car tires made out with the pavement last night
she had so many lovers in those dark rainy hours
the sounds of their wet sloppy kisses on her flat chest
pushing their way through the cracks of my bedroom window
they were drunkenly unashamed of all the space they took up
on my pillow
snuggling in endlessly past morning
it was not at all endearing.
are printed in my poetry
I quote you
when I don’t even mean to.
I, miss, you,
and I don’t know
what
to-do
with
that.
trying to keep fragile things together
stitching wax paper houses
around small pulsing embers.
the beautiful thing is…
invisible treasures
hold weight
they have power in their own right.
love. peace. compassion.
togetherness.
they build on themselves.
she wore a mustard yellow skirt in a grey city,
watercolored the streets a pale yellow as she crisscrossed
gliding from subway to skyscraper to sandwich shop
his bright blue slacks were sky against white washed buildings
which stood heavier than clouds
window panes neither filled with rain nor rainbows
they met at the corner of watsons and holmes
somehow they managed to spill into each other
though the traffic lights weren’t on their coffee break
their colors splattered against the crosswalk
stained each other at the intersection
buds of green grass were planted everywhere that day
❤
half & half – 50% seen, 50% imagined
9.15.17, O., J., Planet Earth, Milky Way
they told him the world was calling Mayday
pockets exploding into splintered seams
blue and green rags crashing soundlessly down
he didn’t care
they were biking side-by-side
she tugged on his shirt
he pulled her along
they laughed uphill
❤
spotted 9.15.17, O., J., Planet Earth, Milky Way
I think I love you from Xiya Lan on Vimeo.
I won’t have make up on
I’ll probably be wearing my glasses
you probably won’t notice me
till the third time we talk
I’ll notice
the way you
listened first
I might be the first one to
ask you out
you might be
the first one
to say yes
Love liberates. It doesn’t bind. Love says, ‘I love you. I love you if you’re in China. I love you if you’re across town. I love you if you’re in Harlem. I love you. I would like to be near you. I’d like to have your arms around me. I’d like to hear your voice in my ear. But that’s not possible now, so I love you. Go. – Maya Angelou
does it matter that you can feel the warmth of the sunlight on your shoulders, the salty sea breeze in your hair, and at the same time, see the storm clouds up ahead?
does it matter that the sea holds immense sadness in its depths, and yet at the same time reflects the joy of the sun in the glinting rhythm of waves?
do these things matter? do they have a place in business? in finance? amongst skyscrapers? alongside ships that carry cargo from one place to the next?
can someone say that it is okay to honor the new and mourn the lost all in the same moment? all in the same day. can someone shout this from the rooftops and whisper it in the shadows? instead of this. this silence. this, unspoken name. this covering up with words of new.
can someone tell the masses, “it is okay to not be okay on this day.” or even the next.
it is o.k.
it is okay.
it is ok to not live in the binary. in the ‘either or’ but to let things co-exist, mash, intertwine. mix.
—
binary is not how it always is anyways.
it’s not how it ever was.
a sign of time, of leftover loves, a signal that shifts the tectonic plates of chasms we thought had once been properly stitched up
only to wander upon them and find, they’d just been laid dormant
the roundest, warmest salt water tear rolled out, we let it commemorate
remembrance, a battle scar, a battle cry
one hundred and four years later, still eruptions
signs of love, of loss
a simple excuse for our defeat, and a victorious reason for our persistence, to love deeper, to love wider, to love more consistently
“to go to the places that challenge who we think we want to become”
sincerelyavocado.wordpress.com 