Red and Black

Just because I wear black

doesn’t mean that I hate

pinker hues: I simply lack

the knack for social cues. Dates


passed by, times swim past, but

I still stand behind my fort

of mortification, hidden as I cut

with wit and jests, my cohorts,


that painted me as emotionless,

strong, independent, borderline

arrogant, who wants to be peerless,

Fearless. Who could care less? Fine!


I shall retain the fact that I eyed

the bouquets of pinks and reds,

feel the envy rose and bloomed.

A childish, seasonal wrath, be read.



I am a worthless piece of shit, let’s

get that straighten out.

I know, write, have no right to wet

my eyes or pout

Or boast or claim or judge or characterize;

Though that’s just to cauterize

his cuts, His cuts, juts where the wings were

clipped. My daddy put out a show to pay

for meals though mommy’s hands are worn,

“What do you know of chores, our days?” They say.

But she scrubbed floors, cleaned pots, worked jobs.

I work, and work, and work for a dream, splendor

rest and tranquility, for her.

But if I talk back, she get smacked; I can’t go on, I want to cut, and cut, and cut my ties

from the demon who enslaved the angel in the shape of my mom.

Red ribbons tied my wrists to him still,

So I stay here, worthless, ill.

A Cipher

I would have loved to write a cipher,

good enough that the world would try to decipher

the layers and meaning and life and soul,

that the sole audience aren’t just my sister and my best friend.

I wanted to shape the tale of a girl, whose internal

screams reflect the eternal struggles, make you sigh for her.

I want to stand by her, let her know that there are people out there

that would die for her,

care for her,

love forward.

I want to write for those who hide

behind the hides built by the hives from the higher-ups of our society,

to put aside propriety to feel properly.

Yet all I can care about is my future property, to take liberty

of my youth to squander on late nights binging studies that hardly

dent the greater picture of life. I would be lying

if I say I don’t regret, the requests and delays

I took just to keep my grades afloat,

but I just feel degraded, forgetting how to boast

as I roast myself, offering nothing but a toast

to my new year, new life, new gears.