Is there no strength in the art of delicacy? No shame when we walked away from my home, earth, foundation, and core with our bags packed and hands held so closely that our hope transpired. They say summer’s cruel compared to winter’s brutality, so spring must have been mercy and autumn erratic. All that is left is to fall from the chains of grace and honor. Screams that speak of and yet conceal cries and wallow at how love drove us to our ends. Did it? Your words. My heart. My words. Your heart. Crack. Layered crack. Combust. We know so little of it.

I went to see the winter sky at night.
I was in the hills, and the wind blew ferociously.
The stars looked so bright, my eyes-
They could almost see me in that light.

​I was so dead when I was in the hills that night,
I couldn’t feel anything except for cold numbness in January.
I slithered out lies
When they asked if I was doing alright.

stereotypically asian i 
​
will never be like the part-timers at 
harvard 
who are part-time entrepreneurs 
d1 soccer players 
scientific researchers 
and award-winning artists

​only sometimes loving math i 

[Content warning: implicit sexual content and alcohol]

It’s an oldie, you say, oldie of oldies. You don’t wait for him to respond, just put the vinyl on the turntable, run a hand through your hair before you turn to look at him.
​
Dim moonlight shines into your basement, illuminates drifting dust. The air is so thick
and hot it’s suspended there, sparkling like sweat. You’re nervous. You’re not ready and you’re
soft--and keenly aware of it. He’s leaning on a wooden bookshelf that wobbles and you want to
tell him to stop in case it falls but you won’t, or can’t. No one saw us, did they, you say, and your
words waver between a question and a statement. He shakes his head, gives the basement
another once-over. You hope desperately it’s not too messy, too clean, too fancy.

Mint green walls enfold her, dripping slowly with
Saccharine summer sweat. She feels 
Her mind pouring out of her ears, but clogged like
Chlorine-heavy pool water that dwells past
Its welcome. She welcomes nothing within
These walls because no one is outside ​

They ask me what I believe in. I tell them nothing. 
My backpack is filled with haphazard sheets of paper. It hits the ground like it’s filled with bricks. Or a dead body. 
I live between shades of white 
A metaphorical waiting room, I curse my age 
I should be more happy by now ​