1. bildungsroman

    i am peter pan and growing pains. sometimes
    i lie awake at night
    running circles in my head. my thoughts
    get out of breath about 5 miles in.
    i am separation anxiety, quick to talk
    about leaving, but never quite ready
    to walk.

    but you—at 6:30 in the morning, your voice
    is the milky way. your voice
    is like falling asleep to the sound
    of summer rain. you
    are everlasting, a crimson heart
    with a metronome that will last us through Christmas.
    sometimes i’m afraid i only have enough
    to get us through tomorrow.

    i am learning myself in more ways than i can say.
    this is a revolution, a realignment of my stars;
    i will get lost in my own fire,
    and i will glow unashamed.

  2. a list of memories & lessons that come to mind:

    1. my grandmother’s weathering hands. this is how you squeeze orange juice. this is how to strain out the stringy bits that get caught in your teeth. this is how delicious it is with warm bo lo bao.

    2. my father ‘s hurricane sandy smile. power outages make him crave salty things for breakfast. this is how you cook canned spam on a gas stove. this is how you toast your mom’s fiber one bread in the sizzling grease. never waste anything, he makes me promise.

    3. my mother’s lap. this is how you clean 2 am nosebleeds with a round yellow sponge. this is how you erase the taste of an upset stomach. this is how you soothe a kiss from the sun when it bites.

    4. my sister’s wanderlust. this is how ripe figs and cheese go together. savor the tastes lingering in your mouth. this is how to drink red wine when it’s raining. this is how to break someone’s heart carefully when you find that you’ve got to keep moving.

    5. my second love. this is how second first kisses are supposed to go: shy glances, fading sunlight, and the pitter patter of dog paws on hardwood. this is how you steal time for a little bit longer. this is how you forget all the butterfly games you’ve ever played.

    6. my piano teacher’s baby grand. this is how you play softly on ivory keys. this is how to lift the pedal so it doesn’t make noise. this is how you play glissandos with the nail of your thumb; don’t wear polish, it’ll chip. this is how you your play with your heart in your fingertips and a lump in your throat.

    7. my white honda accord. this is how you drive in the fast lane with the windows down. this is how you pump your own gas. this is how good it feels to go.

    8. my summer skin. this is how you remember the taste of salt. this is how you brown in the sun. this is how you stay alive, alive, alive.

  3. continuity

    you are february 29th,
    diving off the pages
    of your mother’s calendar.
    you love sugar highs
    and the crash they bring.
    you have a drunken tango
    in your blood
    and it’s fearless.

    you make me remember why
    i run free.
    why i never buy rain boots.
    a barefoot april is priceless,
    like drizzling too much maple syrup
    on your banana pancakes.
    like driving with the windows down
    and your music just a little too loud.
    like living
    in excess,
    and taking up as much room
    in the solar system
    as you can
    before you burn out.

  4. your body is familiar
    on winter nights.
    all i ask
    is a part of you to love.
    a wrist, the small of your back—
    at times i want to carve you.
    in return,
    you are welcome to explore.
    an eyelid, the curve of my spine—
    i promise,
    the map isn’t as confusing
    as it seems.

  5. "Sometimes you just have to jump out the window and grow wings on the way down."
    Ray Bradbury (via liquidnight)
  6. sometimes
    i can the count the wildflowers
    running down your back.
    in truth,
    they’re only visible
    when you’re sad.

    then, you are like lavender
    and lilac,
    poised to bloom.
    then, you are like an overwhelming april storm,
    drenched with living.

    your wildflowers fit together
    like mint tea and porcelain cups.
    they wrap blankets around you,
    because you were always told
    to grow a thicker skin.

    we save the petals
    in a mason jar,
    little parts of you to scatter
    across sunset highways and velvet oceans.
    you say you like knowing
    that some piece of you is free.

    you roll over in your bed of 3 am darkness,
    and your wildflowers are gone.
    but you’re never afraid,
    because you can hear them in the clouds
    like the sound
    of a songbird,
    with joy.

  7. bookworm

    i like to fall in love with books.
    with the way
    their spines curve
    and sometimes snap
    (because sometimes loving too much
    leaves things broken).
    with the way
    olive oiled fingertips
    and sourdough bread crumbs
    leave winding paths
    down their lovingly creased pages.
    with the way
    their patient words
    linger like a saturday good night kiss,
    reminding you 
    that all you need to fall in love
    is a little light.

  8. pressing play should get your heart racing:
    stumbling blindly, falling aimlessly,
    vomiting broken chords
    that fit
    like jigsaw puzzles smashed together
    with a child’s fist.

    when that bass first blushes,
    when it blooms and glows
    like a newborn august dawn,
    don’t run.
    dive into it head first—
    like it’s your first love
    all over again.
    plunge deep and expose your bare shoulders,
    ready for the shockwave.

    perhaps that’s why
    you feel like screaming half the time,
    because getting drowned out
    is just
    so easy to do.

  9. "And still, after all this time, the Sun has never said to the Earth,
    “You owe me.”
    Look what happens with love like that.
    It lights up the sky."
  10. electricity

    you are the electricity
    in my headphones.
    running in through one ear
    and leaving threads
    of music

    you are the electricity
    in christmas tree lights
    and every lace-curtained,
    city-apartment window,
    at stories left to be told.

    you are the electricity
    in springtime butterflies
    and new year’s resolutions,
    in half-baked cinnamon
    and chai,

    and you are the electricity
    in stolen passenger-seat kisses,
    stolen quietly
    and never returned.

About me

* mind fluff (n): the plethora of thought fragments, ideas, and dreams that exists in every individual's head

you are revolutionary.