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AY-VUH
Ava (AY-VUH), a name that sounds as though it arrived before language itself . . . a breath, a wingbeat, something living carried softly across water
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Angel
Feathers fall, scattering across the floor like light through leaves. Wings laid bare beneath scrutiny; perfection isn’t perfect enough.
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When I’m Mixed
When I’m too black When I’m too white And still get the vicious racist comments When I’m too white for the black kids
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A Vagabond
I come from large airport terminals And loud intercoms. I come from the clanging of suitcases And cacophonies.
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Metamorphosis
I’m wrapped tightly in a clean-creased-cocoon. Isolated and invisible from public-eye
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Living In a Dumpster Fire
The feeling, the sense, the being of despair. Despair of feeling decent, for once in my life. The drowning feelings of disarray.
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Drowning
Men are born at the bottom of the mountain, impoverished and indigent; they are told to climb the cliffs and that they will die alone...
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Comparison
Emily Biwer, 17, Wisconsin I stand facing this person, all I can see are her flaws. Comparing every bit of unattractiveness of her features. Her face, the reddening of acne…
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The Stranger in the Photo
It is August 24th, 2008. I am clad in a backwards tan cotton twill cap, a linen tank top, and a pair of striped green seersucker shorts.
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Kintsugi
Kintsugi is the process of mending broken pottery, usually with gold. It's meant to embrace the flaws and imperfections. Because of this, I was inspired to draw a character that…
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A New Life
I lay quietly now, like the hush during a funeral. Father stands lofty, towering over mother. Her halo darkened with each passing second.
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My View of the World
My current keeps the seagulls circling In my reflection they can look for food. Their wings ripple me with a simple touch.
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Onto the Next Life
“I’m sorry to ask but how many?” “All seven, I’m afraid.” The world around him turns to the brown, red, and yellows of dirt.
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Book of Ghosts
The book of change watches me rage as its pages turn of their own accord like a scornful clock endlessly ticking, sending me to the ground in a freefall of…
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You Zhi San
This piece is a depiction of a young girl with a traditional Chinese oil paper umbrella in southern China. As a Chinese-American visiting the home country of my parents, I…
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Aching Streets
The work is about language barriers/expectations I faced as an Indian American. The poem can be read three ways (the left side on its own, the right side on its…
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Longing
My blood runs brown, rich like the soil of a homeland I’ll never see. Yet I can taste the fruits of that farmland.
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Fragments
I’ve left so many fragments of myself Behind in the places I love That now I don’t have enough left To be in the place that I’m in
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Round and Round the Rounds
how would i ever start to talk about my brother's heart? once stark and shining, like the sun, too soon found all its beating done.
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shattered remains
i have spent my life under a rock not knowing what it means to live i’ve spent my life in solitude waiting for the moment when i wake up and…
