poetry
1. "performer" (13 feb 2023)
once a pretty laugh now built upon a smirk.
he looks down at the crowd. i’m standing there,
looking up at him like he wrote all the answers—a god.
his hair, his curly brown hair. once a daydream’s
plaything now drenched with sweat as the
stage lights beam down. goddamn, this pretty boy.
the way he stands there above us all,
nimble fingers striking strings in a perfect rhythm.
i wish he’d play me like that, pick me up and strike me
‘til i’m singing like him, head thrown back and all.
the performance is breathtaking; he the thief, the culprit,
the one stealing away my air. my eyes widen with a gasp.
his side-thrown glance meets my stare, and i feel
my knees weaken as he shakes back his hair, smiling.
his fingers strike again—goddamn, this pretty boy.
his eyes are lidded, white light bathing his frame
as he draws closer to the mic once more.
his lips seem just barely to brush its surface; a tease.
no way it’s just a trick of light, the shine of sweat,
or the way his clothing hangs from him just right.
maybe it’s the way he stands, sways every now and then,
legs a little bit spread and a tilt to his head,
a lilt to his tone, nearly a moan. goddamn, this pretty boy.
i nearly close my eyes to stick his image there,
but this song is ending and i know the last lines.
i know how he does it live, and right with the melody,
he drops down to his knees,
one hand stroking his fretboard through it all,
his mouth open in a soundless shout as he pants,
and for a moment, it feels like another performance.
This poem is about watching a band performing and being entranced by the frontman. It was inspired by a clip of a band's live performance I stumbled across online while I was stuck in bed sick the night before Valentine's Day.
2. "in memoriam" (14 april 2023)
you came gentle and unsuspecting,
plucked me from my feet
like they do in the storybooks.
blew me away; dandelion.
the way you loved me,
and, in turn, let me love you,
was a different kind of story,
set apart from every other unique thing
to ever breathe out.
the winds counted away the days, months.
soon, we were deep in
our own sleep of dreams.
plains that can stretch on and on
for a thousand different milestones.
flower fields and tallest peaks:
a kiss or brush of skin
for every last one.
name them each:
beautiful, pretty and naïve,
and charming, and
childishly determined.
i was reborn in the warmth of your arms,
my name had earned its way between your lips.
in time, you feel divinely infinite.
forever has never felt more certain.
but, in turn, you cannot make
a phoenix cry
at every wavering word spoken;
you cannot heal dreams back to life.
i wish you had never told me how
all good things must come to an end.
you taught me how to weep.
it is the one thing you told me never to do—
never while looking at you, at least.
and we were children, so i believed it.
this face of yours is framed in the past now,
and every smile i can cherish
is only a memory, tainted by your rosy cheeks.
if the wind—your laugh—makes my head turn,
know i am not scared.
know that i miss you.
i would rather hold my breath
than look upon your body
as life chooses to move on.
i’ll hold my breath, and wait for you to come along
and pluck me how you did
a lifetime of milestones ago.
become the sun and
kiss me softly once more
yours most truly,
While this poem seems to be about the loss of a fantastical, intimate lover, the inspiration behind it was actually the emotions I was feeling following the conclusion of an online series I'd grown very attached to over the course of four years. It features several hard-to-spot references as a nod to the wildly complex storyline of the series.
3. "afterglow" (13 july 2023)
throw your arm around my shoulders
in the afterglow, breathing slowing.
kiss my neck, a quick peck.
take care to show me one thing:
how your hands, which cupped my breasts,
gripped my thighs, spread my legs,
can intertwine with mine
very late this summer night.
This poem was written while I was visiting Ávila, Spain on a school trip with my classmates. I wrote it on the second last night of my stay while very drunk.
4. "'she's always a woman' (reprise)" (30 nov 2022)
i'm made to bare myself,
bare for the students.
they paint me, bare,
my likeness captured
and spat out on canvas.
i can sort of see the one
nearest to me. i keep still,
but even from here,
i see how he missed
the downturn of my lips.
men, unable to take a hint.
him especially
when he comes after class
to ask for my number.
sees a woman naked
and is brought to his knees.
god, please.
half a mind to take his brush
and fix how he sees me myself.
see me as a thing,
a clumsy one at that,
and watch out. some clumsy thing
might trip and spill blood.
but i don't lose my class,
not in a classroom, and not for a fool.
a breath, "no".
a scowl, a slur. men.
This poem was written for an English class assignment and is inspired by both Carol Ann Duffy's poetry collection "The World's Wife" and Billy Joel's song "She's Always a Woman" which my poem is the namesake of.
5. "something's not right" (8 dec 2022)
Focus!
and the clock is ticking loudly.
the time must be wrong,
i've been sitting for so long
and the teacher wants me to
Focus!
something silly in the big picture,
and i'm sure that they were
all thinking the same as me, the class,
but somehow i'm the one
called out and told that i need to
Focus!
put your pen between your fingers,
put some thoughts in your head,
sit up! your desk is not your bed.
can you say that again?
i'm sorry, i didn't hear what you said.
too bad, you should have been listening,
you need to learn how to
Focus!
i'm sorry, i didn't get much sleep,
your work had me up 'till half past three.
what do you mean? that work was easy,
it only needed 30 minutes.
i'm so sorry, miss. i couldn't—
Focus!
This poem, written in the back of my notebook during a morning Spanish class, is about struggles faced not only in class but also in day-to-day situations by many, particularly those who are neurodivergent.