Put the Finger Gun Away
you point your finger gun at your head
with a laugh
because you think it’s funny…
you point your finger gun at your head
with a laugh
because you think it’s funny…
good gracious // to be twenty-one //
and constantly falling apart // but
mostly on coffee shops // grief stains
everything // my eyes touch…
An assortment of glittery rainbow pens spills out of my
Pencil pouch, each emblazoned with emblems that
Signal the spectrum of the stories they write…
You pick the pins off the floor for them to walk on it smoothly and unharmed but your hands are bleeding…
Continue Readingit’s a complicated thing. a sensation that bubbles over in the chest and makes everything light— air…
Continue ReadingJanuary was a wound I dressed by dressing up, as if I could summon spring by spilling watercolors against the sketchpad and calling that art…
Continue ReadingTwo years ago today, when the rain poured down from the sky above with such fury and hatred…
Continue ReadingMy work is not meant to be beautiful.
My work is meant to be poetic…
Pópó
Is the Taishanese term
for grandma…