wishlist

I want more

I want new

I want to stop wanting

please

come back, and stay until my tears dry up.

You left me dreaming of a mermaid when the ocean is absent.

R.I.P.

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