Posts for June 2, 2025 (page 18)

Silently taking my last drags
Burning my fingertips
As it reaches the filter
This stink will linger on me
And on my clothes
Much like you do
On my mind
Impossible to wash off
Impossible to forget
There are burn holes
In most of my possessions 
They add character 
And a form of beauty 
In the imperfections 
Much like how yours
Did the same to you
My parents tell me
“That’s a nasty habit”
“You need to quit”
I know
That they’re right
But I keep on
Lighting up another 
And I continue 
Leaving open space
In my bed
That’s meant for you

Sleeping always tongueless
blue stone
ribbons rivers
this throatless
formless water
sweeps over
the soul’s faces

and from the splashes:
a sound
a shape

Friendship, the blooming rose

I tend and sow

You dig your roots deeper

Friendship, a dying bud

I snip and prune

You die in my arms

Friendship, my reliable oak tree

I water and nourish

You dance in warm sun rays

they say don’t take things personally
if only it were that easy 
if only i didn’t sit up late overanalyzing every 
interaction from the day before
if only my thoughts didn’t ruminate over your 
body language 
if only there was a way to let go of this cinder
block of insecurity tied to my ankles
i am drowning in the things about myself 
i cannot change, though desperately wish i could 

If you’re out there
Somewhere
I hope you know.

The answer to the question
Of why we never met
Is not “I did not love you.”

I did.

I just thought that you deserved a world
That I could never give.

At the plummer’s office,
my house plans rolled out,
an elder, a Kupuna, tapping
an o’o stick, waiting for her daughter,
a yellow flowered lei hanging
to her waist, tiny fern tucked in hair,

She says, ground breaking was fast, 
from planning to breaking, you know,
sometimes takes forever. So,
you building your own house?

Yes, I say, sons say they’re going to help,
We’ll see.

Yes, she says, her fern bobbing, her stick
tapping, her flowing dress, her leg,
thrown over her armrest,
We’ll see.

We both laugh, her daughter’s clacking
computer keys, she says my paperwork
is taken care of, and I tell her,
thanks for her patience, I feel relieved,

her mama says, from the chair,
she’s used to taking care of me,
that’s why.

We all laugh, and I think
I must be getting old er.

Memory escapes me.
That’s why I write it down on paper
Capture it in symbols with permanent ink
Mine forever
Until I lose the paper.