POETRY
Shiro Otaku, Linda Liu, Emma Chang, Ana Chen, Anonymous
Shiro Otaku, Linda Liu, Emma Chang, Ana Chen, Anonymous
even the words of july are cold
Shiro Otaku
you never taught me the words to explain how it feels
when I cannot drag this absurd body up if i close my
eyes, your touch is almost warm oh, but how you call it
your present to me smile your creepy molester grin
guilt, guilt, guilt me with your too-old values say the
body is mine, as if you care as if this were ever more
than your dream extension vessel
and you never taught me the words to explain how it
feels when I’m drowning in your saccharine affection
my eyes are bleeding, it does not hurt, it does not
hurt if i repeat your words enough maybe i will
change maybe i will be the good child you always
sought because even with your hands soaked in my
blood I seek the crushing love you peddle
and you never taught me the words to depict how it
feels when even the words that were never enough are
stolen, taken away, i will hurt myself take this knife to
make you a feast of my flesh give them back, please, let
me feel the words on my tongue let me feel more than
the cage of this dress I am sorry, see me kneel, just
please - please let me feel something outside this
endless cycle of cold -
Shiro Otaku
you never taught me the words to explain how it feels
when I cannot drag this absurd body up if i close my
eyes, your touch is almost warm oh, but how you call it
your present to me smile your creepy molester grin
guilt, guilt, guilt me with your too-old values say the
body is mine, as if you care as if this were ever more
than your dream extension vessel
and you never taught me the words to explain how it
feels when I’m drowning in your saccharine affection
my eyes are bleeding, it does not hurt, it does not
hurt if i repeat your words enough maybe i will
change maybe i will be the good child you always
sought because even with your hands soaked in my
blood I seek the crushing love you peddle
and you never taught me the words to depict how it
feels when even the words that were never enough are
stolen, taken away, i will hurt myself take this knife to
make you a feast of my flesh give them back, please, let
me feel the words on my tongue let me feel more than
the cage of this dress I am sorry, see me kneel, just
please - please let me feel something outside this
endless cycle of cold -
2:16 AM
Linda Liu
In bed, phone screen glowing
Youtube, fingers typing:
“Asmr fried chicken”
...
Bad idea.
Stomach grumbling, brain cells floating--
Bite.
Crunch.
Swallow.
Salivary glands exploding--
It’s pulling me in, it’s dragging me
down...
Why do I keep watching?
Just keep scrolling——--
——Uh-oh.
“Mozzarella cheese pull”
Damn it.
to run.
Ana Chen
so it is here i
can finally say that
i still want a boy
to fold me into a poem,
to unwind me around
the ridges of a song,
to drape me skinned across
a drunken text &
it is here i can pry
at the crevices of man & wife,
furrows between her fingers &
turquoise chewable necklace - her son
a blond burble before the frowning hulk
of her husband &
it is here i can write bad poetry, verses
waxing before fake plants, please believe me
when i say eccentricity is unsettling when
calculated, a drug when
capitalized, please believe me when
i say that i would much rather carry around
seven textbooks than forget one, that i
would much rather draw blood than
sit still & bored & silence
terrifies me & i have forgotten how
to let these words breathe.
so it is here i can finally
beg a boy to fold me into his
coffee, his white wine.
& it is here i can finally wonder
what makes a woman strong, when a blade
can be vindicated. & it is here i can finally
dig the blood out from beneath my nails -
i tore myself last night when i
dreamt of you.
Ana Chen
so it is here i
can finally say that
i still want a boy
to fold me into a poem,
to unwind me around
the ridges of a song,
to drape me skinned across
a drunken text &
it is here i can pry
at the crevices of man & wife,
furrows between her fingers &
turquoise chewable necklace - her son
a blond burble before the frowning hulk
of her husband &
it is here i can write bad poetry, verses
waxing before fake plants, please believe me
when i say eccentricity is unsettling when
calculated, a drug when
capitalized, please believe me when
i say that i would much rather carry around
seven textbooks than forget one, that i
would much rather draw blood than
sit still & bored & silence
terrifies me & i have forgotten how
to let these words breathe.
so it is here i can finally
beg a boy to fold me into his
coffee, his white wine.
& it is here i can finally wonder
what makes a woman strong, when a blade
can be vindicated. & it is here i can finally
dig the blood out from beneath my nails -
i tore myself last night when i
dreamt of you.
Eurydice
Ana Chen
men with long jerky necks & big bottoms -
you could cup me in your three hands, press me into the space
between your neck & pleasure.
i carried with me a pad, extra thin long, through seven hours &
three coffee shops. the first coffee shop, matcha unfurling musky across
my tongue, nine-dollar rasp. the second coffee shop, where they cut
clean cinnamon lines through lights, a mirror yawning at my back. the
third coffee shop, bohemian rose gold, vintage organic.
to be vicious, to be caught in crosshairs, to untangle your lips
from mine - i see no difference among these. to run a hand along
your jawline, to feel one body erode into another - there is no
difference between these either. i am robed in women of
startling power, the kind in a fluttering of a bird’s wings, the
kind in the fury of a cold snap, the kind i imagine a dentist
would wield. i am cupped in the hands of women of
great heaving tears, the screams of one generation served soft
through the throat of another, and i am pinched tight in the fingers
of men like you, the kind with whom i never know how long to
maintain eye contact, the uber drivers who tell me they had an
asian girlfriend once did you know, the white converse & fuckboy
caps & muscles sleek like tongues.
at the third coffee shop the bass drops like your balls.
grungy mashup of screams & denim, &
i never quite know when
a voice becomes music.
Ana Chen
men with long jerky necks & big bottoms -
you could cup me in your three hands, press me into the space
between your neck & pleasure.
i carried with me a pad, extra thin long, through seven hours &
three coffee shops. the first coffee shop, matcha unfurling musky across
my tongue, nine-dollar rasp. the second coffee shop, where they cut
clean cinnamon lines through lights, a mirror yawning at my back. the
third coffee shop, bohemian rose gold, vintage organic.
to be vicious, to be caught in crosshairs, to untangle your lips
from mine - i see no difference among these. to run a hand along
your jawline, to feel one body erode into another - there is no
difference between these either. i am robed in women of
startling power, the kind in a fluttering of a bird’s wings, the
kind in the fury of a cold snap, the kind i imagine a dentist
would wield. i am cupped in the hands of women of
great heaving tears, the screams of one generation served soft
through the throat of another, and i am pinched tight in the fingers
of men like you, the kind with whom i never know how long to
maintain eye contact, the uber drivers who tell me they had an
asian girlfriend once did you know, the white converse & fuckboy
caps & muscles sleek like tongues.
at the third coffee shop the bass drops like your balls.
grungy mashup of screams & denim, &
i never quite know when
a voice becomes music.
Hunger
Emma Chang
Devourer of words
Consumer of compliments
Starved for second glances
Can nothing satisfy such hunger?
For still you are ravenous
After each repast
What will assuage the
Persistent pang
Endlessly gorging
For it’s never enough
Never enough to
Fill the hole of hunger
In your heart
Emma Chang
Devourer of words
Consumer of compliments
Starved for second glances
Can nothing satisfy such hunger?
For still you are ravenous
After each repast
What will assuage the
Persistent pang
Endlessly gorging
For it’s never enough
Never enough to
Fill the hole of hunger
In your heart
Untitled
Anonymous
half haze. strawberry
sweat. sky blue melancholy.
i do not look back.
Anonymous
half haze. strawberry
sweat. sky blue melancholy.
i do not look back.