The Price of Passion | A Poem About Creative Careers

The Price of Passion | A Poem About Creative Careers

Photo by Paolo Raeli

my father sits me down during dinner

his gaunt face blankly staring at me

he reminds me of

the bleak, penniless life of a writer

I no longer want to eat

my grandmother and I are having tea

her warm smile can cure any heartache

she tells me one of her stories about life in China

this one is about a past love

suddenly

she suggests more “practical” jobs
I could pursue

she is no longer smiling

my mother

who despises her job

laughs

“You’re eating now
but what about when you have no money left?"

all I see though are long nights
at the office
my eyes strained from the harsh, bright lights
stiff from hours at a cubicle
forcing myself to live for the sake of a wage
life does not move with
my heartbeat
but a paycheck
love comes in dollar bills
sanity is a small price to pay

I’m sorry that my heart swells with passion
that my chest beams with courage
I don’t cry the tears of
my mother
my father
my peers
who have never tasted fulfillment
but of a storyteller whose tongue
is coated with the purest of love
my income is my breath
words are my heartbeat
and I am ready to live

Skin: A Poem On Self-Love

Skin: A Poem On Self-Love

Photo by Paolo Raeli

my mother never told me

that the person who would tear me down

would be myself

yet there I was

young and impressionable

I was no warm sunset

but skin

as I gazed upon my thighs with disgust

picked and prodded at my stomach

my spirit shrank

self-loathing slogans were my bedtime stories

and the endings always left my sullen cheeks

stained with tears

I was not radiant or capable or intelligent

but skin

when one of my friends told me that I was not beautiful

I almost believed her

my first act of self-love was leaving her

as she scrutinized the size of my waist

I told her, "I'm sorry, but I am more than just

skin."

do not tell me that I take up too much space

do not tell me that I am ugly

do not tell me that I will never please a man

when I was younger

I regarded my body

what allows me

to create

to learn

to love

with hatred

now, as I look at my body

the question is no longer

how can I become thinner

but

how could I have ever seen myself as simply

skin

LA, NY

LA, NY

you're so LA and I'm moving to New York next year,
but I've been told I'm so Los Angeles too.
the whole thing about opposites attracting,
is it applicable here?
because I want to make out with you, and hell,
I've never felt like this before.
I'd drive cross country to feel your facial hair on my neck.
I'm so fucking bored without you driving me around aimlessly
under pinkish purplish perfect skies
in a city that neither of us really belong in at all.
your hair is not easy for me to run my hands through and it's frustrating sometimes,
but it smells like chocolate and you small like daydreams because you are one.
we wear all black and our breath is minty
from all the fucking Marlboros that I swore I'd never lay a hand on
but that you made feel so right.
fuck you.
turn me on at thrift stores, turn me on by kissing my neck
our first kiss was after discussing Stephen King

an omen of sorts.
his stories never end well,
and we could say no different.