imagine

isn't it so easy to imagine?
feel the night's breath waft life into a book
a hushed melody crumbles
erodes at the nightless stars
as it puffs like creme brulee

coronavirus

COVID-19, with a little over 19
months until I'm gone
with the wind, with life
with heaven's plan and hell's pain
graduated from a childhood that is just short
a few years, stolen under spring's simmer

and mestasized into summer's sonder
as the AC freeze dries my sullen smile
i have often wondered if lying face up
on the street hollering as it burns outside my window
belly up, bottom's up
would free me

do you think death's champagne would taste like
rain and concrete humidity
as it rolls sticky memories of sunken lemonade
stands on your tongue 
radio songs belted on the highway
trails off into mournful tears

"Why doesn't she speak it?" scoffs the nail salon lady. I poke through the dried leaves of my mother tongue. I open my mouth, and close it. The silence swells, a bullfrog, broken by the croak of a fake laugh from my mother.

My search history, an hour later:
learn tagalog
learn tagalog free pdf
tagalog course free online
free ta
how to do filipino accent

Mabuhay. Mah-boo-hay. Whitened syllables. Clumsy tongue rolls. My 'Filipino accent' flops to the floor and oozes.

Eventually, you reach a point.

100 years of being able to vote
and nothing ever changes. 
Women STILL aren't free to be present in their bodies.
Free to choose what their body is capable of
and to not be shamed for it's shape and size.
Did you ever consider looking at the density
of our hearts instead of our thighs and chests?
I'm sorry... am I being too loud?
Should I be quieter?
Am I distracting you?

Sorry my skirt is too short,
sorry my mom breastfed my baby sister in public,
sorry our baby is crying because shes hungry,
sorry I wore a crop-top to school,
sorry my clothes matter more to you than my education,
sorry its OUR fault for being cat-called,
sorry it's our fault for not listening,
sorry I was walking alone at night,
sorry I'm scared to walk anywhere now,
sorry I was talking back,
sorry I didn't chirp on command,
sorry I'm so distracting,
sorry I'm not distracting enough,

Maybe your mind feels like a tangle of worries,
but there’s a web of invisible hands holding you up.
Maybe your body is a little bit broken,
but we are all putting ourselves back together behind closed doors.

You are not alone.
Let that be your mantra when the voices in your head are screaming too loud.
You are not alone.
Whisper it to yourself when there’s no one else to whisper for you.
You are not alone.
Someone else is going through what you are going through
and we are all putting ourselves back together
a little bit at a time.
It’s okay to cry.
It’s okay to be mad.
Let this be your mantra when the tears won’t stop rolling.
It’s okay.
It’s okay.
Maybe it’s not okay.
That’s okay.
You are strong.
You are all you need
to get through this,
to get better,
to get there.
But that wall of invisible hands
is holding you,
holding you,