Tanks crawling through my city, right there, close, behind the window. I’m on the floor, face down, buried in the carpet my brother took his first steps on. It’s not only scary at twelve, it’s made clear. Don’t look up. Don’t listen to sounds outside. Recite memorized poem about Vladimir Ulyanov. All the statues of Lenin, gold-plated, will have no heads, or worse, in the morning. Dragged by ropes off the pedestal, my history, gold fillings in teeth.
poetry
Collection
When I was little I had an amusing game of cataloguing ways to die. Some were boring, run-of-the-mill suicides, like hanging, drowning, etc. Some stemmed from ancient torture practices, like being sat naked on a bamboo shoot and dead within a day because of the plant’s incredible growth rate. Ripped apart by horses, one’s arms and legs tied to four of them respectively. Or an icicle dripping on the top of one’s head until they go mad, and then piercing them through as it thaws and detaches. One of the scariest ways for me was from an article I read, not about torture or suicide, but an accident. A needle was once lost in a patient’s bloodstream. It eventually pierced his heart. I would imagine this for hours. It would always be a sewing needle my mom used to mend my socks. It would have a very small eye. A slender silver float coursing through blue rivers intricate as dreams, until it stops at the heart.
Foreign
I’ll hold my tongue. Against yours, against all odds, look: open mouth and it pours. Your tongue— stiff, unfamiliar with my language— how it moves around shapes. Little details wander into your life, spread themselves out on the table, buzzing. And this being inside of me, it roars, it cannot be appeased. Tongue turning slowly, ancient machinery, awkwardly forcing muscles into submission. Gears grinding the rust of habit away, shifts that give. All I can feel is this.
The World around Me
The issues of this world baffles me The facts and the statistics that are transparent to all reaffirm the fact that we dwell in a world filled with ignorance It is possible to channel my thoughts to the expertise of a professor that conducts multiple researches about the stunning overrepresentation of minorities in prison Or the fact that the gap between the rich and the poor will no longer shrink to create a sense of unity Politicians and those that hold supervisory positions refuse to allocate the funds to support the children in need Overburdened taxpayers spend less time with their children as they pick up guns of all sizes to make headline news The terrorists of society scramble in rage to victimize those that fit into the description of a nation I call for a solution Children forced to fight a war just to prove that power can dominate the inhabitants of a state Pumped into their system are all types of drugs just to suppress the anguish of killing a mother with the resemblance of their own Freedom of speech and expression is observed through graffiti of hate and intolerance Teens facing the issues of self esteem with the notion that love multiplies with the subtraction of father figures Face with disgust some of them turn to the solutions of suicide to end the child that murdered a child through abortion I call for a solution Tortured soldiers face a war of orders and loyalty to the state Wars that are blown out of proportion to the ends of the earth and still we struggle to find out who started it in the first place Skins ripped apart with blood and anguish about the deplorable conditions of the trenches Poppies grow to the grave yards of armed forces and they weren’t ready to die in the first place We need a solution Issues of success ring down the minds of normal civilians Media propagates the universal goal of success to the billions Negativity is the result of the pessimistic minds of the millions Words of hope refuses to the linger to the minds of those that are without a solution
Poverty of Originality
I am disappointed . . . Because if we just taught kids to be themselves and original Then juveniles and prison cells would not be visible We all want to fit in, and be appreciated the most But the worst thing that we can hear is somebody saying . . . .. NO! No you are not popular, no you are not cool And no you will not become anything even if you finish school Why are we classified by our image or race, if we were made from the same clay? We were born respect and unite with each other, and not to disobey We are all the same, because at the end of the day We all will end up in the grave My sisters wake up, and take off that make up You don’t need that cover up, you need to cover up Don’t worry about fixing up your hair and cuticles And looking like a toothpick is not really beautiful Be original and be yourself I pity the “cool crowd” because their personalities just need help Treat everybody the same and treat everybody equal And do not project your insecurities on other people Be strong and do not lose hope either way Because if the world pushes you to your knees, you are in the best position to pray
Heathcliff
To wander aimlessly without you, That is truly the greatest hell on earth. How selfish you are. I loathe you! I love you, the rapid confusion in my heart. We are too much the same being; Living one life, sharing one death. And yet, I am expected to continue on, While the warmth of your essence has run cold The chill of your soul forever lingers. I see your angelic face as my own reflection And your footprints impact the fallen snow. My body is spirited by your soul; And mine is left to decay beneath the earth. I love you with more passion in one day Then others could love in a lifetime. I hate you with that same passion more More each day. Suffering alone in this abyss. My punishment for coming too late. Shamefully, I endure this lifelong sorrow; Awaiting the day that we are once again together.