I'll dwell on a simple expression you made with indifference, Or the structure of a sentence you said to me. I'll think of the way you walked by me without words, And declined my invite and company. I'll relive the moment when you said you were too busy, And too broke, Or too lazy to... Continue Reading →
Dreams
I never used to remember what happened in my dreams, Or dwell on them when I awoke. But lately, the images within them have become More vivid and disturbing Than ever before. Suddenly, I am back in relationships with bad boyfriends Who I've forgotten both love me and hate me. I even fall for their... Continue Reading →
Never compare your chapter one to someone’s chapter twenty.
Because let's be realistic, your environment will never be exactly like there's and your results will never be the same. Comparison only devalues individuality.
New Characters?
I've been struggling with the aesthetic of the characters for a while now and I've constantly asked myself How should I bond the character with it's character poetry? I've gone from numbering each line of poetry and printing its corresponding number on the back of the characters, to simply writing down the poem in a book.... Continue Reading →
End of the Month: An excerpt from Porridge: A Memoir
"I'd be good to you," he says to me over bites of sushi and spilled soy sauce. "I'm good to me," I tell him and stare down at my roll. I hopped off a bus less than an hour ago to visit a city I had once been so connected to. The boy I am... Continue Reading →
Grab a Bowl
I visited my hometown yesterday: My hands became cold as I climbed off the bus. This place never gave me any comfort, just anxiety. l/r
Bad Poetry
Bad Poetry is a term I use to refer to a series of tragic, ironic and consistent events that occur within a character's life, without conscious reason, but simply for the pleasure and entertainment of the Gods. It can be found on that particular morning when your alarm clock fails to go off, where you miss... Continue Reading →
Hot wax on my bare skin always reminds me of good days, and bad too; I still can’t tell them a part.
819 My boyfriend was a warrior, in the street and in our bed, but his silent kisses were more painful than his infliction. Hot wax on my bare skin always reminds of good days, and bad too; I still can't tell them apart.
Famous Last Words 