I wrote this poem on my lunch break at work in six minutes. I’ve turned it around in my brain for a few weeks afterwards, but here it is, almost completely unedited.
I grow scales, hooks Talons and claws Painful, gnarly scars Blood-stained fangs I survive I grow anger, will Anxieties and coping mechanisms The ability to speak My opinionated mind I fight I grow wings, wandering legs Lines around my eyes Laughter from my throat A voracious heart I livemandooks
Speak
This poem was written in a bookstore in Amsterdam (I only bought four books in that bookstore, someone give me an award), right after I learned how it felt to pronounce a word I hadn’t used in years.
Words are boulders Heavy and rough on my tongue Dislodging from my throat They break my teeth on the way out Too many languages Are fighting through my vocal chords: My thoughts a constant landslide Of multicolored pebbles My fingers move faster with a pen Than my lips to strangers’ ears But patiently you wait For the jumble of sounds to disentangle As I clumsily articulate How grateful I am For youMatches
The actual title of this poem is “I Cower Away from Sparks but I’m Already Burning / Matches”. (And the award for emo-est title goes to…) This poem got started in Japan and was finished somewhere between Amsterdam and Brussels a few weeks later.
I bite at the splinters under my nails My calloused fingers chafing against This piece of tinder, trying to make it Burn Hand me a knife: I’ll carve these twigs Sharp enough to puncture a lung I strike them on the rough edge of my thoughts But I don’t know how to make you Burn I’ve made fire from a single spark before Dug my blistered palms through embers Kindled away their charcoal death Pushing helplessly, hoping for diamonds You shiver under my stare I never thought myself cold And I don’t know how to weave Cotton into blankets Words into warmth But I can break my hands Trying without knowledge Skill or belief To turn this dead wood Into matchesNight falls
Blood is running down my leg.
There’s nothing I can do:
I keep walking.
Red drips toward my boot
Soaking the edge of my sock.
One foot in front of the other;
Don’t look down.
Itchy and cold on my thigh,
Drying quickly, it flakes away,
Staining my jeans:
Crimson on black.
I look up at the moonless sky.
What’s the sense in stopping now?
Home is still
So far away.
Tokyo Day 3 – Just finished to build my wings
I spent a lot of time thinking about this and trying to make sense of how I feel – about this trip, about home, about myself. The thing is, Tokyo is probably not the city for me. Japan is certainly not the country for me. It is founded on order and the collective and I’m all about chaos and big personalities creating communities. Chaos here is subtly controlled. There’s something stoic about the people that I find fascinating and that reminds me of my second home. But there’s no spark of total insanity behind it. I miss Cambodia.
So anyway, I am not vibing with the place. It is not love at first sight. Though I adore all the little Honda motorbikes (SuperCubs and Dreams, two-wheeled loves of my life) in pristine condition I see everywhere, and it feels easy walking through these giant streets swarming with people, it’s not the rollercoaster of emotions I was expecting. And that’s fine. Some places I do not need to long for.
But I’m getting better at understanding how things work and paying with coins and being curious about what’s going on behind the polish. And I wish I was a little braver and went into restaurants and stayed out later and tried more things. I just don’t know what things. Yet.
I do miss my friends, my people, my souls too. But I think it is getting easier to be on my own. I can do this.
SONG CREDITS: Gang Gang Schiele – Hyukoh