she wants to name
so no matter where they are
they'll still share one
By ZeroSometimes she thinks about math.
She wonders if there's an equation for her depression.
The number of times you cut yourself today squared,
minus the unhealed wounds from the day before
by the number of days this week you felt pretty.
The total meals you threw up in the last month
multiplied by the pounds you didn't starve off
by the number of times you told the truth about it.
The mean of the slurs hurled at you by strangers
and the ones flung by friends
by the number of people you know who love you.
She was never good at math.
She forgets you can't divide by zero.
the pills don't workA few weeks ago
my doctor called me
"You have a
with the tendencies of an insomniacthe loneliest part of her day
is going to sleep
knowing when she wakes up
she'll still be
She called me Ma'am. He called me Miss.The bank called today, trying to sell you life insurance. You let them babble because it's their job and you couldn't get a word in edgewise and you're too polite to simply hang up. When the woman on the other line finishes her spiel you tell her you're not interested, but she insists so you listen. Letting her speak for another minute couldn't hurt, right?
She starts telling you how you should be prepared in the case of a sudden death. Car crashes, drowning, equipment malfunction, cancer, disease contracted overseas, covered. You aren't going to buy this insurance but you want to ask if suicide was covered under it anyway.
But you weren't planning on dying. Not today, anyway. Not for a while. You stopped that.
She transfers you to another associate. You tell him he's wasting his time, because you simply aren't interested and don't have the need for this program.
He lists off some statistics. The number of people who die in accidents every year. What the average funeral costs in Canada
it was cold when I woke upI long to trace invisible trails
across your face, like wind
I yearn to feel your heartbeat
cuddled up against your chest
I crave all of your kisses
I ache to give you mine
Wishing upon a falling star
I'll sing you lullabies
Ninety-EightI want you here on my darkest nights
when razor blades can't scare the frights
and scars aren't enough to face my fears
haunting, taunting all of these years
I want you here on my brightest days
when sun shines dim under my rays
and our laughter comes in fits and starts
prancing, dancing never apart
I want you here for everything
The good and bad, the in between
You're HomeThe only place I know I'm safe
Is someplace I may never be
If home is where the heart is
I'm still living overseas
Red PenShe has a red pen, holds it close
Reminded of a boy
She plays with it but not his heart
A heart is not a toy
Sometimes she writes and stops herself
Afraid, for ink runs dry
Superstitious mind, she reasons
Red pens, like love, can die
She saves the pen, saving the ink
Never once she forgets
By losing it she loses him
Her heart is in his debt
Love letter to myself.Small handed girl,
you've written the truth
of your scars wherever there's
space to write it
and I love you.
They painted over
the rape you wrote about
on the front door of
your Uncle's house
and I love you.
They took the floorboards
of your bedroom out where you'd
carved the shape of your
father's fist into their
and I love you.
You shook the sand of
your fifteenth birthday out of
your hair and into a jar
you keep under the bed to
remember a girl with crooked
teeth and bony knees who
fled and flew
and I love you.
You've built yourself into a
fortress with nothing but your
fingernails and shredded skin
and you let him in when he
waited by the door instead of
forcing his way
and I love you.
EclipseYou dreamed me.
A breath in crescent pulses
suddenly I am
existing in your pillowed fantasies
tucked beneath heavy eyelids.
there is magic in your bones.
carried by the night tide
I am yours.
The Difference Between Snakes and RopesLast night there was a woman
where my girl was and she said to me,
“This. That’s what he did.”
A woman isn’t born vulnerable, but
vulnerability is a part of personhood
and being self-aware of insecurities
is more vividly human than vibrancy;
more sexy than secrecy.
I’d compose her movement to music
or pen it on paper, proffer it as poetry
and profess confessions as love
but I’d rather be on standby—
even as passerby—
because I ache and I ache
all the time now, for her.
For her I am sore and unstomachable
and nurse wounds that aren’t mine.
For her, I worry.
I worry and I tighten knots,
practice my box, bow tie, square, slip,
and double coin knots and remember
that the method to madness is comfort;
being complacent with sanity
makes for insanity
and being complacent with a lover
is to take them for granted.
I tighten the same knot
and expect the same result,
wind the bight around again,
again, and again. And bite.
I knot, bight;
What is Love?What is Love?:
What is love but a simple impulse
An electrical signal that comes from the brain.
What is love but a debilitating sickness
It weakens us utterly from the waves of pain.
To what do we owe the pleasure of love
Does it come from a matter of personal taste?
To what do we owe the pain of love
As though all of our efforts are put to waste...
Why do we seek to fall in love
Is it because we fear a death alone?
Or perhaps there is a darker reason
One for which we need to atone...
Rationalise carefully, your reason for love
Perhaps the truth is deeper than you think.
Is your partner a genuine object of affection
Or simply a piece of the missing link?
Love can be a wonderous anchor
It brings us down to the safety of sanity
But abuse it once, and you will suffer
Such is the gift of humanity...
"Yet even with these weighty words, I am still a slave to love..."
-Chen Yuan Wen, 25th April 2012
I Know You Hate Me Now But...I Know You Hate Me Now But...:
Just give me a chance alright, I'll explain
To me, you're the girl that I notice everything about.
The way you laugh, the way you smile;
We got along great back then, even if we don't now.
And to be honest, I miss that...
You had the most lovely silky smooth hair
You'd give me the cutest anime girl smile
I wish I'd talked to you more about Manga,
Hell you got me started on the whole thing.
You were fantastic at drawing too
Man I was always jealous of that talent,
And I loved your drawings, like I once loved you.
I wish that you could have been a professional.
I would have bought your book every month y'know...
You encouraged me to write.
Back when my stories were shit,
Back when my poems were still baby's rhymes.
You taught me not to give in and I was grateful.
Now just let me finish alright?
I know that you won't speak to me.
That's okay, I admit to being an ass,
But the reason that I'm writing this poem to nobod
wilted petals on bedsheets and bathrobesi was full of
soft blossoms and a
wild, arcing sky that
would have taken
your breath away.
but now i am
petals of my
down the drain
is a bodily
all kinds of growth
nothing tries to
.falling in love
is like collapsing
onto the ground
blossoming from beneath.
Does it make
to want to f.a.l.l.
even if it means
every time you
touch me -
it feels like I'm dying.
Throwback ThursdayYou know what I miss?
The simple days
of aimless buses and trains,
like magic carpets
that helped us to escape,
if only for a little while.
I miss the endless walks
that led to hours of
strip mall shenanigans--
spinning in desk chairs,
petting that little blind kitten,
and reading anything
from cheesy joke books
to Frost's melancholic verse.
I miss cheap deli lunches,
discounted coffee house milkshakes, and
midnight conversations on the swings
at your old elementary school,
with the moon so bright that
I could see your T-shirt.
Remember that time when, hot chocolate in hand,
we followed the sound
of live fiesta music
sailing on the hollow winter air
until we nearly crashed
a Hispanic family's party?
Or what about the moments
of heartbroken silence
when we discovered
the ruins of a piano
at the church
that was once your daycare?
I remember climbing, barefoot,
halfway up Ricky's fence
to watch his illegal fireworks
and stealing Mom's car
in the dead of night,
just for store-bought Chines