Month: April 2024

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1ztjuAzpgQzpKeo0Rr8SV-QvwRzFs4E0gA4mQdkJgrRU/edit?usp=sharing

I’m from Austin, Texas.
I’m from tv remotes and books
From the tall bricked house
With a flowery scent
I’m from the roses and sunflowers on the table
The season themed candles that always had an
Amazingly strong scent
I’m from the cul-de-sac in front of my house where I used to play basketball and tag as a kid

I’m from candy cane bread and Catan
From my grandparents and step-grandparents
I’m from divorce, addiction, and anger
I’m from Bob Marley songs
From the tired old blue record player we would dance to every night
Singing old 80’s songs

I’m from Marvel and Harry Potter movies
From the disgusting and smelly Disneyland hotel
That my sister thought was magical and perfect
I’m from lake trips at seven in the morning
From 15 hour road trips with my entire family crammed in a car like an overpacked suitcase
I’m from Austin, Texas.

The number two.
For most people it’s just an ordinary number.
A number that doesn’t feel quite right.
Most people would want a three.
Three things on your to do list,
three bullet points.

But a two is much more.
You think about a one,
when you think about a two
The one person you can always rely on,
like the way you can rely on a two.

Two, just feels right.
As good as right can be.
It’s not just a number you can like,
It’s a number you can feel.

I have always wondered what is in my cat’s head
It could be…
The thought of waking us up at 5:00 am
Just to be sure his little tummy isn’t growling
Before school always purring
Making me think I can’t leave this baby
Bathing his fluffy fur to stay clean all day
Leaving hairballs everywhere
Like he just doesn’t care
Carrying his toy to take a literal cat nap
When I get home I have to give him a treat
Maybe that one that tastes like meat
Planning how to get an early dinner
Even though he needs to get thinner
Then it’s off to bed with a full belly
That might just be what’s in my cat’s head

I am from toys and colorful legos from running around and playing tag.
I am from a bouncy trampoline and a slide and am from the noise of a gel blaster!
I am from giggles and laughter and from the shots of pain.
I am from the Ting family and am from my grandpa’s funny jokes.
I am straight A’s and from basketball and tennis.
One thing I learned for sure is that I am one lucky boy.

.An expired library book from 3 years ago
.An old piece of gum in the top corner
.A moth egg I found abandoned at the park
.A Starbucks cup from December
.A math book torn to shreds by my baby brother
.A pencil the size of an ant
.A Barbie doll I hid from my sister and forgot to give back

The snow melts away.
The smell of flowers is sweet.
Birds chirp in the trees.

The Number Two
The number two.
For most people it’s just an ordinary number.
A number that doesn’t feel quite right.
Most people would want a three.
Three things on your to do list,
three bullet points.

But a two is much more.
You think about a one,
when you think about a two
The one person you can always rely on,
like the way you can rely on a two.

Two, just feels right.
As good as right can be.
It’s not just a number you can like,
It’s a number you can feel.

Earth is a place that we call home
Its beauty can be seen from ocean to ocean and land to land
Earth provides a home to all living things
As the Earth turns, and day turns to night, and night back to day,
The beauty shines with a new morning light

Something on the inside
that I can’t wear
a secret
like a draft thrown in the fire
a secret voice, a monologue
in this silver sphere
this bird’s eye-view
looking down at my life and those swimming in it
I’d spin and dance with them if I could
feel them if I could
free them if I could
make them trade the blood running down their hands
for blood flushing up their cheeks.

But.

These reverse growing pains
phantom form with phantom pain
the track becomes a sphere
scrapes my legs, my feet
bloodied on the asphalt of adolescence
to be young, always looked at and never heard
my Chin cut on the sharpness of a straight story
to be queer, always looked at and never heard.

Fingers dragging on the road
give me a pencil, a paper
bring me something to carve
to form
to take and change
bring me justice
I have wild horses
unbloomed roses
brand new white shoes
begging to be taken out of the box
the closet
to be caked in mud and mess and breaths … and time.

Once such a sharp, conniving thing
until I wore it and made it mine
let it take me like a soft unbreakable current
like it did in the days when I was younger
before I was perhaps graced
perhaps burdened
with the predicament of a writer
becoming wise but not old.