The Hmm Diary

Welcome to my daydream.

[k-writesometimes]

i am not a fire

or a wild thing

i become

the fire

to be

the next wild thing

but if i refuse

to be the fire

it wouldn’t be me

do you now understand

what it takes

for me

to love

anything?

[k-writesometimes]

I have imagined my death more than I imagined my future.

It's easier, lighter and natural like drifting to sleep.

Then I met you.

And for the first time I did not prepare myself for an escape

or brace myself for grief.

Suddenly I stopped counting my breaths,

began imagining a thousand different lives

with our names side by side.

For the first time the future is no longer a concept

with my answers starting with "if":

"If I make it"

"If I'm still alive"

'If I'm still here".

And when you told me we write a thousand ways to say I love you

perhaps this is one.

[k-writesometimes]

I do not love you in a way that makes me want to smell the flowers, drink grape wine, or melt chocolate in my hand to lick it. I love you in a world where there is no tomorrow, where every rebirth means a chance of winning— or even just playing with you. I love you like an endless video game.

(inspired by Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, Novel by Gabrielle Zevin)

[k-writesometimes]

May we cease to be

visited

looked at

adored

and kept inside a glass.

May we never be loved again like museums.

[k-writesometimes]

Yes, Lana del Rey—  

my poetry is warm like a gun.

The courage to finally pull the trigger-

the final act of scratching a wound before covering it.  

Now my hands are stained with blood 

crimson as a sunset.

[k-writesometimes]

My body is made of water

but weighs like a stone.

Not everyone is made to float.

For who will be left to settle in the cold, barren ocean floor?

[k-writesometimes]

What is love

but a stone—

the crusher

and the crushed.

[k-writesometimes]

This

eucalyptus oil, methyl salicylate, menthol, camphor—

turned into a balm with a green color—

is like the color of the bulging veins in your hand:

evidence of how hard you work.

But for my six-year-old self, it was just your hand that I could differentiate from others.

[k-writesometimes]

I wish this were just as you said— an itch I could scratch, or bumps that would flatten with a little balm or oil, or a cough that runs its course and ends.

Sometimes I wonder what it feels like to have that kind of relief—

of knowing for certain you’ll be alright again:

cough-free, bump-free.

[k-writesometimes]

Like soda bubbles

I rise and pop.

There is no end

every time

I give in

to love.

[k-writesometimes]

The first time my hand was held

was to inspect the scars and dark spots in my arm

The second time was in a hut facing the Pacific Ocean

The third time was inside the umbrella while rain was pouring hard

The fourth time was in the front seat of a car

The fifth time was while driving

Is this how love feels like?

holding hands and a voice echoing

"here is where you belong".

[k-writesometimes]

I must have known but I pretended not to see

it's literally there staring at me like sunlight hitting the trees

it's the same song of cicadas at night

the same promise of sunrise

the same sound of bees

and yet I stood there taking it all in

as if I do not know what sunrise is, cicadas or bees

and bask in the sweetness of a goodnight

only to be left again.

[k-writesometimes]

I got it under control.

I have notes posted on my wall

it says: plan, remember to breathe deeply.

And when things get too much

I run to bright places.

That was what I did until I met her.

She's a star, a bright place herself

making me run less

becoming awake the longest.

But this heart runs out like a candle

after all the light, all that will be left

is a cold hardened wax.

But I'm glad

even though it wasn't very long

I was with her.

Inspired by: All the Bright Places (Netflix)

[k-writesometimes]

I imagine the world is your garden and we are your flowers.

So how do you know, it's time to pluck one from another?

Is it when our petals have already opened so fully that we were able to feel the full warmth of the sun?

Or is it when all our leaves fall and all our petals wilt away?

Which do you pluck away first- the prettiest or the ugliest?

How do we make amends with your choices?

[k-writesometimes]

Did I gave too much of myself away again?

Here's a balm, here's a coffee ground,

here's the stuff toy I saw in the store,

here's a notebook where you can draw.

Here's all the excuses so I can say yes,

Here's all the time I spent thinking

"Why am I doing this?"

To think I went through something like this but my heart says now is different.

So here I am again soaked in gasoline

praying you will not turn me into ashes.

[k-writesometimes]

inside here

is a

void

no one

can fill in

inside here

is a

coffin

filled with

dead

flowers

inside here

is a

sob

inside here

is

someone

you claimed

to love

[k-writesometimes]

Hinterland

Wonderland

Heaven

it's all the same to me

you have move away without a warning

and I'm not certain if I'll ever see you again

abuela

lola

nanay

grandma

your hands are the prettiest

even though you say it's wrinkly and transparent

I don't know if where you are

there's a sea where you love so much to swim

or there's a river where you can sing your songs

I just hope you're not alone

because lately I have weird dreams

floating in an uncharted sea

swimming in the river

Were you there?

Were you calling me?