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Darkest MoonI celebrate my right to live;
To the dismay of some, perhaps
It should be noted
These words I write, however true
Are only portions of the moon
I’ve decide to shine light upon.
But who am I to preach respect?
Who Am I to preach equality?
An advocate for re-personification
Of the female gender
But exhibits cannibalistic characteristics
Within dark spaces.
I am a shadow
Hidden within an Eggshell, painted pink,
Waiting to hatch.
Is the darkness
The night brought upon us.
VesselYour heart is a compass.
Broken, perhaps, but I know
It’s always searching for the North Star.
Which way will your beard point tonight?
Because He'sHe’s listening
Millions of them.
A flash of red
And a navy hat
No warning – now motionless
With skin turned to shadows.
Broken TongueSo he says to me,
I’m not trying to be offensive,
I’m just saying, its obvious English isn’t your native language.
If English isn’t my mother tongue,
I don’t know what is.
I speak broken English,
I speak non-existent Cantonese.
All the kids who look like me on TV
Hold the vocabulary I let sky dive off of my tongue.
I never had a full conversation with my grandparents,
Instead, I would communicate by uttering keywords
Like a Command Prompt, words such as 奶 or
面包, words I could never pronounce properly for the life of me.
Sorry, could you repeat that? I don’t understand.
It’s not that I don’t want to talk to you,
It’s just that…I don’t know how.
I think English, I dream Cantonese,
I speak…broken tongue.
I Hear America Singing...It's Out Of TuneI, too, have heard America singing,
And I have to say,
It’s not nearly as enjoyable as you make it out to be.
Hearing the country sing is worse than
Watching the first rounds of American idol
But you wouldn’t know anything about that,
Now would you?
The following is a list of complaints
I have of this country’s vocal ensemble:
The sound of carols
Is covered by the businessmen
Who falls flat every time they try
To pick themselves up again.
I’ve seen them drop dead
Like Trees in a forest –
And in case you’re wondering
No, they don’t make a sound.
I can still hear the strained notes
Of slaves when they grew this country out of the soil
Echoing from the past
And for you to not be able to hear it
Leads me to question your hearing ability.
I’ve heard soldiers sing anthems
To keep enemies awake as
A torturing mechanism
As they march towards the east.
I’ve seen teacher’s
Sing in a monotonous
Fashion to their students
I Know A PlaceI know a place
That no one walks
Beyond the burning bridges.
From Shackles through rooftops – I know
A place no one walks
With crimson churches
And vacant houses; now blackened.
UntitledHe’s looking for a WOMAN – He says,
The previous was lacking, too unpredictable.
He wants the curves of a Sine function without
The head to comprehend it, I suppose.
A soulless monument that he could squeeze
His own into for his own enjoyment.
She told me, she’s looking for a MAN,
With arms of steel that can shoot
To the heavens; with a body like shields
That could protect her from
The cruel titans of the world.
In the corner of the room,
There’s a person resting
In Solidarity – silently waiting
That never showed up.
It's Okay to be ImperfectThe moon
Stand Against SuicideI know the pain is perhaps unbearable,
But darling, please put down the blade.
Release your emotions through tears and smiles,
Rather than dreading these days.
Do it for the little girl, whose mother can’t be there,
Or for the boy whose father drank too much.
For the boy who can’t sit in elementary school,
Because the bruises from Daddy hurt to touch.
For the teenage girl lying face down in her bed,
Thinking, why can’t it all be done?
For the elderly man looking up at the stars,
Counting the days one by one.
Do it for the children who wonder, does it end?
For the ones who feel left on their own.
For the ones who think, maybe it wouldn’t be so hard
If I didn’t feel so left alone.
And finally, do it for one other person,
The person in front of these words.
Because you’ll never know how it gets better
When focusing on pain and hurt.
Live one more day, dear, for them and for you,
And I swear to you, problems will fade.
I know, for right now, it’s p
I Thought I Needed FeminismI thought I needed feminism, when I was a little girl.
And I am very sad to admit, that this wasn't very long ago.
I thought when he held the door open for me, that he was making a big mistake.
That he was being a pompous ass, and he took my strength for a fake.
And when he offered to pay my tab, I still called him an ass.
Because I thought he assumed I was poor, and below middle class.
Or when his hard work earned him a promotion,
yet I did nothing, and the boss' ignorance to promote me, I believed was a sexist notion.
My friend really wanted feminism when she found her ex-dead drunk,
removed his clothes, and without his consent, had a pleasurable fuck.
When her parents bust into the room unexpected that night,
she said he raped her, and he was arrested without so much as a fight.
Perhaps feminism was there when I walked out into the street in pure nudity,
and shouted the my neighbors “You have no right to judge me!”
I didn't care about the children who were standing in th
Unable to loveMy love was pure
I only wanted
But my heart
Because my love
Like a piece of garbage
And now I'm unable
Because the shreds
Of my shattered soul
MathematicsI am but the sum of my
F L A W S;
a network of
S C A R S
a disaster of
D R E A M S
a shield of
B O N E S
C A L C U L A T I O N
a void of
DifferentDifferent on the outside,
Different mask you see daily,
Different girl you call ‘Hailey’
To my surprise
Your ears are distracted,
So I tell lies, looking into your eyes,
“Yea I’m fine. Simply tired”
For that response my brain is wired.
Different mouth you hear speaking,
Different voice you hear screaming
Different eyes you see pleading,
Different person you’d befriended
I’m sorry this is how it’s ended.
DethronedI have created Eden, through the strokes of my pen,
But it was made of promises, and angels
That were too fragile to hold the weight of our sins.
You were my goddess, on a throne made of dreams.
Which you were probably
They didn't glimmer and shine
like the diamonds decorating your rings.
They were the hopes of a man
So madly in love, but you poured poison into his heart
And so he rotted, each time you gifted him with a kiss.
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
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