i learned to defang my words early, neutralize their acid with sugar, strain them of controversy. but you can only swallow your own venom...

the way you so easily brought me to a boil.

the thousand little cuts we fix upon ourselves daily.

we were born with the feeling of the ocean inside us both apart and a part of the same great tide later we learned to draw upon imagined...

i would rather my vitriol forge its way through my har gao wrapper skin erupt across my face in a constellation of active volcanoes than...

even your dying breath is laced with green ambrosia.

by now i’ve realized we are not destined to ever stand on solid ground but i do wish the sands beneath my feet would stop shifting for...

all i can say about the countless circles we’ve walked is that there must be more to be uncovered beneath this familiar ground

the question isn’t whether or not you knew better the question is whether you should have

we are a hurricane that’s been raging for centuries