Jun 20
poem challenge: Writing 2022


And it was at that time…poetry arrived. 
Or rather, 
I fell into it. 
Idly turning pages, 
lips mindlessly mouthing words, 
transcribing sounds into sentences. 
From mud it called me. 
From the depths of my despair. 
Gradually, it moved—had been moving—until it touched me. 
my heart, 
my head, 
my soul, 
it touched me. 

And I followed it, 
blindly following the fire
until it became the way out. 
flame to inferno, 
waves to water, 
girl to poet, 
poet to girl. 

*Inspired by Pablo Neruda’s poem “Poetry”. 
Jun 14

If I Was to Travel Back in Time

I’d see a few things: 

The sweet girl my father claims I used to be. 
The daughter who adored her dad, 
making guitar sounds as a way of insisting 
he play his favorite musician 
in the downstairs tv room. 

The supposed nonchalance towards the oohs and aahs from strangers. 
Simply looking at them.
I was unimpressed by their fawning.

The school meeting 
where the teacher said, 
“This girl is going places.” 

I wonder if the cloud those words created 
would be visible, so many years ago. 
Little me, burdened with glorious purpose 
and the weight of the world's expectations. 
Jun 09

My Head Underground

Is it wrong for me to ask so much of the world? To ask it to be happy, healthy, and kind? My concern is innately selfish, since my own well being depends on its state of mind.  

It cries and screams that it's given me so much. I keep scraping the bottom of the barrel, carving out cavern after cavern because I want a deeper meaning. I need a deeper meaning. The shallow love I’ve been given isn’t enough because the water barely reaches my shoulder making me contort and twist to fully submerge myself. 

I look out with pouty lips like a petulant child and a tired forehead like an old soul. I have spent so much time taking but not giving, begging but not getting, waiting or running for a change. I know anything worth doing must be done myself. But how? How do I wake the world when the universe remains deep in slumber? 
Jun 09

Written in Response To Visiting the Ridgely Plantation

I know I can’t grasp the fullness of what happened here. Even as I live and breathe on stolen land, I will never understand the depth of what was done. Never could. Never will. 

I cannot change history and I cannot dismiss it. All I can do is be proud that I stroll on the same land where slaves used to suffer, and own the same land they used to tend. 

May 26
poem challenge: Uvalde


I would place my hand on your beating heart and ask you why. 
Force you to look into my eyes and ask you why. 
Stroke your grandmother's hair and ask her why.
Pick the lock at the sporting shop and ask him why. 
Read your Facebook posts and wonder why. 
Chase after your car and scream out why. 
Go through every classroom and whisper why. 
I would let you see me cry if only to answer why. 
But in your death, you committed the greatest crime of all. 
No explanation. 
Not a single word. 
You just took your gun 
and your hate 
and your pain 
and left. 

In response to the challenge, Uvalde
May 21


One of my friends said the n-word yesterday. 
Or, at least, I think she did. 

It just flew out of her mouth. 
Like a baby bird, 
or a flyaway hair, 
pulled out of place. 

I sat so still. 
Too frozen, 
for anyone, 
to even notice me. 

Just another stray snowflake 
in a deluge of cold.

I wished her a happy Asian Pacific Islander Desi American Heritage Month, 
because maybe she didn’t say it. 

But maybe she did. 

May 17

Royalty High

We’re running around the city, the lights flash blue and yellow and green and red. 
We stumble into a music store, the old type, with records everywhere. 
You put on The King. 
We twirl through the aisles, belting the lyrics.
We run out into the street. 
Skipping down the avenues. 
I’m in a green dress. 
I wanna bottle this feeling. 
This sweaty, delirious, pitter patter of my heart feeling 
This technicolor, fizzy champagne feeling 
I wanna be 
The king of your heart. 
Wear your love like a crown. 
Adorn myself with those ruby red kisses of yours. 

Inspired by the song "The King" by Sarah Kinsley 
May 09

Wasting All My Data On Our Late Night Calls

Apr 29

In the late spring light,

Apr 26

B.B. & Billie: A Beautiful Thing

I was listening to, or rather my dad was playing "The Thrill is Gone" by B.B. King. Normally, I would’ve complained but today B.B’s music moved me. He sings about losing the thrill of something you once loved. I’m guessing he meant it romantically, a love that gradually loses its spark over time until it is nothing but ash. But I like to think of it more generally. Losing the passion for something you once held dear. Getting your dream job and eventually dragging yourself to the office. Losing interest in an activity or art form that used to consume every waking hour. I think Billie Eilish says it best in her song "Getting Older:" “Things I once enjoyed/Just keep me employed now/Things I’m longing for/Someday, I’ll be bored of.” Then it struck me how these two completely different artists, with contrasting genres and personalities, and totally different fans, are saying the exact same thing.