I’ve broke the seal of tragedy
and still emerged with a taste of discovery
I’ve conquered demons
Critics fear to grasp

I’ve watched these worlds contract and expand

Around a pretense and an effigy

When the sense wanders absent…

Will your feet still take the lead?

And when you meet your grief
Say hello to your lover
Speak with the sky
Nod to the dove of flight,
passing you by

The city cried in slurred spit and bronze spoons
My heavy eyes tried to lift their lids—
And open this box of humid grid-lock
But… most door-signs read, ‘not open’ past six… 
Their fix—No different. 
But,
some hunger can be devoured.

My porcelain skin cracks easily.
While, in my youth I was assured it was alluring
Dolls perched on my circular vanity, poised in perfect pale composure
Looked more like me than those dirty magazines..but still held vacant stares
Just the same
—Asains paint themselves this way
My friend in Korea was held as an idol for Aryan looks.
But for me,
This never resembled purity.
In my dark clamour of forgetting
A shadow spoke thorugh the deep lines of my pores
Trying to shed an image
I once had.