Selected poems. | All work is original.
"Poetry lifts the veil from the hidden beauty of the world, and makes familiar objects be as if they were not familiar."
Slipping Into Nonexistence
Live poetry reading at the UC Berkeley Mental Health Monologues in December 2021.
I used to trace the constellations on your chin while you slept beside me,
the serenity of the night sky reflected in the freckles on your face,
a galaxy I wanted to become a part of.
Your eyes reminded me of the earth,
of comfort and the beautiful countryside,
a home I could take with me wherever we went.
And whenever you embraced me,
with such warmth and love and security,
it felt like I was enveloped in the sun.
You used to say the sun was your god,
maybe his rays imprinted themselves in you,
because that fire inside–
unwieldy and rash and easy to fuel–
burned anyone who dared try to tame it.
It takes oceans to guide your flames into embers,
but all you had was me and the rivers of tears I left in my wake.
I Hear the Cicadas Singing
The air outside feels dry and different on the west coast. The miserable heat an abnormal sensation against my moisture-seeking limbs anticipating the immediate sweat that envelops your skeleton as you enter the humidity of the eastern seaboard, a comfortable cocoon against the wicked heat of the sun. I’m reminded of home in the honeysuckle beside the sidewalks and the faint smell of the ocean trickling along the breeze and into each greedy nostril. I can close my eyes and almost see the sun rising along the horizon, hues of orange and pink welcoming the morning air, farewelling the wise moon as she drifts out of sight. At night i look into the sky, seeking the same constellations that knew all of my childhood secrets.
I can hear the cicadas singing their song, keeping me company along with the stars.
My home is within me, a constant amongst the ever changing path of maturing.
I am like a rose,
standing tall with purity and ineffable beauty
until plucked without my consent.
stolen from my nutrients and safety,
forced to simply survive,
waiting to wilt into nonexistence.
displayed as a symbol of love and femininity,
despite my internal turmoil and discontent.
For the Lost Boys
Nothing is fully appreciated until it’s gone.
While the people mourn and cry out your name,
the trees continue to sway
in a never-ending dance with the ocean breeze.
As candles are lit in a meager attempt
to keep your soul eternalized in flame,
the moon rises in an unchanging motion,
unaware of the grave loss around her.
Loved ones share stories and utter words of comfort,
overwhelmed by their own grief.
Yet the unalterable course of nature perseveres
through the delicacies of humanity;
I envy her continuity.
I would like to fly into a different being,
soar through the clouds and across the seas
until I find the perfect place for me to be.
I’ll walk through meadows of tulips,
frolic amongst wildflowers under the warm sun’s rays,
and swim across clear blue lakes ––
floating within the bounds of existence
at last I am free.
These Scars of Mine
about the poem
I originally wrote this poem at fourteen, when I first started self-harming in my desperation to feel in control of my life. Since then, I have continued to struggle with my addiction, but I am on the path to recovery with the continual support of my friends and family. If you or someone you love self-harms, please seek professional help.
These wrists of mine hold a thousand words not spoken; a thousand dreams forgotten; a thousand memories lost.
I hold this piece of metal in the palm of my hand watching as I form scars upon my skin.
My hand quivers and my mind goes numb –– I’ve lost all sense of touch.
I see myself moving and breathing and hurting, but there’s no feeling.
I hear my breath quicken and shake.
The deep crimson falls, leaving ghosts of its presence in the thick lines left upon my wrists.
The metal shoves itself in deeper, forcing my hand to commit such crimes against my being.
It’s an endless cycle of pain.
I dig deeper and deeper until, finally, I lose any acknowledgement of my existence and only feel pain.
No longer empty.
No longer alone.
This demon bares its teeth, and my lips pull back into a grimace.
The crimson dries on my skin and my smile fades;
my soul is dragged back into its carcass, kicking and screaming on the way.
I anxiously await our next encounter.
Thoughts on An Early Monday Morning
The sun shines its warm rays on my shoulders,
a comfortable breeze caresses my cheek,
the birds sing their joyous ode to the wonders of the universe.
I can’t help but grin as I walk amongst the trees,
their branches opening into a comfortable embrace.
The world smiles down upon me
as I pour my gratitude into Her soft soil.
Through Her nurturing love and goodness,
our Mother Earth emboldens us,
giving us the meaning to love and to live.
Yet we abuse our Mother.
Spilling oil into Her waters,
and erasing Her ever-pleasing beauty,
stealing innocent lives and
threatening entire species.
We emit poisonous gases into the air,
suffocating all living beings,
leaving Mother Nature struggling to survive,
as we kill our brothers and sisters effortlessly,
unafraid of the consequences upon our own humanity.
Our ignorance and greed has cost us
the one thing that loves us endlessly.
It’s time to wake up from our callous stupor
and help our Mother heal
from the injustices we’ve brought upon her.
Only we can fix our heartless mistakes.
Encountering An Old Friend
As hopelessness hits and i’m left
with a hole where my heart should’ve been,
I invite her in.
I embrace her with open arms and
a sinister smile twisted upon my lips.
Her sickly perfume engulfs my senses;
I am suffocated by her breath whispering into my ear,
a siren pulling me into the ocean’s depths.
Her words slither their way into my mind until
all I see is darkness.
The shadow of the self I once was hidden
behind a veil of disgust and disillusionment.
I sink into her cold, uncomfortable bosom
and her presence overwhelms me entirely —
a slave to her pull;
an addict seeking intoxication;
a lover longing for her soulmate;
The sun rises every day,
even if we cannot see her glow,
And the trees are in constant motion around us;
nature never fails to grow.
You too are in a perpetual state of flux,
moving with the wind and dancing with the trees,
a beautiful being amongst an infinite realm of possibility.
Today may challenge, but tomorrow knows no bounds.
Death beckons me with a well-manicured hand,
drawing me into his cold embrace
void of sadness and heartbreak and the pain of living.
I tiptoe along the edge of reality,
seeking every opportunity to subdue
the feelings that contain my humanity.
the harder I push him away,
the stronger his pull invades my subconscious,
until all I can see is his image in my mind.
the strength required to avoid his temptation
drags me down to my knees,
so I pop some pills and numb the pain away,
momentarily forgetting the devil within me.