Last night before we closed our eyes

The sky was unfathomably black

A few lone stars hung up above 

Until You scooped them up

You made a pact with Sirius

And said he would guard us well

So I held you tight and fell asleep

Covered by frosty moonlight

This morning when we woke together

The pale Sun beamed down at us

Such a beautiful day was in store

So we decided to take a stroll

Up and down the streets we went

You and I hand in hand

But then we grew tired of horizontal jaunts 

And decided to give the sky a shot

As we rose ever so gently into the air

A lark bid us good morning

A fishwife stared at us but saw nothing

For we grew invisible to human sight

The world is big and it always holds

So much fancy for young eyes

But visions do blur as gemstones dim

When they are left in a state of waste

Light as sparrows You and I ascended

And chased each other on the rooftops

The beat of our hearts grew loud and clear

As worldly noises faded out

The sky was blue dotted with white

So You and I decided to climb onto that bark

The herald angel helped us in

And together we grilled marshmallows

Inside and out our world turned white

As the cloud went down our throats

We opened our mouths and songs poured out

Birds’ songs we’d never learnt

You lifted your arm to touch my face

Only to brush it with a wing

Glorious feathers sprouted everywhere

And then it was time to fly

The angel followed us behind

Smiling to himself

If you did raise your head by then

You would have spotted two baby birds

A new joy is a thing of beauty 

As a thing of beauty is a joy forever

We flapped our wings without a care in the world

Until we realized it was time to go home

Common humans as we were

We asked the angel if we had reached the top

And he replied with just a smile

Then quietly gestured down 

Down we looked and felt so dazed

For we were seeing what we always see on Earth

Below us the town lay in troubled repose 

With a few lights running away from the dark

It had grown cold by then

Neither cotton nor candy could calm our nerves

So we took a fall among the clouds

Brushing past some stars

As we fell our memories played tricks

And we all the fun was softly erased

By the time we landed back on Earth

We had forgotten we had flown

It would have been just another day from work

If we did not look up at the sky

Which instead of black

Offered an indulgent engulfing blue

And we remembered that there are boundaries 

Which cannot ever be defied

However we had felt like birds

We were really just two fish in the aquarium

Isn’t it funny how they sort us into boxes?

Making innovation run slower like molasses 

Together we’re compressed under the stress of success

Buckling with strain and twisting with pressure, I’m sure. We gotta make it out of here

And it turns out I’m the evil, encouraging incompetence boxing it up like cheerios 

I hate it but it’s true it’s corruption central, cutting class only once but now it’s terminal

Who cares anyway, right is what the people say 

never learning through harm progress is the other way 

Walking the honeysuckle roads everyday

By the time we wake up under September and the Novocaine

But when the drugs fade away and your friends never stay 

Still the reasons point to live out another day

Back when we had lives to dream away, fighting for our prospects 

They caved in our goals made us conform to this mindset

Now It’s killing us softly, slowly, like Sinatra wanted, I’ll do it my way and

If I see another day make sure I don’t go astray

Guide me home with the life that I tried to fake away

Saying goodbye
Is the hardest thing to do
I never thought I would
Especially not to you.

Know our friendship isn’t done
Wherever you go, I hope you have fun
We are not truly saying goodbye
We just won’t be seeing each other for some time

You have a special place inside my heart
I hope our friendship never falls apart
You’re compassionate, sweet, and kind
Wherever you go, I hope that happiness is what you find

You’re going on one path
And I, another
And despite our separation
I hope our friendship lasts forever

So goodbye for now my friend
Until our paths will cross again

South of the valley, the wind only blows

in the direction where all ears are closed.

It is hunting season, but neither of the boys

in the van have teeth that bite. In this land,

there is only space for the hawks

and the shepherds. The boys

can already sense them chasing.

All they can do is run, their bodies stiff

with denial. One boy grips the wheel,

the other inches toward the heat of his skin.

Their fingers are alight with unspoken fire.

The van weaves its way, slowly, through the snow

and into the woods. The boys hear nothing

but the static on the radio and the breath

of the other body beside him. They are hungry

for a different kind of flesh. In the darkness,

they close their eyes, press their fingers into foreign skin,

sink into the fire spreading through their thin bodies.

At the rise of the sun, the boys taste nothing

but lips on their lips. Blood courses beneath

their burning sheepskin. They pray to forget,

to wake up in a body that is not their own.

Hovering on the verge of insanity,

there's a place.

It's small, it's delicate,

it's hidden from the world.

You don't get to go there

if you're frightened at all,

it's there for the brave

not scared of the fall.

Once you're inside,

they sit you down,

give you the speech,

the run-down of the ground.

Don't step a toe outside of the lines.

If you do, they'll catch you

with their infinite eyes.

Infinite eyes, you wonder?

Yes, they’re like that.

Again, there's no place for the frightened

at the edge of this cliff.

If you were to wander,

to go too far away.

You would pay the consequences

for all of your days.

The longer you stay,

the more they like you.

It makes it harder to leave

every second you delay.

For that reason

we recommend

that you get out of there

because once they give you a bed

there's no possible way.

Have I been there once?

Or do I write from beyond?

There isn't a place

for lost ones like me

any more than there's this place

out in the real world.

There is no cliff,

no beds and no guards,

there's no fortune teller

like me

looking into their cards.

There's no truth to the story,

but the truth is:

there doesn't have to be,

life is still just as hard

for the people who see

things that aren't there.

Who can talk to the gods,

if the gods are the air.

It doesn't matter

if there are cliffs

or clubs

or eyes that watch you

stumble out of the pub.

There's no meaning at all,

but the meaning is

that I give you this warning,

should you start to lose sight

of the things that matter

and turn out the light.

She’s a simple girl

Tightly woven papyrus

Runny purple ink.

I can feel her pen, feel her

Fingers press on each raised

letter, deliberate strokes of

Cursive bleeding onto

Her signature.

Her tongue seals the lavender

Envelope, always signed with a

Rushed, pointy heart.

My eyes trace it every morning,

Bewitched by her perfection.

The feeling of the ridges on the

Wax seal under my nails, a memory

Tucked in my mind’s back pocket.

Some say she’s dull.

She writes of trivial things, how

Her cousins are visiting

Or why she hates carpet but

I imagine her, overalls and all,

crouching low in her

Golden-speckled garden,

Plucking delicate daffodils.

Aurora, so simple

So beautiful to me

Big yellow school buses,

Bright painted door,

Graffitied lockers,

Muddy floors,

Big

And bright

That is school

Loud chatter 

Echoes across the walls

Yells and chants

And screams and laughs

That is school

Colourful posters line the wall

Poster and signs

Handprints and designs

Names and letters and symbols

That is school

Lockers slam shut

Classroom doors swing open

Bells ringing loudly

That is school

The first time I realized that I was insecure was when I fit myself into those new shoes just because everyone else had them

How I missed that soft padding of my simple gray old shoes 

Coming back with blisters on my feet that day.

It’s my insecurities that drag me down.

Making me go through a nervous breakdown.

I felt myself plummet thousands of miles to the ground like a hot air balloon without air. 

Always trying to compare, beware the girls with the great hair. 

The second day I realized that I was insecure 

Was when I spent three hours trying on different skirts and shirts that just made me squirm.

Yet I kept trying since I cared so much I had to look great

That rumor was going to spread around at a fast rate, determining my fate.

The third day I realized that I was insecure

Was when I only felt accomplished when I was given praise. 

Whether I was writing essays or running relays. 

I always needed someone else to brighten my days. 

‘Cause nowadays I am starting to realize my low self-esteem. 

Why can’t my reality become more than a dream

This obsession to be perfect has just become extreme

How can she do that? How come I can’t? 

She is so perfect and I’m not. 

Your so ugly nobody would ever think your lovely. 

How come she is so lucky? 

With her perfect hair and shoes? As she worshipped like a god?

Like a queen, she’s just that perfect tween

Why do I care what they see in me?

But I can’t breathe when they walk by

I feel my temperature rising high

I don’t want to let them see me cry

I’m weak

I’m the freak

I’m the geek

I’m the girl who when somebody walks by they shriek!

But I can’t stand it anymore

My words have been banned 

I’m done listening to commands

I have never had a say

Always being pulled away

Then I learned how to speak because so many times I have been silenced. 

Silenced when I saw these group of kids cheating on a test but I didn’t say anything because I knew they would hate me. 

SIlenced when my friend just crossed the line and said things that aggravated me so much but I didn’t say a thing. 

Silenced when in first grade for half the year I did another’s girl homework but I didn’t say a thing. 

Silenced so much I forgot how to speak and it is as if the words are draining out of me. 

Because I am gifted a voice to speak.

I believe that people should not be defined by their looks

I believe that inequality is out of control. 

I believe that some of the things that are trendy are just crazy. 

And now I realize there is so much to say. 

With all this pressure as a person with social media and peers, it has become difficult for one to feel confident in herself. 

Because it is my insecurities that keep me away from all the possibilities. 

Honestly, I don’t care anymore if it is trendy. 

So if those shoes are the newest thing around I will stick to my plain gray shoes that my feet love snuggling into. 

I will no longer be silenced because I have finally learned to speak for what I truly believed.

The mother’s nimble fingers
lifted the chopsticks,
the smooth, straight edges
sliding perfectly in between her thumb and forefinger.
The chopsticks danced among the plump dumplings,
scouring to find the chubbiest little morsel.
Once the favorite was chosen,
they swooped down swiftly,
raising the small dumpling.
 
With her mouth already
watering,
the child was eager to imitate her mother.
But,
her pair of chopsticks sat awkwardly on her hands,
tumbling on top of one another.
The clanking sounds of them
falling to the floor echoed like a chiming windpipe,
and soon the fallen pair was replaced.
Armed with this new pair of chopsticks,
the youngster poked at the dumplings clumsily,
until she accidentally broke the skin of one.
 
The soft pink and green filling
peaked though the puncture,
causing her belly to rumble.
She stabbed her victim,
but its skin was stuck on the skin of another;
almost as if they were hugging,
saying, “No, don’t leave me!”
When she yanked the dumpling towards her,
part of it remained stuck to the other one,
exposing the juicy meat.
And the mosaic of pinks and greens
contrasted the pale outside.
 
Her mouth lurched forward,
catching the delicious filling
before it fell onto the table.
The juice flooded her mouth
as she bit down on the dumpling,
the familiar flavors of pork and green onions
and the texture of the handmade, traditional dough
greeting her taste buds.
She rolled the tasty filling around her mouth,
savoring every second of this meal.
 
Every day the girl’s stomach waited in anticipation for the night,
and every night the mother and daughter enjoyed this hearty food.
 
Soon the little girl was no longer so little,
and her hands learned to properly manage the chopsticks,
so only two pairs would be washed at night,
not three.
Every day the girl would head off to school,
and every night the mother would pick her up.
 
She was the Cai Mei Ling
in a school full of Emmas and Lucys and Sarahs.
Her eyes would squint when she smiled,
and her shiny, black hair cascaded down her back.
All other girls had eyes that where round like dolls
and hair in shades of blonde and brown.
Cai Mei Ling stood out
like a blooming rose in a sea of lilies,
her pink, luminous cheeks glowing with naïve pride.
Her beloved chopsticks were a mystery to these Americans
who used forks to eat their salads and hands to devour their hamburgers.
 
But these high school girls did not eat at all.
Thin waists were the style
and flat stomachs were the trend.
The mother only had to wash one pair of chopsticks at night,
no longer two.
 
Silence invaded dinner time as
the teenager stared at her phone,
the blue light washing out her once radiant smile.
Her legs were as thin as the chopsticks
that gathered dust in the kitchen drawer.
Bleached blonde at the tips,
her hair was not a silky waterfall anymore;
instead
the blonde strands resembled dry hay.
Her eyes no longer twinkled
at the thought of eating dumplings,
and her hands no longer copied
her mother’s deft movements.
All that was left of this girl was a skeleton.
 
“Do you want some dumplings, Cai Mei Ling?”
the mother called to her.
She answered,
“Who is Cai Mei Ling? My name is…
Sarah.”

He lays in the dark and writes

In the tired hours past midnight,

On a spreadsheet in his own head. 

This is why he loves the night. 

His thoughts echo in the silence. 

He listens, and weaves words 

From fragments of consciousness

Within a mind of mute noise, and quiet violence. 

At night his thoughts roam free, 

Turning circles and stealing breath. 

He chooses to spin them into stories,

To cope with panic’s tireless greed. 

His insomniac eyes are frozen,

Staring at a point in space, 

Heavy with sleep deprivation,

And night’s cool corrosion. 

Yet the words still have a shape.

They find a hollow in his head,

Huddle and hide and grow, 

Only in this unconventional landscape. 

This is why he loves the night. 

There is silence for thoughts, peace for stories,

A prison, and later an escape. 

And in the dark- a light.