Apr 09

Black and White

Apr 08

Emancipation Proclamation 2.0

Apr 03

If You Care

YWP Archive Photo by Kevin Huang

Someone stops there to take
that picture every night,
pausing briefly,
retrieving their phone,
and taking home
their frozen moment. 

It's a very pretty picture,
this city at night.

Lights from windows and streetlamps
dimly illuminate and outline
the buildings.
There are so many of us
 that we turn the
splatter-painted sky
a duller, hazier color.

If you care,
I'm the one three windows
to the left of the corner
on the 17th floor
of that ruddy brown building.
Yes, I'm the one next to
the two dark rooms.

If you really squint,
your tired eyes
just might notice the
threadbare green couch,
stained by coffee on its right armrest,
that I sit next to.

Or you might see the dusty bookshelf,
Apr 02

Hate You

This is a poem I wrote for a school project related to the book Bread and Roses, Too, by Katherine Paterson. The poem is from the perspective of a boy named Jake who has an abusive father who beats him and steals his money. Jake, later in the book, gives his father a bottle of whiskey to try to avoid being beaten, but his father dies of overdrinking, leaving Jake without a home or family.  

Look, when I got home
you didn’t have to beat me
I know that you were drunk,
like always,
but you didn’t have to be.
I know you hated me.
But why?
You didn’t have to.

But then again,
I always hated you,
too.
Always hated the drunken scowl
across your face.
The way you undid your belt
slowly
before I’d feel its sting
again and again, until
I couldn’t choke down its pain
any longer
and your arm couldn’t swing it.

Every time you drank down my paycheck
Mar 30

Another Way to Fly

Rain drizzles down
leaving everything soaked, stained
darker by thunderclouds.

The air is thick,
so thick that life
slows down,
chilled to brittle bones.

The fluorescent bulb flickers
casting hollow light on thin pages
and cold silence
over the empty room.

On days like this 
I stop to feel, 
letting the cold rain
into my soul
so that it might 
always be with me. 

Gray clouds weigh down the sky
and I'm only closer to flying. 
 
Mar 28

A Sonnet for Sonnets

I really hate all these sonnets because
They're dumb and old-fashioned and dull as bricks
They should be outlawed and banned by the fuzz* 
And replaced by haikus and limericks.

They don't even sound good, a tiny bit
I'd rather listen to James Brown "sing"
Whoever designed them sure had no wit
They must've had power, maybe a king.

Probably thought very much of themselves
And thought that their sonnets were very hot
Pictures of themselves on all of their shelves
They thought sonnets were great, the truth: they're not.

So wise up you fools, sonnets are a sham
Put them in their coffin, shut the lid, slam! 


*the police
Mar 27

Eating Poison

Mar 27

Haiku

Mar 26

Tip-toeing

Cold winds tug my hair
out from under my wool hat,
letting it flap against my head,
wild,
like everything here.

My arms,
wrapped around the weathered trunk,
hug me tight to the swaying tree.

Night tip-toes in,
and begins to
slowly rock the land,
easing it into peaceful sleep.

No longer can I tell
where my arms become
the tree.
But what does it matter?
Mar 26

Something

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