You're not there, and it kills me When I close the door, come back 12 hours later, it's as if nothing has happened Nothing has happened, and it kills me I'm always eyeing the corner suspiciously, waiting for somethingsomeone to pop out with a knife or balloons Someone told me once that I ought to stop Changing in front of the window that stripping so carelessly wouldn't work to my advantage that I was bearing my soul bare to the world with in return

The vine my flowers grew from is dying Rot finding a creeping home in its roots The vine my flowers grew from is dying And never again, will bear new fruits The vine my flowers grew from is dying Slow spirals deep into mycelial pursuits The vine my flowers grew from is dying Leaving behind us, her forsaken offshoots The vine my flowers grew from is dying Cancerous thoughts invading her mind Fearful delusions leaving her blind The vine my flowers grew from is dying Decomposing

Blue anger is dropping your ice cream cone and a fire alarm, stubbing your toe, and a smoke break after an argument, staying in the shallow end of the pool Blue anger is phone calls and rapid movements cherry tomatoes volcanic ash Heavy knocks at the door Blue anger is your dad saying you don't love him and October 2022 and slipping on ice Blue anger is anger that makes your eyebrows flare, and voice numb.

A full moon shining across A violet sky on a canvas The hare pounding mochi Doesn't the cottontail ever get exhausted? Six years old Middle of January outside in the winter As we watch the adults pounding rice The entire school devoured the final product Nori and Shoyu on one Kinako on the other Biting every existing piece carefully Not only to savor the treat Making sure the Heimlich maneuver wouldn't occur Lost memories Forgotten traditions The culture that I was raised in

Not Orion’s arrowed belt, but the great canine dappled in the dark. The one who rises already searching, pacing a snow-laced sky, aligned to the trail his master left behind. Breath-mist rising, tiny comets from his chest, paws silent over frozen starlight, flickering across the sky as if he alone could hold the night together. His alabaster heart – the brightest blaze in the tide of stars. A body made of light; bound to an ancient orbit, balanced between the hunter’s cosmic

surrounded by art. I was just a kid. My aunt, an art teacher, My now a teacher specialized in strings, brother threw clay, sister produces acrylic-struck canvas daily, my mother and grand- mother volunteer their time and I, also, all of these. I paint night my loved one’s countless crafts, and brother, and sister whenever we’re all together, we make the muse ick my friends, on occasion, try poetry and me with others, my own time, listen to and collect sound of not quit

The slightest chill in the air Less than a handful of stars, barely visible in the sky. The smell of marker and dollar store crafts and friendship and languages i don’t speak and taking on more than i can carry. Running up against the deadline because i don’t want to do well, i want to do perfect and it is perfect, according to my vision. The rush of doing my best, of doing nothing but looking at the stars and the trees and leaves and acorns and thinking about my family, both

There's this thing I often do when I get hungry I open the fridge in search of some fulfillment But inevitably nothing looks good And I walk away. A short-lived moment however As I return again to check soon after Expectedly I find nothing once more And I walk away. I begin to accept the facts I stop seeing potential in the fridge I know there's nothing there I’ve checked it twice now. But im so very hungry And it worsens each passing minute Perhaps i’ll check just once more

Years ago Mentioned briefly with trust Stepping in made me feel uncomfortable They said in return proudly Do you not like being special? They’ll never understand The stares and glares received walking into a diner The invisible expectations The labels they give you as gifts Receiving advice never asked for, to sound more American They’ll never comprehend Getting racially profiled when walking in the store People assume what you are and see you as less than Subtle microaggress

I’d wail for you As if You’d suffered some Augustian tragedy I’d give you my bones If seeing me spilling all over the floor Is just what you need right now I’d have quit our story If I’d known that I was A dissolving stitch In the wound of your future We were like candied orange peels Effort, love, sunbathing And the result was mouth-watering, Yet while I was snacking, I was bitterly unaware Of the Penicillium creeping Through my foolish blood I know, I’m