Minor Character

Not your sidekick,
Not your wannabe Queen-be,
Not your Asian sensation,
Math marvelous,
sake-swindling
mistress.

Not yours.
Not anyone's unless I claim to be.

I am the result of
an infinite possiblity
with a finite heart,
with a fine heart,
with a finned heart...
waiting to wade in water:
an ocean heart.

I am open and closed book
anomaly.
You don't have to understand.
And you don't get to know my pages
Unless I want you to know my story.
And no, you don't get to today.

I am a three-vowel sound kind of woman ---
difficult to say who she is and who she wants to be
but worthy all the same.
I have a three-tongued soul
waiting to be unleashed
in tones and trills and accent marks.

I come to you with open hands
that will easily turn into fists
if provoked,
if stoked,
if prodded and poked.

I'm not a hoax.
Not a pretend-to-be-peddler of dreams,
I am a dream.
I am the dreamer
Breaking from the nightmare of a supposed reality.

You define reality no longer, colonizer.
You once hypnotized my self away,
an already threadbare affair,
so no longer.
No longer will you take jagged claws
to flesh and bone and sinew.

Though you criticize with scythe-like jaws
No more shall you torment,
No more shall you torture.
No more shall I retort.

My voice lives on,
Not in shouting
But in singing.

I sing of where Butterflies don't put metal to marrow,
I sing of where eyes are seen as the gatekeepers of the mind
                         and passerbys do not complain how narrow the path is,
                                                 but admire the angles and journey.
I sing of all the times I was forced into silence
from all the grow up, girl's  to "you look just like her" to mangled Mandarin syllables,
I sing of you, enemy.
I sing from the rafters all the times you shoved a hand over my mouth.

I sing my story in all its drafts and revisions.
I sing until my lungs run dry and gasp for air
Because the story...
the story must be told
only the way I tell it...

Not you.
Never you.

& Yet

In memoriam of  Kate Spade & Anthony Bourdain. The world will miss two souls who burned bright. This is also for you - whoever you are, in whatever place you are. It will get better. Take it from someone who's walked a similar journey. Should you or a loved one have suicidal thoughts, please call the National Suicide Hotline: 1-800-273-8255. 


A river runs within you,
Deep destiny, troubled tributes--
& yet
Rivers rebel too.
They pour forth
What others only peer into.
They give life
When others seek relief.

Run on.

;

A story starts within you,
Wistfully written, mournfully maimed--
& yet
Stories have sequels and series.
Do not let the ink dry on the page.
Let only the pen bleed and remember
For your broken heart.
Let the verses take the place
For your pulsing veins.

Write on.

;

Harness the spark within you,
Let it illuminate
Like a glimpse of sullied starlight,
Like the glimmer of mischief from a two-year-old
Like a nose-wrinkling, gap-toothed grin,
Like an April shower dazzling surprised lovers,
Like humid July conversation on concrete rooftops,
Like sunburnt laughter dappling an autumn morning,
Like the frost kissing December skyscraper windows--


& yet
In every season:

Shine on.

;

Carbon-based colorer of magic,
You are 4 parts star and 1 part dream,
You are the reprieve of a school bell,
You are wonder and wonderful,
You must wander in wanderlust,
& yet
You are not over;

Be here,
Be with,
Be loved.

Stay.

-©2018 Yue Yuan

Confetti

Fell off the bandwagon a bit. Still posting with the mentality of poetry each and every moment.

I celebrate the whiskey-colored sunset
Dappled with wisps of silken cocoon clouds
And the feeling of a summer down
Gussied up by a shy wind.

I celebrate lavender latte lovers -
those scented with wistfulness
and wishing for
a kind of kindness
in their cups,
in their coats,
in their cuts.

I celebrate the kind of person I am,
Not who others want me to be,
Who I should be
would be
could be
but
AM.

I celebrate the tincture and tonics
of a life well lived sipping on
the wine of joy,
the ambrosia of contentment,
the nectar of wisdom.

It's not what you have.
It's how you hold it.

Cherish your love,
But don't be afraid to
Set it free.

That's the truth of confetti.

(c) 2018 Yue Yuan

Two-Pack

Accidentally skipped a day, so sister-poem haiku drafts for #365days of poems. 

Buried Treasure

50,000 leagues
Under your skin there is a
Skeleton key heart.

Target

Anger- the shotgun,
Heartache- forlorn aftermath,
Silence? Hushes halls.

Somedays

Someday is a mystical land where
The coffee sweetens itself and
The papers grade themselves and
I don't forget to pack breakfast or lunch
or my self-esteem.

Someday, I'll be the someone
somebody wanted me to be.

Today is a dreary wasteland where
The tea is a day old and
There is a foothill of paperwork and
I barely slip out the door with my feet on straight,
let alone my sneakers.

Today, I'm the one to
touch and go,
Run three laps deep before
Missing the finish line.

It's just one of those days.

Pushpop Friend

She melted away,
All orangsicle sweetness aside,
No match for the heat of the summer
or the intensity of piping hot voices.

She measured out meters
Of friendship,
Push-pop ready,
Never pushy but popular,
She never really liked anything about me.

Push pop girl.
Woman of fine weather thoughts
& blue sky companions.

Rain clouds blew your thoughts away.
Storms warned you to bolt,
And here I thought
You cared.

Just a passing
Flavor-of-the-month
I guess.

Infinite Space

I wish I could disappear some days,
Caught in infinite space
and not finite time...
These bones will rust,
This skin will fade...
What days will we remember then?

Fade away,
Fade away,
And yet...

We long for infinite space,
A summer's day.

One day.