Sep 13

Teeth For Eyes, Dates For Names

A million years in the future, in the direction twenty paces to your right and thirty degrees to the left, there was a relatively poor man, who was relatively poor because of his relatively low income. He was relatively sad and relatively lonely; he was more pitiful than someone who was absolutely poor, sad, and lonely because everything that he was, did, or wanted was absolutely average, and that included his happiness. 

    One day he was taking a not so leisurely, leisurely walk down the road. His legs were tired—well, they were always tired, it just so seemed that they were more tired than they usually were. The man decided to sit down on a bench, but he realised that there was no bench and so he had to sit on the ground. But unfortunately there had been a flash flood about eight hours beforehand and so the ground was wet. He sat on it anyway because he was too tired—but not tired enough to not care. 
Jan 10


“Wondering if it’s cold today.” mentions the oak
“I think it’s probably hot!” argues the poplar
“I think you’re probably crazy.”

“Then what do you think? Do you think it’s snowing?”
“That snow might be rain.”
“What about hail?”
“That only comes once in a while.”

“Wondering if I’m dying.” says the oak
“Why do you have to be so pessimistic?” sighs the poplar
“Everything is dying from the minute it is born, isn’t that ironic?”
“Do you even know what ironic is?”
“What does it matter when we’re dying?”

“I guess it doesn’t then”

“The sky is beautiful today.”
“How do you know, you can’t even see it.”
“No…” whispers the oak, “but I can feel it.”
“Alright then, I guess the sky is beautiful today.”
“Yes," laughs the oak, "yes it is.”
Jan 10

Soldier Takes To The Air

Smoke lines his face as the echoes around him dim,
his heartbeat seems too clear.
His head turns to see the face of his comrades,
some jerking with the force of a bullet and thudding on the cold dirt,
some holding fast to firing guns,
watching as soldiers on the other side land heavily to the ground. 

He sighs as pain floods into his side and blood flows out,
I wish I could fly
he whispers,
I wish I could fly,
He stares longingly at the blue sky, 
still so beautiful on this cruel day.

His body falls to the soil, unsatisfied,
still hoping with the naivety of a child
that it could fly.

He feels the pain beginning to fade,
the darkness emanating from all sides,
he allows it to wash over him,
so tired,
he sighs his last breath of air,
tasting with it the tang of smoke
smelling the heavy hang of blood.

Jan 10


They say that I'm a gentle child,
the kind that will never try to hurt you.
They say that I am a kindred soul,
that will never think to leave you.

At first I accept their blind assumptions,
walking with you day by day.
You talk nonsense about things that are boring.

You laugh about things,
that only you understand.
I am lost trying to be understanding,
I hold onto you with consideration.

I think that you are strong, because you don't care
what you look like.
You don't care that other people
don't care 
about you.

I admire your academic skill,
until I realise that you enjoy showing it off.
I feel stupid... when I'm next to you... 
but you don't care, do you?

We join the school cross country team together,
you are slower than me.
I want to be with you,
but I keep leaving you behind.
You ask me to slow down.
Jan 09

Bad At Being Asian

I've got eyes,
yes eyes... 
I've got a nose,
of course a nose!
I've a face and a body, hair, lips,
I have everything everyone else has,
only different.

Apparently I have "Almond eyes"
and a "big nose".
Apparently I have black hair 
and I'm "unusually short".

I'm not mad about being Asian!
But sometimes it almost feels as if 
other people 
are mad that I'm Asian... 
that I'm bad at being Asian.

I'm expected to be academically talented
and to be a typical Korean girl
and wear the most recent styles
of makeup.
Unfortunately I am not a gifted student,
and I have no desire to wear makeup.

People assume I am unathletic
because of my height
and because of my sex.

People online have joked about how Asian girls
have absolutely no talent in 
athletic ability because they're too busy
Jan 02

Man In A Sleeping Bag

    On a random day in a random town lay a random man in a random alley. Two random pigeons—named Bird and Drib—found this random man in a blue sleeping bag. Unfortunately these random pigeons had no idea what a sleeping bag was nor did they realise that a man was the same being as a sleeping man.
    “What is this?” cooed Bird to Drib, stroking the thing on the ground,
    “I’m not entirely sure!” replied Drib to Bird, who stood petting the opposite side,
    “Is it blue?” questioned Bird, cocking his head,
    “It is blue!” declared Drib, who looked excitedly at Bird as if he’d discovered something spectacular.
The two stared for precisely seven minutes and forty-three seconds at the thing on the ground, patting it in different places. At some point, Drib poked the thing in what must’ve been a sensitive place as the thing groaned in obvious discomfort. Bird looked up at Drib, horrified,
    “What on Earth did you do?”
Dec 12


The tender tips of iron shading
slowly are they fading,

The dark above me seems obscure,
how strange it is,
this cold, black lure.

For one may think the breath inhaled
is simply the same as breath

But stripped it is of what we breathe,
this breath inhaled,
and breath we freed.

So filled of nothing, is the air,
in this darkness,
is breath so fair.

I see the light reflect off water,
so strange it is,
my gentle slaughter.

The obscure darkness holds me dear,
no longer do I feel
such fear.

But strange it is and strange indeed,
that I, not breath,
to death, proceed.

And silent is this foreign night,
for past this darkness,
lies the light...
Dec 10

A Waltz With Time

Even without my amber light,
still I have a lovely sight,
of darkness on the velvet wall,
of starlight in a winter hall.

The blueness of the burning sky,
the hue of never ending rye.
The light of time and dark of day,
the pearls that weep on darkened bay.

The moon that sleeps upon the lace,
whose hands hold mine in cold embrace.
Forever in this woeful turn,
forever will my blue sky burn. 
Nov 21

Wait For Me Please

I am the child.
Nine years behind my brother,
three years behind my sister.
I am the child.

I am the one that will never stop running,
desperate to reach 
the fingertips of my siblings
that whisk behind them as they stride
towards success.

I am the child that cries alone,
too afraid to show my immaturity
to my older brother,
too afraid to seem weak
to my older sister.

"The youngest is always
the most successful."

"What do you mean,
'sibling pressure'? 
You have it the easiest because you can learn
from their mistakes!"

They say that I 
make excuses.
That I have it better.
I wish I could yell,
scream at them to at least
try to understand me,
but I apologize instead.

I assure you,
this pain is real,
the burden is heavy,
the expectations are forever there.
Nov 20

Not For Grandma

This piece is very personal and took me a lot of courage to post, I hope you'll read to the end and try to understand.


I will proceed to become extremely,
brutally honest with you.

I hate you.
There is no simpler way to say it!
I despise you,
I don’t like you,
I “strongly dislike” you.

I hate how you try to do things
your own way
in our house.

I hate how you think you have
the right
to do whatever you want
when you are simply a guest.

Yes, that’s right
you were living alone,
an early alzheimer’s patient,
in a tiny, boring apartment in the middle of

believing you could take care of yourself
by yourself
while knowing deep inside, past your annoyingly
defiant personality,