a final goodbye; from a gone-word, lucy

Sincerest apologies for not writing anything or posting anything for a very long time. Many things have happened in the last month that I have really struggled with. It’s especially been hard since I have found it very difficult to express my feelings and thoughts through words, which is how I usually let go and heal. But here’s a poem I write two months ago, which is the most recent one I’ve written. Thank you, lovely writers and artists. Keep inspiring!

a final goodbye; from a gone-word, lucy


Irony sticks inside the lines of in-betweens

how the charcoal ink I manage to squeeze out after agonizing hours is not

enough to sufficiently make manifest the depth of my notions

how the black, blood-stained canvas of my intentions does not

adequately resemble the machinations of a beating heart

of my beating heart

hesitance in the delicate doubt

of “how do you feel; how do you love?”

and I wrestle against the tides of my turmoiled mind beating ceaselessly upon bone

there’s no way to extract the fire within myself and metamorphose it into cohesive words

I would fall short; I always fall short


it is only lifetimes later, I am sitting alone

the tea in my hands scalding the tips of my fingers, but I don’t realize

I know now that it is impossible to vocalize sentiment; absurd, even

a flicker of regret seeps into my skin, quickly disappears

I stare out a window, the tea chills, becomes like my heart

this impotency to feel anymore, it fills me and I cannot even empathize with myself

I am foolish (definition: lacking good sense and judgment; unwise)


but for now, I am speechless

how do I feel, how do I love?

I toss the word around, crack it open like eggs and scramble it, try to serve it to you

on a splintered plate much too small

I feel the significance slip away

the way I let the simple dress slide off my body the night I give

myself to you; my whole, undamaged self

the space between l and o and v expanding into the width of infinite seas while

we drift closer, even as our meaning grows fainter; ever so tighter

until we meet rib to rib and realize (too late) that our puppet strings are

not compatible; are connected to arms and legs and eyesights but not to each other

(though the God that controls us, His hands in dainty white gloves, is the same, we are not)

we vanish

and this word, this lover

-this once-word becomes nothing

falls into voids of once-words that photosynthesize into no-words

were-words into ghost-words

and a section of my heart heaves through my chest and leaves me winded

suddenly this lov, this– (what word was it again?)

I am only empty for a moment; the next, I cannot recall what was there in the first place

the two banal, fleeting questions escape me and I am no longer plagued by great afflictions

silently, my transcendent mind and worldly body make a tacit covenant

to offer up my whole epithet to God

a platter of just my name, infinitesimal; and yet, distinct and irreplaceable

I weep; it is not just my name, but a life of certainty without “how do you feel?”

(how do I love?)

almost, I do not do it; my heart against my lips

then the curtain rips in half and the imprint of God’s hands remains on the cloth of my soul

and I tear the drapes even more; I need release; I do not desire this caprice of humanity

I want deliverance, no; I am desperate for manumission

I disentangle the filaments of my psyche and fabricate the threads into an l, a u

lucy; my lifeblood

I hold the pinnacle of sacrifice in my hands; it leaves me in an exhalation and I call out

Eli Eli, lama sabachthani?; whimper, lama sabachthani?


it is I who abandoned myself


I do not feel remorse; I do not feel

and I withdraw into a trifling chasm


liberated from the confines of the pages


sometimes, when my tea is still burning, I long to return to a finite universe

and suffer (though I do not quite know what this means, it must be better than impassiveness)

and limit my capacity for expression with sin-filled terms

I would rather be a slave of pencil tips then a master of acedia

and though irony sticks inside the lines of in-betweens

regret defies the margins and kills you; blood vessel by blood vessel, word syllable by

word syllable


I don’t know how I feel, or how I love

I want to cry; I wish to know what cry means again

there is no hesitance, no doubt this time

of “how do you feel; how do you love?”

(how do you go back?)

I He She

I trace the coils of blue paint that veil my plain wall
fingers just a breath above silence, like tongue against tongue
desperate for the unexplored
ridges of my room

He slips a pill in her drink that does nothing, instead
he takes out her heart and pockets it, holds the length of her arm and cuts up her hand and
puts it back, grotesque; just enough so it fits in his

I let my hand fall to my stomach, to where I’m splattered in a fetal position
beneath three blankets; my blood
is turned up to 37 degrees Celsius
yet somehow the skin of my corporeal existence has crusted over,

She doesn’t give him permission to do this
to stain cruel markings of her mistake onto her throat, her hips
to implant bruises on her bone and transfuse her marrow with cancerous sins into
the immortality of Hell
they still remain

she doesn’t have to check to know

He’s deliberate in his movement,
the venom of his eyes don’t quite reach hers until
it’s too late
it excites him, the fear; the stench of perspiration
makes him do things he would only dream of doing
gives him the power he’s wanted
no, needed, all along

her screams tell him to stop, so he
keeps going;
her heart in the pocket of his trousers, pooled on the floor

it’s in the slight hours of the moon’s retreat that she finally stops shuddering

I curl tighter, push my hands even harder against the ringing in my ears
hold onto the ends of my hair until my fingers turn death
flinch from the touch of a person no longer here

Somewhere in the depths of her subconscious she thinks she recognizes the voice of her mother
“Baby, oh my baby, what have you done to yourself?”

the urge to sob comes and goes; she continues to tremble

When he’s finished, he leaves
her mind still holds the contours of his ghost
I let myself die a little, because the bitterness of life’s cruelty turns to me and laughs
and mocks my perpetual fragility in the face of greater faculties

I lay still
poised between the desolate vacancy of the temporary world and the sinister dangers of my chimerical terrestrial psyche
I wonder if the afterlife exists for the inconsequential?
and then I think—
and then I get up on my feet, and pirouette, and step over the edge into the abyss


p.s. I’m so sorry I haven’t posted in ages; junior year is tough. But I’m writing more now, so I hope to be posting more


It’s the clouds in the morning, the way they reflect the swaying grass

It’s the sun, the bleeding red and slinking jealousy

The way silky leaves are plucked from fingers of bark by God’s whisper

It’s the smell of apples, barely ripe beneath the canopy of trees

It’s the perfume mother nature wears, a single light from a prism

It’s the door that starts your trips, your travels, your adventures

Your life

It’s the color of your eyes, translucent in the settled darkness

The promise they hold

The life they contain

It’s the mirror between two souls, conjoined

It’s the touch of lip to lip, gentle and caressing

Taste buds tingling with colorless words

The flavor of mint breath and coffee and a sunflower

Blooming, yellow and brilliant in the dreaming hour

It’s the garden that weaves around my head and the vines that keep me trapped in your game

It’s the way your hands jigsaw puzzle with mine and fit perfectly in

The crooked spaces of my barren fingers

It’s the way our hearts burns and melt into pools of lava love and wishful wantings

And eventually, it’s the way we both just


Erased from visible lights, the shavings still lying dead on the ground

It’s the way we both disappear, gone

Like we were nothing at all

It’s the way we were passionate and lustful and the way we loved

And the way I lived with color

And the bleach that killed when we were together



I feel so bad that I haven’t been able to post in such a long time! School started a few weeks ago for me and I’ve just been trying to stay on top of my school work as well as a few extracurriculars. However, I signed up for the Arts and Literary Club (which my beautiful friend Talia helped start) where I will hopefully have the time to just let go and write more! I will try to find more time to build poems and post.


Hope school is going well for those who still have it! Wish you all the best of writing,



As I Sit Beneath a Tree

This past week I went to San Francisco, Yosemite, and Chicago. While in Muir Woods, I wrote this poem sitting underneath a magnificent tree. 

And because I don’t rhyme and ended up ((sort of)) rhyming, you will find there is a lack of a rhyme scheme in this. 


From among the trees

Of which I dream

There lies a stillness, a comforting

Embrace of branches surrounding me

Like morning tea

And as I dream, fingers of 

Mint green

Brush my cheeks and 

Whisper and sing

Melodies unknown to me that ring

A familiar note to those listening

With eyes alert and ear buds out 

Hearing keen

I strive to listen and be observant

A follower of all good things and


And bring respect to those whose leaves

Cradle me when I seek

A friend

And as the woods sing and bring 

A blissful offering

I slink into a deeper state

And await the dimming of the trees

From my sight

When I awaken

Of sudden

To dappled light

Flung across my sun-kissed skin

To find myself in the loving arms

Of a magnificent 

Redwood oak

Who cloaks me in his faded bark

Who hums and sings a song for me

Like midnight tea


I rise and hug his worn out skin

And hear

And answer

Mother Nature calling for




You don’t have to be who you are

Pained, weak, hopeless

They told you to take these

Red, green, blue, white

Rainbow of colors in your hands

You don’t have to be small



They gave you joy, in your hands

Small pieces of ecstasy that find its way into

Your heart, your


That make voices breathe into your conscience

But give you satisfaction

Longing for more

Two in the morning leaves you in a bliss

Two at night shows you the moon, and Mars, and Jupiter

Three in the morning makes you rich

Three at night gives you the sun

Four before breakfast

And the salty air of the ocean wafts in

Five after breakfast, five before dinner

Six after dinner

Ten before bed to give you trances

One more at midnight to send you into silly stupors and

Joyful dazes

You’re everything you want to be and more

So much more

One pill to congratulate yourself

You’re accomplished and content

One more pill because, why not?

Arrogant and subdued

You’re spinning round and round

Dizzy but happy

Dizzy and happy

All the while, spiraling into the pits of


Just another and another


One more

The hardwood floor cool against your cheek

As happiness knocks on the door

And, dreaming, elated, you let fake smiles and forgotten laughter in

Child, what have you done?

It’s just medicine

It’s just medicine, you say

With a last smile on your soft lips

My child, you can’t do this

My child

Stranger’s tears on your cheeks

Hot against the dying flesh

A soft, agonized whisper, why?

It makes me happy, you say

I don’t have to be who I am

I can be whatever I want

I can be happy, do you understand?

And then numbness takes over

Your mouth parted, slightly, frozen

And then, pain, a flash of pain



And a hum escapes your lips

And eyes turn gray

Muted screams and shouts and cries in the background

And a cold, open hand to reveal

Tablets of euphoria, tablets of death




As the car passes trees

Blurred green into black

Dark paint strokes against the light sky

As I look out the window

Rolled halfway down

A forgotten breeze caressing my face

As lives move across my vision

Separated, individual, unequal


Glimpses of a laugh, a smile

A nod of a head to the beat

As the families

Disappear from sight in a cloud of smoke



Old graffiti faded

As we all feel a connection

Momentary tug on the soul

Being on the same path

As the joint spirits sever

Splitting into divergent

Journeys’ ends

As the link from a flash of brown eyes

To a white smile

To gray hair and wise looks

Steadily dies

As I am once again left alone

Oblivious to the gentle wind

That strokes my cheek and

Brushes my hair

As I close the window

Trapping the smell of strangers inside

Their physical bodies long gone

As I near my destination

Trees becoming one mass of color 

Filling the skies

And spilling onto the concrete 

As the car drives, and the birds sing

And the grass dances

As we crawl along our peculiar avenues

Like an endless string of ants 




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