the cruelest month is here early this year.

Last time I talked to her she said her new favorite word is 'serendipity.'

R.I.P.

Even the saddest eyes will dry one day. I hope so.

Rhythm of loneliness

I unlock the door and walk into my apartment.

Put down my purse and take off my rings and clothes, I do not bother hanging them in my closet.

I lie down (or lay myself down) on the living room floor,

my head and my body feels so heavy and distant

that I almost feel like I could convince myself that I'm dead.

But it doesn't go away.

I roll around-right, right, left, swing my legs and arms,

my eyelids up and down, atmosphere opens and closes

but it doesn't go away.

I walk over to the fridge and take out the orange juice and drink it right out of the carton.

A simple, mindless gesture becomes a

reassurance that I'm the only person who will ever drink this orange juice,

here we go again.

learning disability

My aunt quoted 'April is the cruelest month' at least nine times that spring.

Every time, I wanted to tell her

"Days like these,

no matter who you call

no matter what music you listen to

no matter what you read and talk about

you should know that it would only be like choking yourself even more, old lady."

Thirteen

When I first started painting my nails,

it used to remind me that I was only a little girl.

I would sit on our kitchen floor at night,

where my mom spent most of her time.

I wondered if that kitchen was like her doll house.

So many possibilities to organize things; by color, size and shape etc. 
Everything waiting patiently behind closed doors, waiting for that peek-a-boo.

It would be really easy to think that everything
-your kids, your marriage, your alarm clock that wakes you up so you can make breakfast for your husband before he goes to work-is all fake.

There was this huge wooden case with glass doors

where my mom put her teacups she collected.

It might as well be called a sarcophagus.

I want to be like

warm palms

touch touch touch

high tide

your eyes were always moist and wet.

when I used to look at them I saw snow jumping into the winter beach,

I could almost hear the waves splashing.

some nights, I swam in that water, other nights, it drowned me, over and over.

night cap

tonight

I was looking in the mirror for a long time

listening to the tv

fingertips swimming in the waves of the time

I spent remembering things

like when I was an insomniac at the age of 5

I woke my parents up every single night

one night my dad locked me in the bathroom

I told him that I would rather die

I listened to him cry outside

such a lullaby

oh that feeling of victory

and one evening

so, I chopped up some onions

of course I remembered couple of onion chopping tricks

but it wouldn't have helped

believe me

it wouldn't have helped

but at least I had an excuse

, when I was light watching

in her bedroom

she couldn't do anything knowing that the time is passing by regardless of what we are doing

things went out of control for her

for days she sat in her room with her lights off, light watching,

time watching,

staring right at her enemy's eyes,

defeated

I couldn't think of anything good to convince her,

so I just stopped thinking

sometimes you just have to stop thinking to stay alive

what was worse than the light

were shadows, busy busy busy

so I stood up and handed myself a pair of scissors

sharp enough, I thought.

my fingers danced back and forth, orbits

and what was part of me was not mine anymore

so easy so graceful

loss can be

sometimes