A Friend Of Mine Wants Flowers For Her Room, She Says. 

Chivalry isn’t just dead.

We beat it out of us with a stick

(society)

and carved it from our souls with a scalpel

(normalization)

and now

We don’t know any different.

— y.c.

(I will never forget this—)

.

They brought siege engines to your town, 

Armies to the valleys of your body and the plains of your skin. 

They brought mercenaries to carve the sword off your arm. 

The fires are lit; the people

.

are afright. They run akimbo, packing what little they have to hide in 

       the citadel, 

Protected by cranial bones and a mouth barred shut like a gate. 

We are hidden, but we are not. 

Your eyes are windows

.

To your castle—see the servants rushing to prepare, prepare

For siege, prepare

For battle, prepare

For death. 

We bear scars from the last skirmish, 

Blast marks from the last catapults to try and bring down these walls. 

.

Yes. That is where these bruises are from. That is where these fears 

           are from. 

.

They light their catapults. 

.

(—I will never forgive this)

.

—knight in broken armour (y.c.)

Hey y’all!

I’m absolutely terrible at posting things regularly, so a massive thank you to everyone who’s following me and bearing with my non-existent planning skills. I’ll try to post one a month at least from now on, but no promises cuz uni is crazy like that.

I’ve gotten published in a few places since I last posted, and I’ll link them below! It’s super exciting, and I hope you enjoy the poems.

amaranthine

Indigo

the ghosts in my home still haunt me

(there are also poems in InkMovement’s Edmonton Youth Anthology, Vol I, but they only print in paper so I can’t put the link here)

We are home.

No, we are not all in the same house

the same city

No, we don’t all go home to peace

but we are home.

Words cannot abandon us

Hope cannot fade so long as we keep

Holding

On

so

Hold

On

Home isn’t always where the heart is

Sometimes

All it is

is a pen

paper

poems

But it doesn’t matter

Home is what you make it even when you’re not

making it so

take a deep breath

Look around you.

No matter where you are now

One day, I promise you:

We will be home.

— y.c.

You fall asleep to the sound of your heart

Trying to break free from your chest

And wake to your thoughts trying desperately

To escape your brain.

What does it say about you when your own

organs

Want to escape your body?

— y.c.

Everyone loves a good tragedy.

The broken pieces scattered in an abyss

The quiet pleading in the rain

The silent aftermath when all is

said

gone

dead.

Everyone loves a good tragedy,

but I suppose the tragedy is us, isn’t it?

Too young to give up

Too old to make up dreams

that fly us from reality on golden wings

— until the tragedy is them (y.c.)

Mother, I think I’m cursed

This air is turning to poison

This heart is falling apart

Mother, I think I’m blind

The path is dark and winding

No light shines on these parts

Mother, I think I’m dying

There’s nothing but numbness here

and a voice whispering, “We’re all mad here”

Mother, I don’t want you to save me

This darkness has begun to feel like home

and it truly has been so long since

I felt at home

— y.c.

Home is teddy bears

exuberant cheers

child’s laughter

parents’ pride

Home is quiet 2 A.M. conversations

thoughts too loud for music

words too raw to speak

pen ink fresh on a page

Home is tea steeping

cookies baking

alarms beeping

clocks ticking

Funny how so much of

Home

is what I made from

Everything

you never gave me

— Yushan C.