Friday, December 14, 2012


there is a child in me
severed in half
a body blasted open by a fracturing slug to the chest

also a mother
someday to be
who will fear to do anything other than hold her daughter close
who will wonder if birth is irresponsible
if there will be no welcome for the fragile innocence of childhood

there is a sister
still learning to do justice by the name
not equipped with the thickness of skin to stop crying long enough to understand why this happened
her hands unable to lay still
searching for the soft skin of her younger siblings
the ones she knows are 6000 miles south west of these blasting bullets
of the shattering glass of winters quest promise
and yet
she will watch every minute of footage
every fucking second
searching for the eyes of a 9 year old girl
who reminds you of home - of a child she once held close to her chest
she will wonder if this is the penance you will constantly have to pay for allowing her heart to love

and beneath all of this...
there is a woman
i am trying to be
trying to hold all these pieces together
long enough to write it out
to gather all the shattered bits close enough to see an image
close enough to make sense of it all

but no
there is no sense
just a child, a mother, a sister and me
reading the news
watching the line of children skatter
watching their eyes turn dark
knowing they will never be the same
like i will never be the same
that something was stolen today
from us all

Thursday, November 8, 2012

Letter to myself (for Colloquium)

I know girls like you
The kind to run when seeing stacks of words on top of each other
I know the way it makes every part of your body stutter, shake and shatter
How the insecurity you think you’ve locked under your skin
Comes flying past the surface

I know how the repeating consonants remind you of bars
And walls
Scratch against the back of your throat
Like dry chalk
How you will cramp and cram your tongue into itself
Just to make the sounds seem like they fit falling through your lips

I know how you will write
And not know why
Not understand the ocean of water falling out
Because you will refuse
To let a single word under light

Because you are second language
Second chance
You are back of the classroom
Without a hand
You are broken body
And beated tongue

You are poems
On poems
On poems
Because the thought of punctuation makes you want to crawl inside of yourself
Makes you remember

You dumb
You worthless child
With words no worth
They say
Illiterate you believe
Because your vocabulary don’t stretch far enough to understand
The way the attempt at that insult is laughable

No one understands
Not even yourself
Cant even communicate right
Got twice the number of words 4 times the feelings circling in your mind
Don’t make no sense
The ease of the other kids language
Only have one world they need to find fitting into their mouth
Clawing at broken century tongue
And colonial empire
It is a miracle you haven’t torn yourself completely to pieces just yet

So many things you don’t know
Cant understand
Can barely see from inside
That cage they built with the rules of their words
Make you believe they own your tongue
And all the fire your saliva spits
They don’t know how you’ve severed all their language in half to make it stable
To make it mean
How bright that light of you shines
Who would have thought your future would be in words

Not you,
I know
And because you were the last to learn of your brilliance
It will be your job to remember
The fractures of beginning
The way you built your own fortress from nothing
Took those words they called broken
And misused
And lined the whitest of Houses with your dirty brown speech

Don’t let their walls, cages, rules and commas name you anything other than genius
Than strong
Than beauty
Because you are transformation embodied
Evolution acquired
You are two worlds
In one throat
The closest thing to coexisting
That survives

You are Jamaica Heolimeleikalani Osorio
A chant sung to the heavens
You are made of words
Built of language
And the last thing you should be afraid of
Is yourself 

Thursday, October 25, 2012

Untitled Oli nō Hōpoe (first draft)

many men have told my story
have uttered your name into speech
have carved it into stone and pepa
some part of you 
and i 
live forever in the margins between sound and solid
but no man
no woman 
or soul
no body has written or known the words we shared
no one ever attempted at their brilliance
those parts of us were only held in body
in leo
stay carved in the creases of my palms
so that every part of this earth i hold - has a moment to know your touch
because maybe our words are best kept for two
but the manner in which you glided over and danced with papa deserves to be shouted from my palms

so i will resist
as i always have
the letting go of the ocean of you that often tries to fall through me
i will hold so tight these hua
so that they may lay still in the center of my belly
when feelings swell like oceans
in memory of the site of you
evaporating into sky
a brush burning into night
after too many mournings
of my body being worthy of the name distance
those parts of you we shared in quiet
i promise, 
they will not spill open

because it is right that only this earth knows of the words we planted
only the lehua can ever claim our love
it is right
even if they too are gone now

Wednesday, October 3, 2012

To Iliana on your 18th birthday

i dont remember how i spent my 18th birthday
not what i ate
or the company i kept
and i find all of this disrespectful of this day
and how much i wish you were here long enough to forget milestones like i have

i also remember very little of my high school graduation
those kinds of things seem to slip out of me
the way water fell to the ground
every moment has its own constant
mine comes in water
a forever reminder of my own infinity

but you will not forget a day that never came
and we will not forget the way that lack
strikes us in the space between ribcage and chest

you were barely 11 years old
the sunday we sent you off on the clef of a song
i was 15
and trying to stay still enough to sing
my father is good at these moments
pouring metaphor over melody in an attempt to delay the sting
but tonight i wonder
if he remembers the way your father waled the lyrics to the days of my youth
i wonder if he knew that song would forever conjure your face
and leave me silent
and wanting nothing to do with beauty

there is no new way to say goodbye
so tonight
i play songs that make me uncomfortable
that make me remember
make me see your mother and father
and mine
and a pastor
who i realize now is no longer here
because some milestones will surely slip through my mind like molten silver
but i hold you
and those voices
and those hands close and tight in the ducts of my eyes
and i slow the faucet of falling sadness to make sure i have some to keep
some of you, and the 15 year old version of myself
re-realizing morality
and injustice

i do all of this
to be sure
that you will not leave
not again
that i will not
let you go
without a piece to keep

Day 29: tonight

dad sings about times that were
and i am just listing to a song that was
on the tip of everyone tongue

someone leaves
today its me
stumbling over words
and guitar strings
trying to slip out a melody
but there is only rust and sand
and lost lives
and a girl too young to watch
so today it is me, leaving

some nights i am brooklyn bound
C train stuck
trying to build my home in the ruble of crumbling buildings
some nights i am pacific
open ocean

tonight i am a million empty miles in every direction
i am the hollow of my fathers guitar on nights it lays forgotten
and the melodies we've allowed to slip under our skin
the ones we refuse to mention again

i am slicing every inch of this distance
trying to find a metaphor
convinced there has to be something serious hidden in the nothing that surrounds me
i am wrong
and stubborn
and trying to ignore the pieces of me falling out

Wednesday, September 26, 2012

Day 28: When we Finally Realized

when we finally realized we were the language...
we scraped the silver lining from our shackled skin 
tore ourselves back to black
and brown at the edges
let the screaming dance escape

when we finally realized...
we became a home
with salt and sea protection guarding a place worthy of our roots

when we finally realized
we planted something that could grow
threw away their parts of speech
the ones that had us cuffed and cored
we executed their verbs 
and pro nous
returned to our ku'u
to our kåkou and 'oe
and let the 
she and he's
her and him's
the its and me's
let them be a broken shimmy 
down the drain 

when we finally realized
WE could name our bodies
we held our tongues
and danced the sight of it
to sound

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

Day 27: I dont want poetry

I dont want poetry
i just want sleep

Monday, September 24, 2012

Day 26: To Hiʻiaka

To Hiʻiaka: An Apology for my inadequacy - from the kind of ʻimiloa who falls apart in distance

For the better part of the last year i have tried to hallow out a crator of your story
to build an echo of a song worthy of your voice
i have traced the lines of yours weʻve remember on the underside of my wrist
a promise
i have turned every lover into a flower resembling your Hōpoe
a memory worthy of that sacrifice
and made an event of your memory
never taking a moment to recognize my shortcomings in your depiction
in the aligning of your brilliance to my mediocre

so instead of spending this evening writing lines to form a voice that i cannot capture
tonight i am scribing you an apology
for pretending i had any right to speak your story
when every part of me is too weak in your footsteps
when every part of me crackles in this seeking
in this distance from home and lover
in the same instances that you seemed to flourish

i cannot promise
only hope to turn this journey of mine into something worthy of your name
turn these words into something resembling what you have left behind

Thursday, September 20, 2012

Day 25: rain

silver pieces slipping off the edges
minutes combed over
to one side
the way time passes
and breaks
makes me something special
sometimes i carry the sparkle it shakes in my skin
wait for the rain

make it wash away again

Tuesday, September 18, 2012

Day 24:

im scraping alll the cracks here looking for a sign of life
only to see the remnant of the way things died
only scar tissue shaking itself to dust
under the shake of this cities steps

Monday, September 17, 2012

Day 23:

I am completely uninterested in catching up
just catching on
only want a little space to call my own
and enough words to write something inspiring every once and a while
only want to be worthy of the words im been given
only want a little time to grow

Friday, September 14, 2012

Day 22: Arthritis, A Haiku

fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck
fuck, i hate my fucking life
fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck


Thursday, September 13, 2012

Day 21: ʻIolani Palace

First a symbol

An idol erect

Showing strength

And luxury

And civility

First always a symbol

Second to gather

To come

To be come

To dance

To sing

To remember

Second to gather

But First a symbol

Third a home

A place where to rest his head

A king with a crown created

A crown adopted

A banner of how genealogy might translate to English

Third a home

After they gathered

To the symbol

Fourth to morn

A place to return

A woman remembering the cold

And his smile

And the rain

And the man

The final note of his moʻo

The man under the gold shimmer

Fourth to morn

Within the home

Once they had gathered

To become a symbol

Fifth, a faith

A woman rising from the ash of a brother- failed

A woman within the word of god but true to her moʻo

A resistance assembled so

In music

Or constitution

Fifth a faith

That spurted from morning

Within the home

That they gathered to

To make the symbol true

Sixth a prison

Not a metaphor, no

A prison with columns turned to bars

Holding her captive

With only her song

Only her god

And her love for her kanaka

Sixth a prison

For 6 months in 1896

Sixth a devil

She endured in strength

Now a museum

A castle full of memory

not allowed to touch

what symbol remains?

Only that we once existed

And now cannot hold what is our own

With class panels

Like bars refusing the gathering to happen

The commune between mother and daughter

Not a place for the lahui to rest through the night

Not when the doors have been shut

Not when we must ask to be home

So still we mourn the loss, a symbol still standing

Mocking us of what we cannot have or touch

Now, only a reminder

A gravitation pull

To place and memory

Wednesday, September 12, 2012

Day 20: ʻōlelo Hawaiʻi

their eyes widen when the water falls out
ocean spilling vowels through me
kaona spurting from the salt
classmates stutter in silence
trying to repeat
sound locked in their shackle shaped lips

they do not know
the way their english barely breaches the surface
and i find it ironic
that i have been chosen
an artist in a mode
dictated by the superficiality of colonial tongues

for the first time in over 4 years
i find myself isolated by translation
remembering how comfortable i am in this crater
laying my body in the curve of Haumea's tongue
and yet, in contrast
how self conscious i have become of my presentation
and the way the others gaze
scopophelia spilling from the iridescence of their irises
making me sculpter like
walls building around me, a museum

until i am still again
letting only the english
breach the crest

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

Day 19: 9/11

the soot of this crumbled city
sits under the skin of its decedents
the ones who havent fallen
who continue to walk towards tomorrow
erect and outstretched

they say the skyline looks different
but i dont know any difference
this place is still a mystery
and clasped
kept from me

i do not see the home made empty
or withered away
or the bodies decayed
i do not watch the silver sky fall
i do not remember
because i was not there
but i stand here in awe
of all that has not fallen

Monday, September 10, 2012

Day 18: Pau ʻole

he maoli ke kanaka
he aina ka wahine
he pono ka piko

he mea hoʻomau

he mea pau ʻole

Sunday, September 9, 2012

Day 17: melting

how sad it is
to long to be
turned inside out
beneath the sea

how sad i must
live this life
where water only falls
from faucets

how sad it is
to look out
and see nothing but the city
and to wish it to melt
into a puddle
or sea
or pool
or ocean
or anything
that might remind me

of home

Saturday, September 8, 2012

Day 16: translation

Heoli's tongue is
shattered frames of glass film, try
to mend translation

Friday, September 7, 2012

Day 15: Symphony

Sweat collected in the crater of my neck
heat callused to my skin
and scabbed over again
over again

there is a process to shedding heat in this city
along with every worry
it is developed through a patient practice
in which woman
peel back the most out layer of themselves
over again
build over a masterpiece of the one that once existed

every evening i am reminded of the way the day can stick to you
and i find myself in ceremony
standing under a symphony of water falling over
do not let the sound of breaking out
not to remind anyone but yourself that the shedding occurs
over again

they know already
and need no reminder other than their own

keep your body quiet
let no one hear the tears turn
to symphony too

Thursday, September 6, 2012

Day 14: Calluses

Dad says the calluses will come
that the broken bodies falling over my feet
i will learn to blind myself to injustice enough
not to let it cut at me
get caught under my skin
like a promise i cant keep

that maybe
the fact that my subway ride gets darker and darker the deeper i get into brooklyn
and the shoulders fall further and further
and life seems to get
harder and harder
that someday
those thoughts
of being heavy
wrong and hurtful
will start to slide off of me
like melodies strung from guitar strings

i guess these are the parts of life
you didnt realize you were getting
with your bargin apartment

Wednesday, September 5, 2012

Day 13: city of sound

i forgot this feeling
of wordlessness
of running out
and away
falling short
and over

there has got to be something new to say
and so maybe this leather skin iʻve been practicing
is making it harder to take time in my own skinning
for the reader
too much of me is already turning tough
out of necessity
but that was not the point of this journey

why stand under these flashing lights
if all the shine does
is makes me want to curl into myself
what is the point
if it leaves nothing to be shared
only fear closing me over
not a word left
to be said out loud

why move to the city of sound
if it only inspires my silent hustle

Tuesday, September 4, 2012

Day 12:

i fear the violence of your translation
the bound of your fist

Monday, September 3, 2012

Day 11: fear

i am told to fear the city in which i sleep
there is no solace to be found in these streets
just a people
broken by the economy
and me
a girl
who's never been afraid to walk home late
a day in her life
how this city will shake her to the core
even in the safest of space
make her wonder how strong she is
and if maybe she was born of something softer
sand like
not worthy of these
flashing lights

Sunday, September 2, 2012

Day 10: a word from LIliʻu

To be honest it doesn't feel right for it to be my voice today. In celebration of the queen today I have copied her final speech as the ruling monarch.

E ʻola mau ka lāhui ʻo Hawaiʻi !!!

I, Lili'uokalani, by the Grace of God and under the constitution of the Hawaiian Kingdom, Queen, do hereby solemnly protest against any and all acts done against myself and the constitutional government of the Hawaiian Kingdom by certain persons claiming to have established a Provisional Government of and for this Kingdom. That I yield to the superior force of the United States of America, whose Minister Plenipotentiary, His Excellency John L Stevens, has caused United States troops to be landed at Honolulu and declared that he would support the said Provisional Government. Now, to avoid any collision of armed forces and perhaps loss of life, I do, under this protest, and impelled by said forces, yield my authority until such time as the Government of the United States shall, upon the facts being presented to it, undo the action of its representative and reinstate me in the authority which I claim as the constitutional sovereign of the Hawaiian Islands.
— Queen Liliʻuokalani, Jan 17, 1893[14]

Saturday, September 1, 2012

Day 9: poem poem poem poem

Never needed a reason to love u
Only looked for a reason to not fear you
To hold u
Find a part of your body strong enough to build
Never told u how much I would fear your lips
In leaving
Never told u
Cuz it didn't matter

A love lost
Is a love never had
And I rather not continue the production of wiping away the past

Poem poem poem poem
Words go on
Saying nothing.

Friday, August 31, 2012

Day 8: broke

I find that it's easy
In this city
To hemorrhage money

Thursday, August 30, 2012

Day 7: RIP John Vietnam

is a fucked up thing
she will have you knowing that grandmas and grandads die constantly
sometimes mothers
and fathers
sometimes brother and daughters
and yet
knowing so
you still find yourself surprised
when you see a post on facebook about a boy you knew
through closer friends
has died

dont understand how this could have happened
how the world tipped and let another young life slip off the edges
just know that shit aint right
not sure if you are justified in crying
justified to feel
for you know nothing of his skin, kin
palms or lips
know very little of his voice
nothing of his heart
and yet
here you are shaking tears from your skin like practice
trying to understand the meaning of tragedy and if this is it...
you think it is

i guess this is the promise we make ourselves in living
that death
at each corner
will shake us at each turn
no matter who it is
but that when the dying are young
and beautiful
and brilliant
and full of potential,
like you, John

they will remind us of our siblings
and all the other young people who are not done living
we will return home and hold them close
knowing that no one is safe
in this earth tipping game

Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Day 6: Subways nonsense

Been writing in pencil lately
prefer the scratch of synthetic led to tree
over the clank of awkward fingers over plastic
and yet
its all relative
cuz i find myself now
clanking away into the evening

there is no story here yet
just a bunch of strangers
face to face on a metro train
and a burn victim asking for a change
and a woman who sings like someone i must have heard in a dream
makes me wonder about how easy it is to be worthy of greatest
and yet
fall short
find yourself begging for change
or demanding it another way

like i said
there is no story here yet
just a set of strangers
who might never cross paths again
and a violins
echoing through the tunnel
and a boy who's frozen
watching the masterpiece unfurl

and so here i am
scribbling away
scribing nonsense
in an overpriced book of trees
with an over priced pencil, japanese
with nothing worthy of the voice iʻve been given
just a reflection
of a young boy's smile
as he learned his love for music

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

Day 5: Agitation

caught in your lung
like a disease
caughing up infection
to catch you broken

stuck to the roof of your mouth
like the sweet stick of honey

an old western rerun on AMT
a soundtrack i thought i'd forgotten
something familiar
that gets caught
like dust under my eyelids

so here i am
eyes watering from the sting

unwilling to let the disease of you fall through me
i will hold you there
in the gloss of my eyes

you are just an allergy i've agitated

Monday, August 27, 2012

Day 4: Rainfall

first rain
a sky parting kind of thing
find yourself looking up
up up and away
waiting for the light to split
at the right angle
remind you of the place you come from
build an arch worthy of the word home

but no
there is no movement
the sky shivers still
no colors combining
no arc climbing
no beauty to hold you

just the sound of rain
falling at your feet
and the smell of sidewalk

Sunday, August 26, 2012

Day 3: Silence

Silence seems to me
a commodity
no one can afford to sell
so we barter off public spaces like currency

im looking for a corner to call my own
a crack to call home
a place no one else has found
but this is not the city for secrets
and discoveries
everything worthy
has already gone to he highest bidder

so where does that leave me?

Saturday, August 25, 2012

Day 2: Jamaica aint no queen

I see my name
all over this city
from streetlights to tshirts
from the voice of a young boy
to the fleet of subways- screaming
and yet,

see none of myself
not in the streets
nor the trees
and definitely
not in the bluest of the eyes
or the heart of a girl i used to call mine
one i once knew
who used to love me

Friday, August 24, 2012

Day 1: In Transit(ion)

The horn on this plane
rings like a pū
reminds me of the way
i will ask permission
to return
to the hearts of this home
how i must arrive
a stranger
one who has wandered too far way to call myself sacred
with too much stardust of another city
caught under my skin
an unfamiliar stench to kin

when it sings again
when i find myself released
the sting will remind me of all my promises
the ones i had no business making
will scratch at the back of my throat like a forgotten prayer
like a chant i havent sung in years

Kunihi ka mauna
stand erect as the ridge line
do not fear its shape
do not stutter in your request
know only
you have found your way
home, a stranger to you
hope for a reply of welcome

Saturday, June 30, 2012

While i leave you, Love

A poem as i, Hi'iaka, leave you my Hōpoe

I will sing for you 
only one song 
in my departure
only one promise in this severing 
that leaving
with you behind
will be my truest sign of aloha for you
that nothing 
will ever eclipse the 
the shadow that shakes from this lehua
the way the yellow of it 
stills the chill settling in your blood

you and i never were 
we always are 
chose instead of the stillness of past 
the dance found in this foreest
threw every part of these temporary bodies into this home
into this valley 
this crater that grows us 
in every direction

E Ku'uipo,
watch the parts of us as we feather into flowers 
your lips 
how they fold into this soil
how you are every part of this home i love
and fear to leave
watch the way growth happens all around
and how the birth of us turns me to song
turns you to dance
turns us both 

forget that i am leaving
forget that there is more beyond the walls of this aina
this ahu
extending into sky 
remember the calm of this movement 
the forevever of this voice 
and know
that i will return
either in body
or in song
so that our dance
shall never end

Thursday, June 7, 2012


im starting to wonder
what it might be like
for words to find their way spilling from my lips again
something about me
stopped working
when you left
some part of me
forgot the heal of words falling out of my body
like whitewash

still i am called a poet
by all my friends
and the strangers who think they know me
and the words
feel like grass sometimes
against the back of my neck
remind me i am uncomfortable in this silence
in this position
where i am not producing anything
but discomfort
i wonder
what will be the final
what is locked inside
and what finally

Sunday, May 6, 2012

the parts that dont fade

coming up for seconds
broken pieces of yesterday
floating to the surface
simmering iridescence
pearls made of mirrors
parts of this earth that only paint reflections

Tuesday, May 1, 2012


Today i resolve
to not be the same person
i've always been
who pulls you back
to keep myself feeling wanted and steady
who lets you wonder
if my love will return to hold you
when i know it will not
when i know
i cannot bring myself to look at you the same
how hard i have tried to for so long
i know there is no turning back
that in the moment
i decided
to whole heartedly
give myself to someone else
to find myself being worthy of trust
and finding someone worthy of my own
someone without a history of secrets
in that moments
i became
no longer yours
or our own

so today
i resolve
to resolve again tomorrow
to be moving more every moment then the last
to be always growing
whether i am better tomorrow than today
or not
i promise to not be the same
i promise to never again
stand still in the roots of past convictions
and to be more
in every way we both failed to be for each other
not for her
not for me
but for who we were
and the potential we slowly splintered away
when all we tried to do
was not change

Monday, April 16, 2012

DAy 1000: the end?

a few things iʻve learned in the last 1000 days

writing is not the same as growing
it is not a substitute for hard
concentrated work
is it not
i repeat
what will force you to change
in the moments that require most strength
it will not be the reason you stand fight or fall

she will not change
no matter how many times you have written her
and yours
she will not be
what you want of her
she can only be
whatever she has always known

is your strongest advocate
will often be your only alternative to fracturing
take it

this is just a poem
is it not a telescope
a microscope
or a crystal ball
it is not the answer
or a tunnel tracing the other side of the universe
it is not even a promise
it is just
the scribble of secrets that have come to the surface

stopping is exactly the same as giving up
it doenst matter how long you last
to cease
is not an option

Sunday, April 15, 2012

Day 999: thinking of leaving

i did not choose
i fell into this promise
a day at a time
scribing pieces of myself
onto imaginary walls
i wonder how this brick may crumble
fracture pixles cracking in the foreground
how technology will or wont hold these pieces
keep them warm in my absence
when i forget they ever exited
when i fail to return
and which pieces will have the pull enough about them
to bring me home
when i least expect it

Saturday, April 14, 2012

Day 998: airports

in what seems like
a million other independant locations of the world
there is anoth building
that locks movers behind security and loads them onto the wings of angels
tells them they can fly as far as the edge and back
tells them
for a little extra they can even have a snack

i am trying to understand
how many people at this exact moment may be flying
and how many others
are fitting themselves into carry on sizes of their lives
how many are wlaking down the terminal trying not to make eyecontact
how many bodies are moving
right now?
with 6 billion people in the world
how many are laying still
how many have dies
how many are born

i am sitting in an airport that seems like it is much too full for this time of day
how many people in the world may be thinking the exact same thing
wonder how we could dare calls this a recession when you can get champaign on united
and orange juice for free
wonder how much of this privilege cannot be washed from myself before falling a sleep
if anyone ever wonders these things

Friday, April 13, 2012

DAy 997: Kotuia

There is a silence that cannot be shaken from the system
In the moment
You realize
You are no longer fluent in the only language that ever made sense to you
Most nights
I try to find a ember burning bright enough to light myself a promise
That i will fight not to lose the words i have left in the darkness

There is a secret shared between the bodies whose tongues have not yet been severed
Its a song that sings itself into the evening
It is a promises to continue
To persevere
i recognize its twinkle in the eye of these rangatahi
the way their bodies bend to fit the language of atua most of their generation has named forgotten
but instead
they carry
epitaph scriptures of maori myth on their skin
it is a banner that waves until the last hour of day
it is a weight you cannot feel until you are without it

i had forgotten
that language was more than the words spanning the distance between past and pressent
it was the mold that begged to call me hawaiian
and i have found my forgotten pieces in the crack between your teeth
in the parcels of polynesian scripture you’ve allowed to marinate
i have found my story
in the song your language sings
in the story that is bursting from your veins
in the promises you continue to make

there is a moment
of silence
that cannot be shaken from the system
a collapsing of sorts
that begs for you to open your eyes
and realize
there is a generation of souls who footsteps are the crumbling quakes you feel in your forgetfulness
they are there as a reminder
of your greatness
and your duty to your tongue

Thursday, April 12, 2012

Day 996: For Aunty Lyz of Sāmoa

i met a woman who loves like family line
who somehow sees value in mine
through im hawaiian blood
too many times removed
and she is samoan skin
spilling every part of herself onto kitchen linoleum out of love for our connection

i wonder how many times she has been here
how many times she has wondered whether or not his might be the last time our skins are pressed against each other
when we can close distance of oceans between our islands
find value in our navigation

she must know that we cannot forget her
the way she turned mother to our wandering bodies and hearts
the way she held us his her skin tone
the way we promised to return
i just hope she knows we love her
from the sound of our voices
and the way our feet fell over her stairs
in our departure

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

Day 995: faith

The numbers keep falling over the edges like water
the rhythm reminds me our goodbyes
soft at firsts
then ending heavy
with a crack
with a shatter
i am wondering
if there is an end to this counting madness
if time ever learns to fracture
split at the edges
in the centers
the way i have
some nights
in thinking about the way you leave after every time you arrive
so instead
i am watching the way the number fall off our countdown
watching this timetable turn to explosion

i keep wondering when it stops
you know
cuz i keep saying it aloud
and i promise
im trying so hard not to
question any part of our bodies
but again i am reminded
that faith is nothing if left unquestioned
so i throw this wondering to the wind
let it take flight in their scattering
watch the way it fall
close enough to my body
knowing this is the closest i will get
to security
in your absence

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

Day 994: AFter Thom Gunn

I did not write this poem first
but i am writing it now
"[our] relationship consisted
In discussing if it existed."

Monday, April 9, 2012

Day 993:

What part of me with stop ticking
when i stop digging deep enough
to pull a couple lines up
or maybe
what else of me might emerge
in the space left open

Sunday, April 8, 2012

Day 992:

when the lights go out
somehow all sounds are silenced
you are always there

Saturday, April 7, 2012

Day 991:

i have forgotten the meaning of these numbers
maybe because they never had
maybe because i never understood their curve anyway
but theres something about this chase
of perfect
of a 100 days
that feels less and less
the closer i get

Friday, April 6, 2012

Day 990: loneliness is a song

sleep through the sound of static
drown it under water
drown it under
drown it

are a temple of whispers
is just a song
weʻve all forgotten the name of
but learned at a young enough age
to never let slip

i think about the way the song must fall off your lips
think about the way it pitter patters to the ground
think about how it would sound
diving into the ocean
think about the sound of it drowning
the loneliness
instead of it drowning you
think about myself as water
smothering the bad
think about it all
falling down around me

Thursday, April 5, 2012

Day 989:

in the night
before sleep
some nights
i can hear love poems dancing over concrete
can feel the forest of secrets burning on the tips of my skin
it is moment slike when
when i remember
a part of me is hiʻiaka.
a part of hopoe is laced within every woman i ever loved
i see her in you
in the mornings
before you rise
i see it in the brush behind your eyes
the forestʻs song in the sound of your breath
sometimes i just wait
until your chest begins to dance
rises faster and fall deeper
until seas of your eyelids are parted
and you remember me
your hiʻiaka has returned
and she is waiting for your story to begin

Wednesday, April 4, 2012

Day 988: why i love you more than one tree hill

i watched you come of
of courage
of straight
taught myself in your shadow
how love breaks
and rebuilds
and how love waits
for the right time

then children
i wished
i could live that life
that i could wait
and find someone like you
who coudl move a baby into this belly

and when i did
find you
i realized there is no magic other than our kiss
no part of us that will perform miracles of life into existance
but you will be here
standing at my side
even after all our pets and children are gone
you will stand there
hold my hand
like a friend
who will never run away
who i will always know whether or not you are or arent okay

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

Day 987: national poetry month

all the poets
are putting pen to paper
calling discipline into this art
the way i have
for nearly 1000 days
the way i struggle to
even today
i wonder
how long they will last til they crumble
how long i will fight for these words
until they fall out of me
like whitewash

Monday, April 2, 2012

Day 986:

Love like silhouette
secrets slip under skin like salt
find me there
picking up the pieces of you left
under my sheets
missing you like crazy
count down falling faster with the days
nothing pleases me quite like

somethings gotta give
some people just have to wait

Sunday, April 1, 2012

day 985: for my mother

I remember the way my turning 16 turned you to stone
the way your heart sunk in its unknowing
how you told me you had no map to carry us further
how my growing older reminded you of you own
and the absence of your mother
and somedays
i forget of the weight of her
that you carry on your shoulders
forget the way you have caries her into every weight you have since had to bare

i cant for the life of me
imagine her smile
or her laugh
but i wonder sometimes
late at night
when i remmeber in th most tangible way that you are never too old to feel the absence of your mother in your bones
i wonder if she had your touch
if you can still remember the grip of her embrace
the tangibility of her adoration
for you

if her eyes were ever blessed enough to shine the way yours do
when you find your hear to outgrow your chest

there are leagues of sadness
and longining that fill the silence
between our stories

and tonight
this distance
is forcing me to think about every bit of you family history that you had to learn to carry in your spine

i am thinking about you
my mother
and about yours
and hers
and wondering if any of you have wastd this much time in silence or secrets
and im wondering how much time we may need to conquer the seas of fear we let grow between our bodies

so this is not a poem
its a song iver been singing
to myself for years
too quietly for you to hear its melody was writing for the embrace caught between generations
that too often
falls away in silence

this is for genevive
who raised a woman string enough to raise her own
this is for the parts of you both
that i feel tugging at me
on nights ike these
refusing to be ignored

this is for faith
for the moments i am full of it and dor the months
i have forgotten of its taste
this is for my mother
and the way her hair smells
when she hugs me goodbye
and how id never forgive myself if i railed to raise a daughter in her image

Saturday, March 31, 2012

Day 984: turning over and over

First, there is silence
then, a part of you falls through
diamonds of tears scattered


Friday, March 30, 2012

Day 982: Haiku for Silence

to be without words
is to forget the distance
i have moved through, you.

Thursday, March 29, 2012

Day 983: haiku for mothers

For mothers who have
skeletons for memories
flashback for daughters