It doesn’t make sense that I’m not skinny. A person so critically lacking should not have full breasts or gentle sine curve approximations of hips and thighs. My warm flesh, the protective winter coat equivalent, gives the impression of gentle times, safety and most of all, life. Like the kind mother with excess fat from successful pregnancies—there is something inherently comforting from the softness.

The dead are skeletons. The dying, skeletal. I find it almost insulting that my body does not reflect my deep sadness. If I’m being buried alive, I might as well get the beauty perks of the departed. The heroin chic, the borderline anorexic, that would make my tear stained pillow more credible.


I took a plunge into a strange place that night. I remember feeling confident, as though I was playing some sort of game.

 “I only play games I win.” I looked over at him suggestively. Lowered my gaze. Close eyes slowly and re-open. Bat them again, this time more quickly and look up. Smile a few seconds after, and laugh like I issued a challenge.

It wasn’t just the alcohol talking to me, there was a different voice, too, the voice that has been with me all along. She sings to me at night when I feel lonely. Take comfort that men find you undesirable.

The desired are never alone; she says.

The voice tells me all of this. His hand pulling on my hand towards his crotch is a compliment. His disregard for my permission shows how much he wants me. I live not only in this world, but inside his thoughts. The dancer of his imagination, the captive of his mind.

This is the only way to live.

Stay alive in their fantasies. Speak only beautiful words.


My reality is ugly.

Cum-stained bedsheets. Overdue assignments.  I hate having to explain my feelings to other people. The words just get lost upon themselves. I feel inadequate and alone, like a crumpled tissue in the trashcan.

I briefly contemplate death.


I once had a dream where I stood on the roof of a very tall skyscraper. The building must have been in a beautiful place because all around this building was green. Green hills, pastures, trees, flower fields. The water in the nearby lake glittered. There was a fragrant breeze, and I inhaled the colours deeply. The splashes of blues and green, coupled with the rainbow sky was exhilarating. I could even see white fluffy swathes of clouds float by. It was such a beautiful day.

I dived like the neck of a swan. Upon impact, my life expanded to the galaxies. I burst into millions of stars, the black expanse of the universe briefly lit by my light

Continue reading


“I have found the paradox, that if you love until it hurts, there can only be more love.”  – Mother Teresa


But right now, all it’s doing is hurting. It hurts so badly to know my baby is home away from me, cold, unhappy, and in pain. Randomly during the day I find myself wanting to cry. I’m not talking silent sad tears, I mean heart-wrenching sobs because thatishowmuchitfuckinghurts. I don’t think people understand how MUCH I love Rusty and how much he means to me. He and I are soul mates. You think that sounds ridiculous? Go ahead, laugh. I only wish that someday, meet someone that you connect with 100% and are able to love them utterly enthusiastically. Rusty taught me to love selflessly and vulnerably. He never hurts me and is always there for me. 

It’s so hard not to cry when writing this. I’m trying really hard to do the “selfless” part of loving– if Rusty is in pain and wants to die, he should be able to leave this world without any further suffering. But at the same time, I don’t want him to leave. The thought of coming home to an empty cage a nightmarish, unbearable reality. I need him so badly in this time. I keep having dreams of him dying and needing to be saved and its terrible. I need to know he’ll be okay, that he’s happy, that he’s fine, but it’s just not happening right now and I can’t stand itRusty is my beautiful guardian angel and now I’m trying so hard to be mature and be his guardian angel right now and give him what he needs most, but

fuck. this has just been such a hard time and i need to know he’s okay and will be okay. i want him to be happy and chirpy because how can i be happy knowing my baby is dying? I even changed my phone wallpaper from a picture of him to a picture of toucans because thinking about him HURTS so much and I feel like i’m betraying him or some shit but baby baby baby

i love you so much it’s hurting me



This is really inconvenient that this is happening to me right now, at this second, but oh well.

I am freaking out right now in a sort of can’t sleep, hyperventilation sort of way. WHAT IF I fail my E7 midterm? Then I won’t even be able to fucking declare a majorrrrrrrrr and wtfhsfjdsf and what if because I’m so busy studying for stupid fucking E7 that I don’t have time for math and I do REALLY badly on math and fuck it all up and basically what if I totally fuck up ajdnsands dassdfs

…. I’m also really scared for next semester because what if I’m not ready for upper div math and what if math really isn’t my thing even though I math can make me cry what if nothing is my thing and what am I doing with my life and I’m so scared of my schedule next semester two math upper divs and another upper div and comp sci which is supposed to be the biggest bitch ever and fuck. what if i’m just not good enough for all this shit and i’m really not because i have minor skills in a lot of things but there’s nothing i’m actually legitimately good at except maybe seducing people but i don’t want to become a prostitute.

like actually, i’m already so scared for next semester and I need to pass this semester and I am freaking out.

untitled but for you


I have many– shape shifting faceless angels. They are made out of sheets, almost like children’s Halloween costumes. It is only after I start choking that I have the sinister realization– bedsheets, though thin, are perfect for smothering and covering. Stifled screams.

They are everywhere. My room late at night. On campus when the grey sky rains like a Haruki Murakami novel. Back at home, where the draftiness of a large Los Angeles house accommodates so, so, so many ghosts from childhood.

The ghosts thrive in empty, in hollow, in void. There are certain places though, where the ghosts cannot follow me.

They cannot touch me when I am with you. With you, the room is never empty, the negative space of our surroundings is so filled with candlelit warmth, love, (and perhaps moist humidity brought by sweat) that there is no room for them. There is no tiny crevice for them to seep through, no crack to trickle in. There is no emptiness here.

Your arms creates a place impenetrable to them. Your embrace encompasses the room. You create a fortress from the outside but the inside is home, like a jack-o-lantern on halloween, lit up from the INSIDE and smiling so brightly, light, golden rays of fire driving those evil spirits away.

I bask in our honey-coated heat and wonder how long this can last.

I cherish the time we have together. I hold it near and dear to my heart, with the somber truth that your love may be transient.

Sometimes, when I am alone at night, a particular ghost visits me. This is our ghost. This is the ghost that tells me our relationship is doomed for failure, because what kind of person finds love at eighteen? This ghost tells me that geographic barriers of future grad school and careers won’t just separate us, but will in fact tear us apart and into pieces. This is the ghost that tells me that we have too many fights, too many disagreements and that I will ultimately be chiefly unhappy with you.

I hate this ghost. I hate it because it speaks many probable truths. But I am a math major and I know PROBABILISTIC THEORY and I will make the odds in my favor. I have every desire for us to remain together. Not just out of some sort of damsel-in-distress business. Not just because you protect me from my ghosts. Because

I want to protect you from YOUR ghosts, I want MY embrace to become your fortress;

I want OUR hands and our lips to create a secret space (like a tiny studio apartment in San Francisco, or New York, or Boston.) I want us to stay together, laugh together, cry together, grow together, intertwine like lengthening vines, arcs that kiss and slide higher and higher up the stalk. I want us to TEAR DOWN those ghosts and make a fucking SHEET FORT.

Here, we will cuddle and snuggle, hold each other and tell bad jokes. We will be safe here.

And then we will light candles.  This place will glow from inside like a jack-o-lantern.




I can’t communicate.


I  don’t want this to sound like some sort of blaming shit or just a plea or who knows goddammitwhat but

after you left, i went upstairs to my room

where i promptly sat on my bed and cried

(for the second time today)


and it’s so

fucking frustrating that my communication skills are so lacking that I can’t even say

don’t leave, don’t go, i need you


and it’s so frustratingffdgfd to type when tears blur your vision, that too

and i hate it

feeling so alone


yup I all caps that shit


but yeah. feeling like i can’t reach out to anyone

and that no one really knows what’s happening

why does no one know

what’s happening inside


I’m drowning darling;

why do i feel like i’m underwater

where no one can hear me

see me

The surface of the water, you see nothing below


you don’t know what’s happening beneath the still blue

you won’t see my face fucked up from mascara trails

you won’t hear me trying to stifle back sobs so roommates don’t hear


you really won’t know shit

because i suck at communicating.



your sounds

You make my world sound so good.
I may not see you in the same way you see me,
I may not crave your touch the way you crave mine,
but girl, but girl,
how I crave your ears, your taste, your mind

cuz here I am, relistening to songs we listened to
and even at home
it sounds fucking orgasmic
it’s as though these songs, just being in your presence became filled with something
magical amazing holy shit sounds so fucking GOOD
because because

this is the music of sex, of smiles, of pure pure pleasure
this is the music that sends chills down my body
this is the music, the sounds i shared with you
and it is through this music that we are together

because because
I think of you
when I listen to your music,
(dare I say our music?)
I think of you and your eyes opening wide
i think of you
your small mouth
(the smallest mouth I’ve ever kissed)
i think of you
your wild stories your mind
i think of you
your heartbeats
our heartbeats
crazy laughter intertwining fingers feeling drunk when I’m sober this is craaazy

dear god,
I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing

but damn
it just all sounds so good
keep it sounding so good