Available on YouTube: https://youtu.be/C3sVCEZ7eQk?si=IggxCkoV9VcuD3OW
Strings
Temecula knows how much I love him
Home of wine, booze, hot air balloons
A bunch of stuff a kid can’t quite do
Temecula knows that too
But I’m leaving as soon as I can
So I won’t be anchored to the ground,
Stuck to Old Town
And, heavens forbid, settled down
I’m afraid of finding someone worth staying for
And abandoning my dreams willingly
Bound by that bloody red string
If I can’t cut it, I’ll crochet it
Into something I can wear
When there’s no one to keep me warm
Or I’ll try my hand at embroidery
Stitch my initials into a handkerchief
Though I’ve no one to lend it to
I’ll coax a chord out of it
A sibling of the stringed-instrument family
Since no one will sing me to sleep
Maybe I can use it to floss my teeth
Tie it into knots or braids or bows
Bead and pray the rosary on it
Bind a book I haven’t written yet
I’ll do anything but follow it to my fate
Hopeless Romantic
Permanence is a volatile thing
For someone who prefers constancy
Over wedding vows and diamond rings
I never looked good in white anyways
Sometimes I believe in tooth fairies
More than I believe in love
Both can slip out of windows overnight
Both can take more than they give
It’s written in the stars, it’s in my insta bio
“Hopeless romantic”
More accurately, “Helpless skeptic”
Who puts the “Luna” in “lunatic”
Listen
Two messy humans make a commitment
No cookie-cutters, just a complicated fit
Like broken chopsticks reunited
How seamless is that well-awaited click?
Is it worth what the poets compare it to?
Tattoos
If love is a drug,
Is heartbreak a hangover?
Impulsive
Reckless
Regrettable
Irrevocable
Like a tattoo on my hip
I can’t seem to shake
On my shoulder like a chip
Earthquakes I can’t erase
I have a habit of doodling on my hands with pen
It’s like my habit of writing about people as if I’m in love with them
Deliberately temporary from beginning to end
And easy to wash down the sink
Watch the ink bleed from my skin
Thumb, index, middle, ring-
Can we still call it that if it’ll never wear one?
-Red string tethered to my pinky
I never fancied the “prose” in “propose”
I much prefer poetry
Piercings
Tip Toeing on pins and needles
I’ve only ever looked down
Not savoring the flight,
Too busy anticipating the fall
It takes less time for me to fall in love
Than it does for me to realize it
And when I do, it’s near impossible
To distinguish the feeling from dread
When I was younger, I wondered,
“Who would get hurt voluntarily?
Let alone for the sake of beauty?”
At fifteen, I surrendered to curiosity
Found comfort in the weight
Forgot the sting
The precise pain
Now I’m sixteen going on seventeen
And I’ve been conditioned to think
That I must hurt before I heal
Surely Cupid’s arrow is ineffective
Unless it’s fletching-deep into my chest
Breath fleeing fast from my lungs
Isn’t that how it’s supposed to feel like?
Scars Half-Healed
Sue me if I had a penny for each pickup line reserved for your ears only
“Is your name Selene? Because you mean the moon to me”
Tell me your stories
And I’ll tell you mine
Cradle your concerns
Tender traces down your spine
The ghosts of bruises
The bend of your back
The lines of your wrinkles
The curve of your cheekbones
“Please pick up the phone, I don’t like waking up alone”
The past leaves an unshakable shadow
But I’ve come to understand the power names hold
As I see “Abigail Elina Handojo”
On the return address of love letters
Never the recipient
More certainly chiseled on a grave
Than printed on marriage records
The historians won’t call us what we were
But the artists will
And I’ll say, “My dear, don’t you know your heart belongs in your chest, not on your sleeve?”
And you’ll say, “How else could it be within your reach?”
And I’ll think, undoubtedly,
The best thing I ever believed was that you loved me