these hot summer days my palms are black from climbing trees and digging dirt,
burying the stuff i dug out of my pockets
like pocket change
a rusty paperclip or a safety pin,
some wet fireworks i never lit, but meant to ages ago.
today i forgot my multiplication table,
but i can read more words than i ever could,
biking down this narrow street,
downhill,
feet on peddle,
mouth open,
leaves getting caught in my hair and hair getting caught in this delicious breeze.
27 June 2009
12 June 2009
276
this feeling is so quiet in the pit of my stomach,
it lacks light and red and colours that only a dumb girl can taste.
when i cover my ears and pretend to be her,
i can only see more details (instead of taste, you know what i mean),
like the baby lines in the palm of your hands and those creases between your eyebrows when you frown at me and knit them, telling me my age is not what i act.
hum hum humming amplified from your open mouth,
i want to put mine over, to hold it there and hold your breath,
so that what you lack will not appear then suddenly disappear,
and that water will not wash away the tattoos i've carved in your eyelids when you cry that say "gloria misses you gloria misses you gloria misses you" three hundred times magnified by green glass.
this time i put my hands over my ears i cannot make it the same as before,
and i do not know what drips from between my limbs anymore...
i just know i am not going to fall back and land in the snow that has helped me get to sleep the last few days.
it lacks light and red and colours that only a dumb girl can taste.
when i cover my ears and pretend to be her,
i can only see more details (instead of taste, you know what i mean),
like the baby lines in the palm of your hands and those creases between your eyebrows when you frown at me and knit them, telling me my age is not what i act.
hum hum humming amplified from your open mouth,
i want to put mine over, to hold it there and hold your breath,
so that what you lack will not appear then suddenly disappear,
and that water will not wash away the tattoos i've carved in your eyelids when you cry that say "gloria misses you gloria misses you gloria misses you" three hundred times magnified by green glass.
this time i put my hands over my ears i cannot make it the same as before,
and i do not know what drips from between my limbs anymore...
i just know i am not going to fall back and land in the snow that has helped me get to sleep the last few days.
11 June 2009
275
i wonder what made you this way,
shy and afraid, you look south instead of north, and east instead of west.
i have to follow you while carrying dirt,
hidden by flowers, growing through the cracks
of my back,
showing you things i like in our track.
and who told you to leave me unattended?
where's our bucket?
which way is to the gold?
who told you to tell me those funny funny things and make me laugh,
when my body is so obviously deformed from chasing you,
so obviously tired?
"i know we must belong outside," i say, i don't care (or think) if it's dangerous.
can you sing a song?
you were holding my hand all along,
and i had to follow you carrying dirt,
because, this here, outside is where we belong.
shy and afraid, you look south instead of north, and east instead of west.
i have to follow you while carrying dirt,
hidden by flowers, growing through the cracks
of my back,
showing you things i like in our track.
and who told you to leave me unattended?
where's our bucket?
which way is to the gold?
who told you to tell me those funny funny things and make me laugh,
when my body is so obviously deformed from chasing you,
so obviously tired?
"i know we must belong outside," i say, i don't care (or think) if it's dangerous.
can you sing a song?
you were holding my hand all along,
and i had to follow you carrying dirt,
because, this here, outside is where we belong.
08 June 2009
274
well, these feelings are oozing out of my knee,
i am tightly squeezed like a tangerine,
in a glass, waiting for a hand to grab me
and drink my blood clean, before i turn nineteen.
my life is a book, too long to read,
i think i am boring, i think i mislead,
and out of the jacket, a spring bird sings,
and she will stay there - i've clipped her wings.
there are these summer fruits i love to eat,
peel them open and reveal the sweet,
they sit in my throat and make me feel complete,
like love would under the summer heat.
i am tightly squeezed like a tangerine,
in a glass, waiting for a hand to grab me
and drink my blood clean, before i turn nineteen.
my life is a book, too long to read,
i think i am boring, i think i mislead,
and out of the jacket, a spring bird sings,
and she will stay there - i've clipped her wings.
there are these summer fruits i love to eat,
peel them open and reveal the sweet,
they sit in my throat and make me feel complete,
like love would under the summer heat.
31 May 2009
273
fourth of july, feet swinging in the air on a bus to downtown seattle,
my shoes were a bit too tight,
i remember this perfectly.
and i remember that day i had three water bottles in my backpack,
and a notebook with mostly blank pages i meant to fill out,
twenty dollars in my pocket to fill my empty stomach with food i could already smell.
it was great, children screaming themselves free from their mothers,
and those without mothers were allowed to wander the streets too,
walking next to me,
i felt them watching, like murderous eyes of pigeons, tasting the flesh of their cousins on grills,
waiting for the bread that wraps itself around those bodies,
ten feet above everybody else.
and seattle at night was really beautiful,
a light breeze constantly beneath my body around my feet,
fireworks outside my window, i could hear the sound of a creek with water rushing through like highway,
sleepytired, hungrythirsty, watched magicians on the tv in my apartment, families laughing through the cracks reminded me that i was sitting alone in the dark, back against the kitchen counter, and that this was the best vacation, and that i didn't need anybody to be happy, and that my tears will always be warmer than my face, and i was (and never again will be) more breathless than when i screamed out the sun.
my shoes were a bit too tight,
i remember this perfectly.
and i remember that day i had three water bottles in my backpack,
and a notebook with mostly blank pages i meant to fill out,
twenty dollars in my pocket to fill my empty stomach with food i could already smell.
it was great, children screaming themselves free from their mothers,
and those without mothers were allowed to wander the streets too,
walking next to me,
i felt them watching, like murderous eyes of pigeons, tasting the flesh of their cousins on grills,
waiting for the bread that wraps itself around those bodies,
ten feet above everybody else.
and seattle at night was really beautiful,
a light breeze constantly beneath my body around my feet,
fireworks outside my window, i could hear the sound of a creek with water rushing through like highway,
sleepytired, hungrythirsty, watched magicians on the tv in my apartment, families laughing through the cracks reminded me that i was sitting alone in the dark, back against the kitchen counter, and that this was the best vacation, and that i didn't need anybody to be happy, and that my tears will always be warmer than my face, and i was (and never again will be) more breathless than when i screamed out the sun.
30 May 2009
272
you've lived every dream i've ever dreamt of,
because you belong in every one, haunting me or tugging at my heart strings.
most recently was three nights ago, you asked me where my house was,
and i told you it was back home in china where i left my little girl memories and little girl clothes,
where i spent all my spending money on dolls i never even looked at,
i'd put them in the corner and study on the glass table,
the house covered in plants,
great breathing air,
beautiful boys in the sun.
and then there was a pause in our conversation where i heard you breathe in,
then touched my face with your wet, trembling hands.
everything stood completely still,
as if i had said something to upset the entire rotation of the earth.
because you belong in every one, haunting me or tugging at my heart strings.
most recently was three nights ago, you asked me where my house was,
and i told you it was back home in china where i left my little girl memories and little girl clothes,
where i spent all my spending money on dolls i never even looked at,
i'd put them in the corner and study on the glass table,
the house covered in plants,
great breathing air,
beautiful boys in the sun.
and then there was a pause in our conversation where i heard you breathe in,
then touched my face with your wet, trembling hands.
everything stood completely still,
as if i had said something to upset the entire rotation of the earth.
29 May 2009
28 May 2009
27 May 2009
26 May 2009
268
dear feathers, who let you into this cave?
maybe you were brought here years ago when i dug this earth with my bare hands,
from the other side of the world,
through a well i fell through,
with the lid closed shut.
why did i dig? i had to dig! to get out, to see that sun again, to hear those birds again,
to be able to eat anything that was not my foreign flesh
and drink from springs not made of my own bitter blood that secretly poisons me each time i sip it.
so feathers, you must have been brought here to this cave back then,
when my hair was still short and my eyes dull,
because after traveling for so long, i have found that i now understand more than i ever would have wanted to know.
maybe you were brought here years ago when i dug this earth with my bare hands,
from the other side of the world,
through a well i fell through,
with the lid closed shut.
why did i dig? i had to dig! to get out, to see that sun again, to hear those birds again,
to be able to eat anything that was not my foreign flesh
and drink from springs not made of my own bitter blood that secretly poisons me each time i sip it.
so feathers, you must have been brought here to this cave back then,
when my hair was still short and my eyes dull,
because after traveling for so long, i have found that i now understand more than i ever would have wanted to know.
25 May 2009
267: a lesson
i met an old woman in my dream, who stroked my hand gently,
and brushed my hair like it was her own.
her face wrinkled, mouth into a smile more beautiful than i had ever seen.
i could not help but imagine how gorgeous she must have been in her earlier years,
perhaps decades ago,
in a rocking chair on a porch overlooking an ocean of clouds and future memories.
when i finally got up to thank her, she did the same too,
and i saw these feathers fall off her dress and fly into the sky like birds,
and suddenly trees were growing faster and faster and her nails grew longer,
long enough for her to dig them into my arm, twist it all the way around until we both heard a crack.
i wanted to wipe my eyes of tears but i just stood still,
eventually aware of my surroundings, my feet on this solid ground, my lungs filling and emptying of air,
and then she tip-toe-whispered in my ear like a gust of september breeze,
"pretty girl, if you don't bend, you will break."
and brushed my hair like it was her own.
her face wrinkled, mouth into a smile more beautiful than i had ever seen.
i could not help but imagine how gorgeous she must have been in her earlier years,
perhaps decades ago,
in a rocking chair on a porch overlooking an ocean of clouds and future memories.
when i finally got up to thank her, she did the same too,
and i saw these feathers fall off her dress and fly into the sky like birds,
and suddenly trees were growing faster and faster and her nails grew longer,
long enough for her to dig them into my arm, twist it all the way around until we both heard a crack.
i wanted to wipe my eyes of tears but i just stood still,
eventually aware of my surroundings, my feet on this solid ground, my lungs filling and emptying of air,
and then she tip-toe-whispered in my ear like a gust of september breeze,
"pretty girl, if you don't bend, you will break."
24 May 2009
266
yes, a mix of sun and blood
dripping from the sky into her eyes as she said her goodbyes
to her favourite song, her favourite dog and books.
she was that kind of daughter, the kind you'd love to see burning in a fire,
wearing nothing but a smile through her entire body,
veins popping open,
my hands around her neck.
and this sunday she saw the sky, a mix of sun and her own blood,
she thought to herself, "finally,
i can feel the weight of my own damned body.
and finally, my feet are higher than any single clump of beautiful cloud."
dripping from the sky into her eyes as she said her goodbyes
to her favourite song, her favourite dog and books.
she was that kind of daughter, the kind you'd love to see burning in a fire,
wearing nothing but a smile through her entire body,
veins popping open,
my hands around her neck.
and this sunday she saw the sky, a mix of sun and her own blood,
she thought to herself, "finally,
i can feel the weight of my own damned body.
and finally, my feet are higher than any single clump of beautiful cloud."
23 May 2009
265
how do your eyes stay bright
and your hands stay clean
all these months passing by, the back of your head knowing.
an ambulance, the back of this car,
the smell of fire on tv,
i have seen a file on you and all of what you have done.
and your hands stay clean
all these months passing by, the back of your head knowing.
an ambulance, the back of this car,
the smell of fire on tv,
i have seen a file on you and all of what you have done.
22 May 2009
264
i don't have anything to be afraid of,
because i have time on my side while i watch the world spin,
asleep,
drowsy drowsy into the night.
and i could write so many songs about not being afraid,
and how i believe i'll never grow old,
not old like this city, not old with the city.
tomorrow i'll grow new skin on my arms and feet,
tomorrow i'll prettier and better than ever,
watching this world spinning, spinning along into the night sky.
because i have time on my side while i watch the world spin,
asleep,
drowsy drowsy into the night.
and i could write so many songs about not being afraid,
and how i believe i'll never grow old,
not old like this city, not old with the city.
tomorrow i'll grow new skin on my arms and feet,
tomorrow i'll prettier and better than ever,
watching this world spinning, spinning along into the night sky.
21 May 2009
263
i have such strange dreams in which my arms are boats and i am carried out to sea but above the trees and in the sky the clouds are so smooth and your eyes are so deep and i keep sailing and sailing on into the deepest part of your head and hope that one day i can stay there without sailing a thousand miles and getting lost at sea.
20 May 2009
262
i'm so afraid of growing predictable.
tomorrow i will do something different, wear something different, say something different.
i'll trick everyone into thinking that maybe i am somebody else.
tomorrow i will do something different, wear something different, say something different.
i'll trick everyone into thinking that maybe i am somebody else.
19 May 2009
261
when the world ends, it will happen faster than a single second,
and i'll be sipping on lemonade in my room, watching tv,
and who knows where you'll be?
maybe you are sailing on the lake,
or in an ocean far away from me.
nothing will hurt anymore, and we won't be hungry anymore,
everything will cease to exist.
then somewhere far away as we are all dying, a new earth forms,
and we will be born again.
and i'll be sipping on lemonade in my room, watching tv,
and who knows where you'll be?
maybe you are sailing on the lake,
or in an ocean far away from me.
nothing will hurt anymore, and we won't be hungry anymore,
everything will cease to exist.
then somewhere far away as we are all dying, a new earth forms,
and we will be born again.
18 May 2009
260
i took you inside of me, cut a line down my side,
and you can spend this many days at the bottom of my stomach,
like the bottom of the ocean,
with buried treasures like hidden emotions i've swallowed, or learned to swallow, or need to swallow.
yes, there has been so many, i can't and i have lost count.
i have nothing to fear now,
i can spread myself like wings, tie myself up with strings.
outside my window, a windmill cuts through the air, loud like music cuts through my ears,
and echoes through my lungs,
and you will be hidden there too, for me to hear your voice
even when i am sleeping,
even when i temporarily forget about you.
and you can spend this many days at the bottom of my stomach,
like the bottom of the ocean,
with buried treasures like hidden emotions i've swallowed, or learned to swallow, or need to swallow.
yes, there has been so many, i can't and i have lost count.
i have nothing to fear now,
i can spread myself like wings, tie myself up with strings.
outside my window, a windmill cuts through the air, loud like music cuts through my ears,
and echoes through my lungs,
and you will be hidden there too, for me to hear your voice
even when i am sleeping,
even when i temporarily forget about you.
17 May 2009
259
i don't know pain and i don't know joy,
but i know what i like and what i enjoy.
when i pull you apart like a pair of knees,
the sun will burn and the ice will freeze,
explorers will whine and drown in all the seas
in the world
twisted and curled,
cabin boy to college boy, education in illinois,
what can't my mind deploy?
what can't my two hands destroy?
this darkness, i know, must be in you too.
but i know what i like and what i enjoy.
when i pull you apart like a pair of knees,
the sun will burn and the ice will freeze,
explorers will whine and drown in all the seas
in the world
twisted and curled,
cabin boy to college boy, education in illinois,
what can't my mind deploy?
what can't my two hands destroy?
this darkness, i know, must be in you too.
16 May 2009
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