Wake up

& rinse my hands

with god’s tears

before I scratch my soul

with my aging thumb.

Wake up

& rinse my hands

with god’s tears

before I scratch my soul

with my aging thumb.

I step into my tailored fate

every morning at 7:05

never sure whether it suits me –

the texture of the cloth

makes my skin itchy.

My nails lock my knuckles,

neck and ego,

but I can never turn my index finger

into the key to life,

with fingerprints like eyes opening,

wounds waking.



Should strip my crust off me,

skin the mantle and expose the core,

boiling. Should reduce myself

to bones, to the structure

of universe.

My greedy fear overflows

into a galaxy, a nebula made of gold.

I have to pray to be cursed,

to use the apparatus

by which I touch the world

to unwrap my tissues, organs and ribs.

To tear myself up:

But I haven’t hold onto something

warm for months, like his hands,

like my most delicate dress rarely worn,

always bathing under the sun in the balcony

at home, retaining a piece of tender fabric spring

And I have to enter a room and stay in it

with a non-native address, pens like walking sticks

yet with no feet to return, roads only constructed

on lines of letters. The building,

a monster asleep; corridors: vessels empty.

And I lock myself in a room, a tiny isolated organ.

I sit here all day, fear that I might be drowned

by the blood of silence

They give me an extra one –

only one so I still weigh so little, little for I keep on walking

without a local night, without a train ticket,

and without a mom.

Eyes nailing on me,

yet I shall never learn how to wear my flesh

properly, or even, which flesh to dress.

I feel my blood itchy, whenever

a gaze injects into my skin.

Have been weighed every day,

to witness how the absence of my heaviness

undulates the histogram of my past.

and I hump into my dream, handwriting

choreographed into a maze,

every stroke a wall, a twist in direction,

not allowing any deliberate exist

for my tears

You are my op shop, my cynical spring,

My silted skin, my unsayable saying,

Idiotic idioms that only I love to blabbing

– my grandly mistaken grammars, my intentionally

Incoherent soliloquy, my incoherent

Inheritance from an insane poetry

&I’m discriminated not because of the color of the skin

But the color of my soul

Yet I still remember those nights

When we light up fires inside our eyes

&how we were defoliated as we walked through

the scenes we wanted to see

A lonely wanderer renting the street

Who just retired from her sleep

Fermentation arising from bedsheets

Cultivating her shadow puffy and skim

I deliberately sharpen the obtuse heat

Though we can’t shout our hearts out like the Beats

Promise me the dosage of tears will never exceed

Mountain ranges and secretive trees

Those far limits we could never foresee

Smacking me clean as the waves of the seas

Promise me the dosage of tears will never exceed

Mountain ranges and secretive trees

Those far limits we could never foresee

Smacking me clean as the waves of the seas

Secrets and fears that I excrete

Exclaiming the exterior to be obsolete

Which letter should be burnt and whose address to reach

Shall I just pack up and brush my teeth

Those migrating along the rails,

Sought after blood.

The late grandma no longer knew

Dropped

Yet another tooth

In her photo

In to the palm. A pomegranate.

Traveled through the artery road

Into stomachs hundreds of miles far

Waves of crimson thunders

– Fires ruminated

On those typhoon days, they awakened,

Still hunting worn-out photos, worn-out gustation,

And the worn-out family cross.

Step into the world

Like a stroke, a fractured verse,

Like I tend to ignore

My vulnerable fate.

Someone beckons on my blood,

Wanting to dwell in lava.

I rarely answer.

I have no maps, no signs,

In my organs untamed danger,

Wild loneliness;

So I perch on the edge

Of this worldly dream.

You wake up, splash

A cup of coffee into your stomach

And sleepy organs and weary veins

Install yourself in front of the laptop

And start to download my life from it

And Grammarly is always keen

On oxford commas

To remind me: in this life

I’m inefficient

At pauses

Still I want to learn, apply to, and graduate

From: love

December. Winter condenses

Into a language that’s never native.

Night wraps me in

Like a blanket. My dreams

Are never polished.

How do I analyze my brightest pains –

Stormy, I grow up to be:

Wind crushes into my water

Like a quote. I learn the meaning

Of it, & I still want to

Rephrase the coldest month of my lines.

My habitable branches are collapsing. I’ll have to go.

My leaves are falling, I quoted.

Go and edit my life; do with more lines that broke.

I remember my endings are how we departed.

And I asked. Who stated my secret and pain?

Embrace myself repeatedly as embracing wind.

Who stated my secrets my poems learned in last summer rain?

I forgot how many pages of my diaries are sinned.

I have light because I have an allergy to dark.

I have habits built around flowers. And scribble

down Poems in capital in the corner of my pillows.

Happy to be an over-liver

at half past 4 in the morning, and

Become friends with the lungs of this planet –

For we are all beautiful organs.

to boil lower case pains, with all

the flour, knives,

cream, heat, and a feeling

that we call home.

I’ve run out of rains inside of me

& Crushed into skylines internally.

I converse with the horizons,

Foliage, & considerations of springs.

I study them

& I shadow, too. I put them

At the end of life’s equation.

I take attendance of clouds

& Stars, I accompany the

Presence of darkness.

I stretch to fit in the gap of light.

I deep & I shallow. I flow.

I comma, I period,

I noun & I verb,

I smog, I snow, I star & I soil;

I rise & I rose – I’m dashes and flowers

When I witness the sky fall.

In the old syllabus we used to hunt

breezes and winters, & master how

to outlive rocks covered with snow.

I took notes on stars; how

they whispered to my night,

& how they migrated through my dreams.

I highlighted my favorite

sunset in red.

Sometimes I sit here, reminiscing

about the days that I capitalized verses

among stardust & punctuated the night sky.

Tracelessly, in the

debris of comets, I install my

words, shine them to be clean,

& outline all the decent scars

and rough hopes.

· learnt to cry concisely

· got a 25/30 on a test

about tomorrow

· played a character spoken by

a soliloquy throughout

· was questioned for being so modern

at 4: 17 p.m. on a Thursday

· be confused

· had an ambiguous emotion due on 7th

· – Had something

Moonlight cut pebbles thin,

Skimmed my shadows from late July

Into deep Springs.

Those cloudy 4 a.m.’s

I took a walk with

intensive streetlights,

NY nesting upon my empty feet.

I happened to be born in Anthropocene where we

Are eroding all our waters

Standing by the shore of humanity, my youth

& Genetics are painted foggy

I dwell in a life where my life

Heat fluctuates all the time