To that petson who has lost everything:

At midnight, with shovel in hand, I dig unmarked graves and bury the dead in my bed sheets, I mourn for all the places I cannot exist, I mourn for all the fractures that can never heal, and all the pieces of myself I can never get back.

On good days, upon waking, I feel renewed, my soul stitched back together amidst the ugly phantoms in my head.

*For Day 10, #theloveletterproject


To the girl with beautiful faith

You’re one of those people who still believes in second chances, in trying again, in resets, in new beginnings, in fresh starts. You’ve never lost faith in love.

You’re one of those people who’s still soft enough let them back in even when they say they’ve changed. I don’t know how you can be brave enough to let them hurt you again, but I hope you can walk away from it in the end, not crumpled into yourself, but with arms flung wide. Please don’t give up on love, but more importantly, don’t give up on yourself.

*For Day 8, #TheLoveLetterProject!

Happy International Women’s Day

You point out the curve of your stomach
and the ripple of your thighs, as if
these are flaws you need to hide,
when you look in the mirror
and see not good enough, please
remember that I see strong
hands, stronger willpower,
resilient heart, easy laughter,
kind eyes, fast wit. You are
delicate and wild, insane and
unpredictable. Accept your
complexity and depth and don’t
apologize for it. You are every
inch of the reason I count myself
so damn lucky to be a woman.

To that person who continuously inspires me

I love how she is always smiling.
Where most children draw a grinning sun at the top of every picture, I think of my grandma’s face. Hers is the radiance I have yet to see matched by anything other than her grace.

She has always been the rope thrown down when I’ve reached a solid brick wall. She hoists me over. She kisses my skinned knees. She lends me her strength.

She is in every word of every poem in the library of my cavernous chest. She is a place that will never be anything less than home.

*For day 6 #theloveletterproject – for my grandma who took care of me eversince I was 6 months old.

To the girl with fairy dust wings

And when I say I will run,
I do not mean escape. I will
fly on wings made out of fairy
dust and everything I overflow
with. I will disappear around
the curve of the world, far
enough that I won’t be forgotten,
far enough that I won’t be here.
I will be somewhere else, breathing
different air, soaking up new light,
meeting new people, touching new lives..

*For day 5 #theloveletterproject

About last night

My cup of joy, your brimming wine
it teased the edge of blissful sins
last week we spent a month or two
just lounging in these gifts of now

I remember you tasting like
last night’s sins, we were drunk
on love and sweet empty promises.
Although my body still aches of
places you called home, this only
happened because it was too dark
for us to tell the difference
between concrete and collarbone.

To the girl with the bruised hips

If we bruised where we ached, maybe we’d have a better understanding of everything.

You’d see blue solar systems around my heavy head, circles over each knot of my spine, lashes from being stabbed in the back. There’d see deep navy blues at the tips of my fingers from yearning, from reaching, from holding on and letting go. There’d be battle marks across my chest, above my racing heart. There’d be bruises on my hips when we were tender and wild, the gentle touch of lips to bruises that quietly screamed save me than fuck me hard.

If we bruised where we ached, we won’t have to hide and people will realize the lie in “I’m fine.”

*for day 4, #theloveletterproject

I can’t say that I miss you,
it’s impossible to miss someone
who was never present to begin
with. Maybe it’s the possibility
of you that I miss,
the possibility of us.

I’ve held onto the concept of an “us” for so long that I’ve begun to lose my grip. That’s the thing about intangibles, you can’t really hold onto them, at least not for very long. They seep through the spaces between your fingers eventually, like vapor. Maybe it’s the holding on that I miss. It was all I ever had, after all.

*For Day 7 of #illogicalvalentinechallenge hosted by #illogicalpoemworld