Poetical Journal

2007-10-29T19:32:00.000-07:00

Comfort
The pavement feels warm
tears are warmer than anything else
the wind blows and the cold sets in

I'm thinking of everything
Speculating on how you viewed me
Special, exotic, unique, but not it

You think that I'm lonely
Maybe clingy and soft
The walls are down and I want to yell
but I can't - it's not my place

I was just a number-it was something
I just had to face
Some girl that fell for your charm

Why I Was Mad

2007-10-29T19:19:00.000-07:00

It was the other day, we walked

Knowing your heart was elsewhere

I'm sure you often wondered, what I thought
You often ask and your honesty scared me

I often lie, as you know
Especially when I'm mad

It was cold out, the taste of cold
was around like a cloud

It felt like you told me-lies

They would be able to take in
If they were, but they weren't.

Instead it was embraced
Held together-and I smiled.

Friends?

2007-10-29T19:16:00.000-07:00

After the novelty has worn dry
the pictures have been taken down
I hope we can still be friends.

I like the silence
hat sits between-the two of us
the coversations that have pulled up a seat

those that haunt me, when i close my eyes

memories from before

everything that has been said, is said again
replayed and repeated softly

sometimes the silence, doesn't scare me
it's comforting... let it sit for a while
the taste of the lack of words is golden

communication was always our barricade

Shut it.

2007-09-24T06:15:00.000-07:00

Shut it.

I got a little story, gotta little play
it's goes girl meets boy, boy meets girl
Shut your ass bitch, because you can't even tell

You spin your words to justify your actions
You flirt to make yourself feel better
Girls on each arm, you are what you rebel

Think to yourself, seriously
Analyze your actions, because you're really screwed
You are what you reap and what you sow

Now get the fuck out.

Make yourself a living hell.

the burns of this shit

2007-09-22T20:53:00.000-07:00

I've got third degree burns on my heart
They are scattered and my heart does not function
properly and systematically

Thanks to you.

There are these momements of normalcy
rapped into ideas of healing
but they are all wrong.

Because still have that hold on me.

The memory is powerful, and the pain is deep.

It is so amazing that I don't believe.
It's been so long and yet here I am...
Not pining, but bitching

I hope that you and she are fine.
I hope that when you find me-you find the site
You find me buried and gone

Part me still living in pissed off poems
Nothing but the living in your head

I hope that it plagues you like, like it once did

2007-09-22T20:51:00.000-07:00

Streams of the conscious river... here it goes
Laundry in a basket, tea on my coffee table
Here I am eating ice cream, dancing in the bathroom

There you are reading poetry, lying on the floor
it's an illusion and a dream-altogether
It's okay... I'm not talking-just lost in thought

Dreaming with those seam
I'm driving away in a minicooper
running away on a marathon

Yet here I am in my room
Typing away with the ghosts
that will not pass.

Second Hand Let Down

2007-09-22T20:44:00.000-07:00

I saw your picture today, I was scared.
I heard your voice today, I was riveted.
I knew that cologne like a mile away.

Our mutual friend, explained everything,
dumbed it down to the ends of extreme

She supplanted these thoughts of forever.
These dreams of idealization, but yet I'm still mending.
Like that girl with the screwed up sweater....
I'm mending it, sewing it back together....
forever... mending... thinking it's through.
Yet, it's unraveling again and again...
and again....

Over and over.... line by line....
needle in and needle out....
seam by mind numbing seam
tedious and fun....
just slowing making things fit together.

I don't want your pity, don't want your thought.
Don't want an excuse... don't really want what we fought.

There are times over and over again-here I am again.
Dealing with your ghost... dreaming that I've killed it.
It's gone and I don't have to deal with it.

Only to be mistaken, to run into
another mutual friend-who said we were so caught.
There was nothing more to mention...
nothing more to say
Don't hesitated, because I'm already jaded.

There's A Part

2007-09-22T20:38:00.000-07:00

There this part of the narrative I'd like to share
There's a part down to the core
Like middle names and favorite colors
Beloved people, who have passed away and secret realms
I was to explain it all to you, but I won't

I won't scare you will petty statement or tell you tales
Can't tell you my secrets, although you say it's safe to tell
Tattle tales of the heart, or something like it

Writing in a journal, taking back the words I've said
Writing down the words and stories I can't send
Explaining once and again.
I'm dreaming.... delirious and you don't care

Or many be it is that I care too much,
We're on this cyclical down
You ask me questions-I dodge.
Don't call me out...
But You will
Call it as you see it.

I know I do... I know that there is no running for you.

Pocket Happiness

2007-03-26T15:50:00.000-07:00

There's this part of me that doesn't know
Part of me that seems unable to comprehend
I feel so numb, useless even
My body is here, but my mind isn't
I'm going through the motions
Wondering what's holding me together
Who's listening? What's going on?
Too much has happened...
Too much is going on.
I feel so alone, it scares me.
Abandoned and bombared with messages
Hermit like in the corner
Will it ever stop?
Continual motion, this life spins...
Moment on moment...
second by minutes by hour by month
Forget days they pass like seconds
Forget years what are they anyways?
Significant monumental landmarks, placards
It doesn't matter...
When's the last time I smiled...
The last time I wasn't so morose
Truly felt something real that wasn't fictional
Not asthetically pleasing from my pocket
Bought

Coversations With Jamie

2007-03-18T17:59:00.000-07:00

Thinking about the arguments
in head, in heart
mind, body, soul
wondering if you're right
all the words spoken so seriously
such a lady, so proper, so valiant
were bickering, arguing like two old women
religiously, all arguments flipped around
my eyes focused on your expression
covert me, I kiddingly say
seduce me with your god
have me persuaded, wooed
intellectually, physically, emotionally
entangled with this idea
fornicating with religion

Trashy Letter

2007-03-16T07:41:00.000-07:00

Writing you a letter
Back of gum wrappers and napkins
Listening to music, to get it right
You'd shake your head at me
Working on that BA, to get into grad school
So I can be happy
Thought of you as I ate
Sipping on water with lime
"Fickle, finicky, all things F-ed" that's what you said
Wanted to just say-I'm okay
Doubt I'll email you this
If I die, it's there
Whether you know it
You still owe me everything you stole
Days, months, birthday cards
Hours of a relationship, maybe.
It's such a waste, just a trend
Like these gum boxes and napkin scraps
It's all trash of a heart felt moment

Illusion

2007-03-11T11:41:00.000-07:00

Precious Illusions
Day dreams and conversations on replay
Smiles and laughter

Why is it always on replay?
Conversations about faith, love, and loss
Man in the perpherial vision
Why can't it be real?

Maybe if I was perfect
Take the makeup off, put on sweats
wasn't neurotically screaming

Sweat poring, cold showers,
and a boring morning walk
Sounds of silence- resonate the thoughts

Still there.

Voices in my head, feelings of sickness.
Illusions are dangerous
I know-thanks

Classically, hung up
On that way you say my name
On smiles
That way you pay attention
On a little more than my body.

And the fortune cookie says,
Dear girl wake up!
And I listen, finally...

Race, Nationality, Ethnicity, Does It Really Matter?

2007-03-10T19:53:00.000-08:00

Since when was it about my skin color?
Not the content of my character or grades

Part Filipino, probably Spanish, Anglo-Saxon
Anglo-Saxon: Irish and Dutch, a little in between

Yet all you see is that I'm really brown.
Excuse me, you wouldn't state that, I'm just tan.

The Hispanics think I'm Hispanic
The Indians, both Native and India born
Think I'm one of the same
The Filipinos want me to come over
The Hawaiians beckon me home

Pale in the winter; tan in the spring
I know enough to pass me for anything

I take my shoes off at the door

Of someone’s house, of someone's home

and I think, “Does it really matter?”

Ethnicity, race, nationality are all one in the same.

I’m not a fuckin’ label.

I'll state rather plain.

With two step moms who are Japanese
Am I really Japanese, Filipino, or white?

Because it does come up to social upbringing, right?

Pale in the winter; tan in the spring
I know enough to pass me for anything

One of my favorite uncles is Black.

Maybe I’m part black because in high school

I always took his advice and he easily socialized me

Social norms of the African American community.

More best friends of color

Than of the traditional white

Vietnamese, Korean, Chinese, Japanese

Mixed, chop suey, hapa Haole

Former boyfriends of different races

Puerto Rican, Filipino, Native American and yes, white

There are so many times
I'll walk into a store
A Hispanic guy comes by
Starts chatting with me in Spanish
I took two years of Spanish,
But I'm sorry, I'm not Hispanic or Spanish


“Aloha,” “Mabuhay,” “Konnichi wa”

Hawaiian, Tagalog, Japanese

Pale in the winter; tan in the spring
I know enough to pass me for anything

When did it become an issue of how Asian I look?
I'm analyzing my ID...

The perfect smile, but those slant eyes

I guess I do look a little Asian in that ID.

A college professor made a remark,

Under her breath as she checked my ID

“I’m seeing your real IDs today,” she was saying.

I was stunned, I held my breath

Was she really just playing?

Pale in the winter; tan in the spring
I know enough to pass me for anything

I’ve been slighted at the restaurants

In the South of course,

But being mixed is always a burden;

no matter wherever you are.

When I was little, I was not Asian enough

I spoke proper English, not enough Pidgin

After I moved, I was too dark

Suddenly, I stood out in the diner

First to order, last one served

I can’t imagine being African American

I haven’t inherited years of slavery

Through the strands of my DNA

Just the fact that I’m very brown

It’s acceptable because...

I'm pale in the winter; tan in the spring
I know enough to pass me for anything

Why I Hate Men

2007-03-10T14:09:00.000-08:00

Why I Hate Men

If you can get past the title
maybe close your eyes
have someone else read it to ease a troubled mind

I feel like a kid on an Indian Reservation
Assimilation to American-Mainland culture
There are these pictures of me and journal entries
Thoughts not yet conceived-of let's hope greatness

I'm in a desolate place of silence,
waiting to grow older
to get away from the deadbeats
of this lowerlying culture

Because long after this conversation
I'm going to break it down, analyze it
Word for word-decipher
the tone, diction, and everything
that you just said to me in anger

We're at that part, where I'm about to hang up
Yes, again. I won't answer this time around
You'll call back and leave an amusing message

Of course, I won't pick up, until I've cooled down.
This is why I hate men.

They love you, replace you, then leave you, again.
They think things will be okay,
in a moments time... after they have apologized

Because between the givens of
movies, junk food, and football
Unless they are in love with you
-You are nothing at all.

Unless they find you beautiful,
then they'll give you a chance.
Mostly because they want to slip into your pants
then it really doesn't matter
because you aren't even remotely brilliant

The flattery is in the making
On a trial to trail basis
As they try to systematically
steal your true self away
Creating one great maze

There you are inbetween books
Books turning into reality t.v.
Places you never thought you'd be
Situations like these

Feelings that were better dictated
like scripture from prophets
Wooed to woe from misery to misery
At least they were somewhat insightful

There you are back peddling
Ripping apart the lies that were fed
In and out of the scenario again.

The Artist's Daughter

2007-03-10T13:14:00.000-08:00

There were fathers and daughters
Today in the park-
it resembled thoughts
of you and I

Oh, renaissance man
musician, artist, social worker
multi-faceted redheaded crazyman

Break my heart in two
Into hundreds of pieces
man of this time, past, and next

My heart is screaming, grasping
for some semblance
and yet I am barren
unable to conceive these words

Groping in the dark, waiting,
an abscure paiting of an artist
painted as a child
among the trinkets,
you'd once bought me

Sometimes, you know I wonder
striving for glory
If I be a journalist, poet, or author
Will I be nailing your leftovers?

Witty man, lover of women,
Here I am left afraid of love and of witt
And yet you do not know it.

Does it bother you?
These toxic fumes of words and misfortune
you leave me to resume

Bits of me, pieces of mine own flesh
are deformed, deteriorated
From this which you have left

When ever does a child become a mother?
A friend a father?

We are best friends, you and I
Distant memories between

that moment you taught me to fish
when I was sixteen,
caught a boot in the habor,
on the pier and you smiled
Your laughter in the memory
it's still in my file

All I remember is that cigarette smoke
Hazy, toxic and suffocating
it was between us before the miles,
before I had made up my mind
and packed my bags for 3,500 miles
between us
You cried at the airport-
and I tried not to notice

Poorly Written

2007-03-10T10:43:00.000-08:00

I found my Xanga the other day
That I kept back in high school
On hiatus, for about a year

Entries of frivilous meanings
Defines of truth/prayers answered
Boys that I had liked-loved

Typical high school
Late night swims
Trips to the beach
Relationships that use to have meaning

Picked it up yesterday
Started venting, wondering
Addicted, once again
Wishing I had founded it sooner
Wanting to dictate everything down
Dictate like a stenographer

It is strange though,
Worst than the entries
From the short handed versions

The stories not as well as I tell them
In transit, at a party,
When there's nothing else to say

Like the yearbook from high school
Senior speeches of hope
Transcribed entries of goals

Among the typos, mispelled words,
Vague meanings and plain stupidity
It seemed a more innocent time
The answers, majors, classes chosen
Not having to worry about much
Anything, at all.

Precious naivete, if only it were you
Before the foibles and Miscues
Among the things of the past
Oh, to go back
Before everyone seem to have come
undone.

Mesh Production

2007-03-05T11:31:00.000-08:00

Maybe it's a sabbatical

Deleting all the songs and throwing away CDs
Discarding my Bibles, devotionals, hymnals

I forgot how much we had grown apart
Can't remember the red letters
The ones that use to speak to me
Can't remember when I was devout enough
To pray, believe, hope, have faith

Songs that spoke volumes don't any longer
Words that use to urge me, bore me,
If you're up there, omnipotent, omniscient and all
I think you already know that I don't care

It was beautiful to believe that you existed

It was a marriage and I was the Bride, the church

You had died for, sacrificed for,

Maybe it was based on conceit

I think, all along there was an inkling

In the crevices of my mind

Divorce, annulment, and nutcase in the works

It was a beautiful conversion, but now it is no longer

The marriage was a sham, like many relationships

We got together; it was great, made it work

Then life returns and people change

You weren’t the one I had married all along

It was a fad, socialization possibly

You pleased my parents and I was deliriously happy

The flame burned out

The truth allowed enlightenment

Never mind, it wasn’t a sabbatical

I don’t know what I was saying

Maybe I will walk smack into you one day.

Like my father likes to tell me,

Theologically, politically, and philosophically

The mesh has unraveled to make something new.

Social Cussing

2007-03-05T06:15:00.000-08:00

There's something about the way the words dance upon the lips
Every sylable feels, unlike all the rest
Maybe it's socialization
Potty mouth, vulgarities-its kinda sweet

Cussing is a beautiful thing
Especially when you're fighting
Something seductive is always key

Lucrative, like a name
Conversational narcissism
Cussing is always the inbetween

Swear words, always coasting across the sheets
Sheets of paper and of linen
And thoughtlike of lovers as they meet

It makes stupid jokes funny
Ugly people quirky
And defines the life situation-therein

Moment of Heaven

2007-03-04T10:40:00.000-08:00

Remember that scenario, when god came down?

It was a moment I believed, fervently,

The both of us, together,

In the midst of every miracle recorded.

You leaned over and asked me what I was thinking.

I could have sworn, you were about to kiss me.

Cell phone goes off and you answer it.

You tell them goodbye, tell me to try

Then again, it was your game that day

Waiting for me, the pawn, to be taken over

We both knew that the moment couldn’t be retrieved

Then we safely departed, for another day.

Crossing our own boards of life.

Love Poem for Someone

2007-03-04T06:26:00.001-08:00

Love Poem for Someone

Your unknown to me, in this battle we call life

I have never heard your voice

Yet I know it exists, amidst the toils of my day

It is the longings to see you that console me

The prose doesn’t flow like it use to

I found myself in the midst of the journey

You’re still there, I sense your spirit

A memory or a prophecy of you comforts me

Comfort in the bitter agony of longing

I sketch obsolete objects, write poems at midnight

Photograph nature, drink spring water

Yet I am alone waiting for you to appear

I want you to revive me, empower me

Confliction set in because you can save me

You can save me…

And when I meet you, you have the possibility

To destroy me, in the battle of life.

The Denouement

2007-03-04T05:34:00.000-08:00

You need someone who will love you like that,

I stated as you grabbed your shoes,

On your way out the door,

I’m a slut, a liar, still not loving you

You repulse me with the mutual friends

Extended trips to my cell phone

The logs trace your number before deleted

Lies of dates, and times

Vague plans issued by you, Me a partaker no longer

Didn’t mean to kiss you goodbye

It happened, no meaning

Intentions of my heart and allegorical conversations

All dissipated when we reached the denouement

No mistreatment of this young lady

There’s no common ground, no similarity

Don’t forget your damn keys on your way out the door

Replacing Men With Books

2007-03-04T04:51:00.000-08:00

Replacing men with books

Father is the only man worth living for

Convenience isn't something associated with men
That was the warning before you came over
Just to get my stuff, I needed
You had been long deleted off the list

Of needs and emotions

I’m not that girl, any longer; I’m not that girl anymore,

The moments don’t add up into meaning

It’s all mundane and relative

I fight with myself at the table

Wondering how I can be so civil

Knowing that you love me, along with the others

You aren’t who I want, our love was fleeting

The moments between were discarded

Platonic wasn’t the choice word

It seems to do the laborious efforts of a glib mind

At the time, it was thrown as defense

Rambling, incoherent arguments
Impatience stirred up, during last exchanges

It’s complicated, don’t need a Facebook message

Although, if would be easy to confirm a new status-single

I am in the knowledge that you are currently sulking

petrified platonic

Unfinished

2007-03-03T22:47:00.000-08:00

Desolate place of contentment

Maybe if there wasn’t pleasantry

Strip me down to the bone

Viscerally to the core

If only I was stronger,

Nakedness of strength

Beyond the barricades of life

First kisses, free meals

And fervent heartbreaks

Writings, clips of portfolio

Leading to please

Beautifully paper Mache heart

Sitting on a string

Juxtaposed along the way

Streams of heartbreaks

Untitled

2007-03-03T19:55:00.000-08:00

Protective covering, suffocating convenience

A barricade to my heart

Comforting Assumptions

Marring incidences

Incomplete, sometimes transparent

Negative alteration

Chapters of life, altered

Life lessons, not of choice, but force

Oh, sweet suburbia, so beautifully altered

My mind wonders, of a life not lived

Moments and stories altered

Concealing the truth,

The greatest ability of women

Old Journals

2007-03-03T19:36:00.000-08:00

Flipped through the journal today

Remembered my feelings for you

Prior to the breakup, euphoric

You were my world, each memory replayed in my mind

The cologne you wore, how you opened my door

That look you gave me, as I walked away

Showed me your apartment and the tales of the past

The way you drove your car

How your name trailed across the papers of my diary

And my heart daily

Everything mundane was unique.

Dates and times that seemed to mean something

August 6^th, 2005 seemed to have some sort of meaning

It was logged twice-I wanted it right.

The account of finding poetry in your car

The poem you lied and denied about me

The look when we got in the car, you knew I moved the poem

It had fallen out-driving when I drove your car

Then shook your head like I couldn’t have known

But I did and I was speechless-terrified

A complete diary to your heart

So passionate and zeal like

The conversations logged into memory and pages in different colors

Different shades of blue and bag penmanship

The way you said my name

And complemented the way I looked daily.

But the poem that wasn't for me

Still keeps me company

I wonder where it is and

if I could ever one day have it for the entry.

Familiar Poem of a Loser

2007-03-03T18:06:00.000-08:00

Familiar Poem of a Loser

In between the words I spoke, there was no understanding

Abstruse and vacant with thought

My Father was more lost than I

With idioms and clichés, my words were never articulate

I explained my point, rambling, blatantly stupid

He listened intently, even though he was perplexed

Paul McCartney singing “Let It Be” so apropos to my life.

“Are you listening?” fearing no response

“Yeah, I just called to hear your voice,” he says so quietly

With the miles between us, I still remember how I rode on his shoulders as a child

Now the endless miles and minutes riding between us

“Okay…You’re so weird!”

Was the high school expression,

He habitually comfort with, “You’ll never know how much I love you.”

It was truth, but yeah, still sarcastic.

“Yeah, okay Dad and everything will be alright. Huh?”

Such a cynic, only memories etched into mind’s eye

Years of memories

Pictures on barren walls of heart and DNA

Wanting to catch the next train,

Years of bliss, climbing the trees like a boy,

Softball, and prior to the mundane efforts of conversation.

“I don’t want to grow up,” so pensively stated in my mind.

He knew, clairvoyantly

“I remember how I use to take you to school,” he trailed off into nostalgia

“I miss the times we would argue over who was better Dylan or Marley.”

“I’m an adult NOW!” I said so raspy in voice, “Let’s not dwell in the past.”

Forward momentum, nothing of the past.

I tried to be strong for my family, my honor, and myself.

The phone was filled with silence.

The void ever so broad it would engulf my father and I.

Suddenly, lost was the connection.

McCartney trailing off in the background.

As rain dropping on a windowsill, the seconds slowly dropping quicker in pace

Waiting for the umbrella of hope -another call of love.

This is a poem I wrote in English class, while I should have been taking notes, my Junior year of high school.

To The Bastard Who Broke My Heart

2007-03-03T18:00:00.000-08:00

To The Bastard Who Broke My Heart,

Maybe if I changed my name to Amber and grew bright blonde hair
maybe, I'd be the girlfriend instead of the friend

Maybe if I got a little dumber, fixed my hair a little prettier
washed it, prepped it, even more than I had

Maybe if I had danced around you, frolicked even
Screamed your name when we slept together.
Maybe I'd be the bride, instead of a dreaded bridesmaid

Yes, you. I'm calling you out on it
Consider this the poem throughly written
Of all the things I couldn't say in person

This is for all the sleepless nights, strange exchanges,
not returned phone calls,
and that dumbass look you gave me in the bookstore
-after we had broken up

This is for the time you cheated, the moments I waited,
and the consuming plague of denial in between.

Maybe I'll always remember the moments I projected myself.
In front of that mirror- Analyzing, Asthetically, Apathetically.
Wishing I looked more like her: dumber, blonder, possibly whiter.
Just to have it back to the way it was.

Maybe if Mom hadn't had cancer and it wasnt my first semester.
If I had worn a different dress, that day we met
or if I had changed the arrangment of my life.
It wouldn't have ended, the way it did.

Maybe there is no such thing as forgiveness.
There isn't that promise,
We were just, inevitably destined to be a distant melody,
where the instruments don't collide any longer.

Wednesday, February 28, 2007

Yesterday-Maybe

Yesterday, I was in the library studying for exams and this poem came to me. Let me further state that I haven't written a poem in a little over a year. It's just about a relationship from the past, years ago and how you wonder and analyze.