold tears
show me them all
trave them into the small of my back
where all the heavy distance is held
and ill show you a mirror of miracles
a cyclone of forgiveness
that returns the strength to the storm
the calm to the sand
ill show you the love in this skin
the kind that cannot be forgotten
the kind that only multiplies
the kind the sky births
dark and cold
but beautiful
and strong

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

Day 417: Kamakawiwoole

there is a silence of yoursi will never know
a jolt in bone ill never feel
but my father speaks of you like sunday scripture
like the perfection im sure you owned
i want to know your breath
the silence in your veins
the voiecs in your blood when you pray
does your melanin scream
i wonder
does it wish to pray back
do you ever Freudian slip yourself polytheist
or does every atom of you pray iehova
how do you choose to remember your tongue while forgetting to pass it on
how do you turn your skin private
how do you force yourself to forget
i wonder

where does your silence stem from
because its not from those bones of yours
the matrys in you marrows are burning themselves into ash begging to be acknowledged
to be prayed to
screaming your names
every single one of them
burning to be renamed
but you refuse to do anything but forget
but i know
there is a psalm in your bloodstream
singing songs to pele
to every bit of this universe
the hawaiian in you is dripping through your seams

Monday, September 6, 2010

Day 416: sense

SOMETIMEs it takes leaving to learn to stay
sometimes you have to be broken to know what whole means
not everything has to make cents
dollars arent our only way of counting progress
sometimes digression is best
we are walking circles
living spirals
breaths are cyclical
love is eternal
not the kind you think
its the kind you drink
irs the kind you write in ink
on skin
its the kind that sinks

i said,
not everything has to make sense
cuz dollars only build buildings
and our kupuna are sweating storms n this heat
spining oceans from puddles
they are spinning their graves
into cyclones
slowing down seems to me the only way to move forward
in a worl where theres a name for everything i wanna learn to see what hasnt been written
learn to breathe backwards
remember no exhale is ever lost
no sweat too sweet to be forgotten
even the most cautious hold ocean storms in their irises
our blood screams traditions
we just forgot to notice

Sunday, September 5, 2010

Day 408-414: excerpts from my journals from NZ.

There is so much that’s needs to be known… but not much that can be said. I am in new Zealand as of early this morning. And I’m not so jetlagged as I am confused. I lost a day while traveling because New Zealand is 22 hours ahead of Hawaii. Its Sunday afternoon here and I really only have 5 days to tell you about last Monday through Friday cuz I never lived Saturday and Sunday isn’t done… I feel like I was ripped off.

The Hawaiian/ Maori name of New Zealand is Aotearoa [ao teh ah do a]. which means the land of the long white cloud. Being here has been so spiritual. After being picked up today at the airport we drove around parts of north island and then went to breakfast and ended up heading to our hosts house and had some protocol. All Polynesian protocol and is very similar. Most require a chant exchange. In Hawaii the visitor chants first to ask for permission to enter but in Aotearoa the host calls out to the visitor first. Basically the visitors will stand outside facing the marae (meating place) and the hosts will stand in a line in front of the marae facing the visitors. Then The elder female of the host group calls out to the visitors in chant and the visitors then chant while entering the marae. Once inside the male elder will speak a welcome to the group and then the hosts sing following that the male elder of the visiting group will do the same. This exchange can go on for hours. Even days. Gifts are exchanged and you know the protocol is finished when you’ve gone around the circle to hongi everyone. Hongi is kind of like a kiss. Two people will press there noses together and inhale. Polynesians believe that your mana (spiritual power) is in your breath and so the hongi is an exchange of that power. it’s a beautiful process.
There are four Hale (houses) here. but none of the houses have kitchens. There is a separate building the marae that is separated into a meeting house and an eating house. The family (most of which isn’t blood related) eats every meal together. And the foood is sooooo good. Today was completely vegetarian.. and I’ve never been this happy without meat in my life! That’s a serious statement right there. This is the kind of place were a family flourishes. When a group of people make a common place a priority and a culture a priority that’s when a group can flourish. That’s when we all can grow. i would like to learn to grow that way.
Its hard not to believe in the beautiful of the universe while you are here. its so beautiful. In spirit and physically. When I get home I will upload pictures.. but the beauty is undeniable. Its also been really good for my Hawaiian to be here. I’ve been speaking to my father in Hawaiian since landing here. it just started coming out and it seem to come much more smooth than it has in a while. Theres something so powerful about this place plus the maori language/culture/myths are all very similar. We spent most of the afternoon speaking to each other in our own languages just trying to understand each other and sharing myths and connecting our histories. I don’t ever want to leave.

today im very much focused holistically and how groups communicate and move forward as a unit. I never imagined I would feel this strongly connected to a place other than my home and I definitely never thought I would feel soo connected to a group of people who were not my blood. But you all are my family, my home away from home, my love, my spirit. The reason I evolve. The reason I am beautiful.