This is Me

Two Blue Elephants in the Sun

2011-01-23T12:00:00.000-08:00

People think that something so small can't make a difference. A pill can't be the difference between happy and not happy. But that's just their pride and their fear talking. They don't want to believe that it's that simple. That they're that simple.

2011-01-20T17:55:00.000-08:00

Dreams like butterfly wings
paper-thin in beauty
pleasant to the eye
I want to hold them in my hands
quickly lest they die.

2011-01-16T16:27:00.000-08:00

Wishes Can Be Pretty Too

2011-01-08T10:59:00.000-08:00

Happiness is a thing of beauty

placed beneath the glass

to admire but never have.

Hi Katie. I'm trying to update again.

2011-01-07T13:59:00.001-08:00

My dreams have turned

into a sickness.

I turn them end over end

and together

We continue to fester.

The Things that Matter Later

2010-08-05T14:09:00.001-07:00

The things that matter later
haunt your sleep.
It nag nags you
with the instance
that you fucked up.
You missed the very point
of well everything.
And to know
is to hurt.
And it's better to forget
but you remember.
You had better remember.

The Horse

2009-09-19T14:39:00.001-07:00

I see the horse
all proud in mid-December.
And on the dale it comes to crest,
burning black and ember.

Excerpt

2009-07-24T13:50:00.000-07:00

My life before this epiphany does not matter. It is a good thing. It wasn't so great anyway. I was the product of young love. The kind of love that made empty promises- the worst kind. And like most young love, it fizzled and died like it was never there at all.

My dad visited me a lot in the beginning. He came bearing, once again, empty promises that kept me floating above water, never letting my hope sink completely. Words like, 'next time' and 'you'll see' brightened my eyes for days.

Then Hallmark cards began to replace visits. But the words remained the same, 'next time' and 'you'll see'. And at seven, child resiliency said that was enough. The cards were enough of Daddy. They marched across my child-size dressers and hung like butterfly wings tapped to my windowpanes.

And when Daddy did come for a visit, money made him happiest. "I'll pay you back next time" and, "This money will make us rich, you'll see" The most disgusting part of this story is how the child reacts, how I reacted.

A Payless shoebox reverently held my savings of birthday and holiday money. It patiently waited for Daddy while I waited impatiently. Because he always looked so happy and pleased when I showed him what I had saved- just for him. Money has no monetary value to a child who is working for a parent's love and attention. All that matters is that the more you give the more hugs you get in return.

By ten years old, even the cards stopped coming. I blame that on Hallmark. They don't make cards that say anything about being sorry for not visiting in eight months. They haven't come out with one that properly says, "I'm sorry, but you're just not enough anymore." So instead of a card, the silence said it all.

But again, child resiliency protects the soul from breaking. "Who needs a next time?" and "I'll show him, you'll see." Somehow you change the situation around until it was your idea not to see him anymore. It's better that he isn't around. Because you're twelve and you don't need him anyway.

Child resiliency says, I'm better off alone.

Because at twelve I really was alone. My mom worked two jobs and I came home to an empty apartment. I would walk up the five flights of stairs, all the while hoping that she would be home. In the days that I ate peanut butter straight from the jar, I hated myself for giving money to a lost cause. Surely it would have been better used to buy bread.

2009-06-29T13:25:00.000-07:00

Finally we must lie down to sleep.
The dream is
like millions of other oddities,
spread out over the earth
belonging to all, to each,
in a circle of a dance
undisturbed.

John likes girls who bleed

2009-06-28T19:50:00.000-07:00

John likes girls who bleed
not ones who read
dead poetry in tears
lamenting all their fears.

Eating You

2009-06-19T12:30:00.001-07:00

That tongue of yours
it is a vial thing.
Horrid
and
Sordid
it is your greatest fault.
If I were to cut it out
I think I would like you better.
10/11/03

The Good be Encircled

2009-06-17T19:52:00.000-07:00

I grouse my way into Tim's office the next day. Louise and last night's conversation has opened my eyes to what is right in front of me. Tim's office is a disaster of weaponry and holy artifacts. It's been this way for weeks. The foregone conclusion, he's known of the swarm for weeks. I hadn't the faintest idea until Louise put me out of my misery and informed me. I knew we were extra busy, but I never thought to ask why.

I never know why.

Tim reads my face and tries to smile, but it comes out more of a grimace. There is pity behind his eyes, just like there is sadness behind mine.

I sink deeply into the leather couch. It's weathered folds envelop me like the hug I secretly yearn for.

"How long," I ask.

Tim doesn't bother trying to act ignorant. I like that.

"There's been signs for about two weeks now. Before that, there was word from San Diego about a possible swarm headed our way."

Two weeks to sense that there is trouble. Two weeks and I didn't. I can't help but feel like this was a test and I failed miserably. How many times have I come into Tim's office and blatantly revealed my ignorance? Too many, I realize. My face burns with embarrassment; humiliation.

I nod my head in understanding. But, understanding to Tim's report or my own revelation, I don't know.

But Tim continues to explain, "There was a sighting last night near Sherman Oaks. A large group of us went out to investigate, but the swarm scattered as soon as we came into range. You were carrying around Louise's medallion, so I knew you were safe. Did he give you his old one like I asked?"

I lift out the medallion, as Tim calls them, by way of answer. Tim nods in satisfaction. It seems like everything worked out like he planned. I should feel grateful, and a part of me does, but another part of me feels mortified. I hadn't known that Tim sparred the extra effort to watch over me. I didn't know I needed to be watched so carefully.

"I'm different, " I whisper morosely. I don't know how else to say it. "The only time I sense danger is when I'm already in it. I'm empty, isn't that what we concluded? I have no particular ability. I have nothing and I can't protect myself with nothing." I shamefully add, "I can't earn my way into heaven with nothing."

"Layla, you know that's not the way it works. Killing demons won't get you back into heaven. No amount of strength or power will break you in. Because God's grace cannot be bought or even earned," he adds with a pointed look, "You have to choose it, and succumb to it without armor or shame."

Sitting in Tim's office like that, just the two of us, I feel like I could do it. It seems so easy. But I know, that outside these walls, I will falter under the expectations of others and more significantly, my own personal expectations. Out there, it's only natural to feel the pressure of performance. You have to carry out good faith and not simply carry it within you. It’s stupid, but so very true.

2009-06-11T23:04:00.000-07:00

You look but you don't see; anything. You don't even know what I mean.

The Center of the Issue

2009-06-09T23:22:00.000-07:00

This will go on forever because I say so.

2009-05-30T16:31:00.000-07:00

I could kill these stars in your eyes
but for now
I like the constellations.

2009-05-29T02:27:00.000-07:00

I drew a firefly upon a moments desire
and the dear beacon of silky delight
suddenly was limelight.

Niflheim

2009-05-18T14:16:00.001-07:00

I see beauty. I see pain. But mostly, I just see you.

Don't Come this Way

2009-05-14T16:44:00.000-07:00

And red's the last to go.

I Wasn't Moping

2009-05-12T17:29:00.001-07:00

And you weren't around
to know I was lost wishing to be found.
My world had turned to grey
and I knew not night from day.
And I just kept spinning it in my head
until I finally wound up dead.
And you weren't around to care
and I can't even say it wasn't really fair.
But Baby
just maybe, we were born this way.

The Devil Whispers Sweet Wickedness with his Call

2009-04-07T20:36:00.000-07:00

I've seen the fleeting fetch at my window and contemplate the true meaning.

Hold Your Breath, Little Lungs

2009-04-07T16:32:00.000-07:00

I have yet to face my Rubicon. That's because I've always been something of a spineless coward.

Let Me Love You Forever

2009-03-20T20:34:00.000-07:00

There is only one divine and pure love, of that I have no doubt. Yet I do doubt my chances of finding and maintaining that one love. Because there are many other forms of love; powerful loves even.

I have yet to love anyone, even in a miniatured scale. I know this because I know myself. Love means to give not only yourself but to give everything.

Liquid Cocaine

2009-03-15T20:21:00.001-07:00

A drink, warm like a hug. Although there is the distinct blackouts that accompany drinking, there is also a consolation prize. Sure, I may not recall the whole night, but I wake up and remember sensations, feelings and impressions. There is an artistic recollection that makes up for a lack of concrete memory. While it should not be an everyday occurrence, I definitely won't shy away from a little inebriated inspiration.

Life is a Mess

2009-03-13T23:13:00.001-07:00

Life is a mess. Baseless and angry, I'm prone to bouts of self-induced isolation. It's typical and on some level so very stupid. And I can make it funny, hilarious even, but I can't bring myself to laugh. And time, it's crap. Totally damn useless.

And the Dead Girl Whispers for You to Look

2009-02-20T20:58:00.000-08:00

It's not just about getting. It's about getting what you really need. And there's an art in that; knowing what people need.

Remember to Feel Real

2009-02-13T12:42:00.000-08:00

You're feeling trapped by what you have become and the responsibilities you have assumed.

Mania

2009-02-07T16:48:00.001-08:00

But it matters, and it surprises me that it does.

Inane or Insane: Who Can Really Say

2009-01-30T22:44:00.000-08:00

17 day famine. It has eaten its way out of me. Are you pleased? It is pleased.

Scream Victim

2009-01-13T16:53:00.000-08:00

I like myself better than I once was. Most of all, I like getting the chance to act like the bitch I really am sometimes.

Volume I - Number 2

2009-01-07T17:44:00.000-08:00

My name is Emi. However after years of interacting with hakujins, the white folks, I have gotten use to the common mistake of being called Amy. I don't really mind. I like to think of myself as two separate people. I am Emi, undesired Janglish speaking daughter. I am also Amy, unremarkable daughter of a Japanese farmer. I like to have options.

I do not feel typical Japanese. Or maybe I'm just not typically pretty. I have a darker skin-tone that would put my ancestors to shame. A couple of summers ago, I was trying to refrain from getting too tan. I walked about with an old paper parasol and frequently hid beneath any branch that offered shade. Father was not pleased and shouted, "Care about the farm, not your face." I was instantly ashamed of myself and since then, I have accepted that every summer I will become very dark from the day's work in the fields.

I have a frizzy quality to my hair that is not silky or attractive at all. When I move to brush my fingers through it, I encounter a snaggle of hair right away.

It looks as though instead of being snuggled up within my mother's womb, I was unceremoniously thrust face-first into the side of it for the duration of her pregnancy. My nose is the main basis of this theory. It's believable that it was smashed against an unforgiving surface for nine months. Subconsciously, I find myself pinching my nose into shapeliness. It is a habit exhibited in boredom or deep-thinking. Truly, some girls twirl their hair, I pinch my nose. It's not one of my most sightly quirks.

I have a wide face. I have a flat face. At first-glance, it would appear as though I was stung repeatedly by a swarm of bees to my cheeks. They are rounded and the most prominent facial feature. My eyes are all but swallowed up by their swollen appearance. My nose is an almost afterthought and underdeveloped necessity.

Slightly Sightless

2008-12-21T21:12:00.000-08:00

I had an interesting thought. I sometimes dislike the car driving in front of me for no rational reason. I don't like them because the color of their car or even worse, the shape of the back of their head. It got me thinking about the saying, 'blind like prejudice' and I got depressed. However, then I thought about the other saying, 'blind like love' and that gave me hope. Happy holidays everyone~!

Not mature enough to see past the rose-colored hue of childhood.

2008-12-19T22:52:00.000-08:00

Over and over again, the inescapable circle.

Stupid pupil, it has to take everything in.

2008-12-07T19:33:00.001-08:00

And for the first time in a long time, I've stepped outside of myself.

Deeply Darkly Infatuated with You

2008-12-03T17:12:00.000-08:00

Violent dreams are a bitch. I have never been beaten up so much in my life...err dreams. This week alone I have been: beaten with a golf club, poisoned, stabbed with a huge needle taking blood from my neck, and dropped from a TORNADO. What. The. Fuck.

Pretty like Drugs

2008-12-01T14:58:00.001-08:00

Life goes on you said.

I'm not even angry anymore, just terribly sad.

2008-10-26T19:57:00.001-07:00

What I want never seems to coordinate with what I supposedly need. I'm abstract in a tangible existence, and I can't feign normalcy. Everyday monotony is a disease and no one seems to be looking for the cure. I want creativity, vision, imagination, inspiration, color, wit, perception, ingenuity, artistry, revelation, flair, epiphany. I want to immerse myself in the intangible. The corporeal world has no appeal to me. I want to be brave enough. I am not brave enough and I do it to myself, I do.

This horror will grow mild, this darkness light.

2008-10-17T19:26:00.001-07:00

There is something refreshing about change; any change. For all that I fight against it, I also deeply appreciate it. Nothing can last forever and I take comfort in that instead of grief.

Violence in the Violet

2008-10-08T17:44:00.001-07:00

I'm a panicky and flighty creature, but I have no where to go. I've stopped making decisions so I won't make mistakes. I'm also having a hard time taking people seriously. That's the problem with liars, we never believe anyone else.

Yellow Morning

2008-09-30T17:45:00.001-07:00

Excerpt:

"Fucking bugs. I’ve been fighting the damn mosquitoes all day and then I run into this giant-ass butterfly and I’m like ‘ah how pretty’ and then the fucker takes a huge bite out of me. A butterfly bit me. Stupid forest. I hate this place!”

Cerulean Awakening

2008-09-24T17:34:00.001-07:00

sakura blossom in spring

2008-09-06T17:17:00.001-07:00

I'm your fly on the wall

2008-08-31T17:00:00.000-07:00

Twilight and Babies

2008-08-30T19:38:00.000-07:00

Reading the last book in the Twilight series, I feel cheated. I just found out that Edward and Bella end up having a child. In fact, the whole forth book pertains to this baby fiasco. Life does not always have to lead to babies. I do not feel that you need children to have a fulfilling life. Edward and Bella were going to represent eternal love. Their love for each other was beautiful. Now they have to share that love with a child. Boo.

I just refuse to be pressured and persuaded into believing that life fulfillment comes in the form of procreation. I'm selfish. I'm plain. One love is satisfactory. In fact, I'm tempted to fix myself so that I can't be a hypocrite in the future. A simple matter really, easily taken care of in the form of tied tubes. I want more than just babies. I don't want to settle for the house with the white picket fence and 2.5 children. There is more to life than being an incubator, an oven, a tool. I want that life.

Red Dragonfly in Garden

2008-08-30T15:47:00.001-07:00

Volume I - Number 1

2008-08-26T16:30:00.000-07:00

We moved a lot. Our houses were always made of a hardly-stationary wood foundation; finalized with a dirt floor. There was no glass, metal or any other polished, permanent structure. We moved when the land had born us the best of its fruit. We couldn't afford to try and soothe another crop from a ravished ground.

My mother had died years before. I was young. I don't remember her but in sudden snatches of a wide smile and sensible cotton dresses. She died of a fever, father says. He had me removed from the house so that I would not catch what would later kill her. I was told, though I don't recall, that I stayed with the Shimada's who lived down the road. They had two daughters who use to snicker and laugh at me until I cried. I cried a lot more when I returned home without a mother.

Father took a trip back to his home country; Japan. When he returned, he came back with a new wife. She was pretty and quiet. She did not speak English and could barely understand my gnarled version on English and Japanese. I liked to call it Janglish. For the most part, we interacted very little. I was going on ten years old and she was going on settling into a new life in a foreign land.

It was not even a year later that she bore my father a son. A feat that my own mother failed to do. I am testament. The baby was big, round and healthy. The perfect strong newborn son. I, myself, had been told that I was a sickly little creature out of the womb. My half-brother was named Ichiro, meaning First Son. With his birth, I became an insignificant blotch on my father's new and improved family.

Now three years later, as times grow harder on the farmers, I realize how expendable my life has become. If my father is the head, then I am a toenail. I continue to grow and grow even as I am cut back farther and farther. For three years, I have continued to grow.

Supper is a poor affair. Although we are farmers, we have little to eat. Our meals are rationed, systematically representing our family's hierarchy. It goes like this: husband, son, wife and first-marriages surplus daughter. The surplus is, of course, me.

What father does not know, is that I share my skewed little portion with another lowly existence; a stray dog. I call him Sempai, a honorific name that can be interpreted as Senior. The dog can very well be my senior.

It started a little over a year ago. I had taken to eating my supper on the front porch, lest my father decided to reconsider my meager share. It was on that porch that I first saw Sempai. He was a straggly old thing; an obvious forgotten entity. Despite his misfortunes, he was friendly; a trusting and loving soul by nature. I fed him that first evening and I saw gratitude for the first time in a long while. I called him Sempai in gratitude as well.

2008-08-18T15:14:00.000-07:00

I'm apathetic. Anyone who knows me will readily agree. I just can't seem to motivate myself to care. It's either this or that and either way, it's fine by me. I've lost opinion; expectation.

I'm sullen. Disappointed with life and therefore disappointed with myself. It's searching but never finding.

It's typical me. I'm starting to figure it out. If I can't have it all, then I don't want any of it. There it is in all of its wretched glory.

Solution: I need to change my mindset.

Reality: I am not ready to change.

"Lit a light on my gloom and now there's only a half moon...Hey, hey moon, I think

I figured it out. I think I'm coming about. My whole world is in tune and much clearer now."

2008-08-12T21:14:00.000-07:00

She stood, face crumpled into an unrecognizable expression of devastation. The old dog lay at her feet; dead. An overwhelming feeling of frustration and sadness washed through her then. She stood there, unable to move but able to cry. The tears were so hot. They fell, punishing her cheeks and dribbling down her chin. Her body trembled with the effort; emaciated shoulders shook in convulsive silence. Then after shocked stillness came the anguish. A shrill cry tore its way out of her throat and she howled with the reality of it all. Boney fingers clutched inward to herself, pressing towards her heart. Lips quivered and fumbled for words to say, any words at all. But there was only grief, representing itself the only way she knew how; unbearable tears.

The sun broke from its curtained slumber then, and the light shown with a blinding brilliance. Her eyes closed and the setting sun bathed her in a moment of dazzling nothingness. Her arms fell to her sides and she stood motionless; devastated face angled up toward the sun.

2008-08-07T11:02:00.000-07:00

Everything is much clearer in college. I knew what was expected of me and where I was going. I knew the final result: a college degree. It's funny how a world, a life, can be turned upside down so quickly. I have graduated college and now I do not know my purpose. In college, my purpose was to go to school and study hard. Now, I need to what? I no longer know my final result. It is frustrating. It is scary as hell, because I was one of the students who couldn't wait to finish school. I wanted to go already. I wanted to sprint my way into life. I didn't know what I was talking about. The starting gun has gone off, but I realize that life is not a sprint race after all. Life is about endurance and the long haul. So, I need to regroup and slow down. Life has a way of leading you to where you want to go, if you pay enough attention to the details.