Wanting Is

Wanting is

Yearning to fill a void with 

Something

That is

Missing 

From it’s place of 

Origin

We forget where we 

Belong 

Where we come from 

Is not always safe 

Here 

You have to find 

Something

That will protect 

You

Suitcase Childhood

I know the cadence of many-a-shore,

Particular light and coolness of shadow.

Airports, shopping malls, alleyways. 

All in haste, all the same.

In hotel rooms, news on the television 

Describing the weather of the region.

It’s entertaining because it’s not mine.

“Waking up to some frost and fog.”

Trauma of birth, 

Removal from safe oblivion.

Dad smells like Vaseline, 

Mom smells like Nivea Cream. 

Two parts of one pulverized whole.
Dormant memories blossoming in my poetry.

My childhood in a suitcase. 

City

Heavy accumulation collecting. 

Layers of sadness in this

Feverish city, Los Angeles. 

Below the sediment of wasted dreams 

Her slow and steady heart beats,

Like the final pulsation of 

A dehydrated whale.

Washed up; toxic waste from

The years of consumption. 

Famished and exhausted,

Small bodies lay tormented 

Beneath shrouds of weak immunity.

Whilst vessels overhead draw despair 

Into the hazy atmosphere. 

Home

In a non-location, 

Beneath my breast and rib,

In an unspecified chamber of my heart,

There exists a place where I yearn to stay.

Settled and content I would be, here. 

It’s presence aligns with my presence. 

Here. I am. Present.

Here. My memory is cherished, and my future is welcomed. 

Here. I would breathe through the ventral vessels. 

The breeze that rustles through the long grass,

Making the wind sound like the sea. 

Ear to conch. My home under the waves.  

This place which has always existed,

In the wombs of my ancestors. 

Derived, their strength is my will.

Still and quiet rooms harbor the lineage, 

Like the marrow in my bones.

Contemplation reverberates softly from the walls,

Murmuring in the corners of the ceiling. 

Unsettling the webs, making them sway.

Here, I am never alone. 

For I have myself and

My chest.

My heart. 

My ribs.

My breath.

My home. 

Performance Anxiety

Muddled brain. Confusion

Feelings and racing thoughts.

Shallow breaths 

Just go to sleep. 

If only. 

The juxtaposition of life with 

That imminent knowledge.

Fatal crush 

Burning eternal heartbreak.

Powdery wings touched.

Fusion of fiction.

Alliteration ain’t everything, kid.

Rhyme or reason

Which sets you free?

Mice in heavy cream

Whip or sink. 

I know that feeling too well.