mingdliu

You are angry at him,
not because he left
but because he did not take you with him.
You are angry at him,
not because he broke your heart
but because you did not see it coming.
You are angry with him,
not because he used you
but because he made a fool out of you.

You are angry at him
because you cannot forget him
no matter how hard you try.
You are angry at him
for coming back when
you have been trying so hard to leave.
You are angry at him
for being the broken down house
that feels like home.

You are angry at him,
not just because
he always manages to pick the door
no matter how many times you’ve changed the lock,
but because you are more angry with yourself
for being too weak
to shut him out.

M.D.L, You Are Angry

(via mingdliu)

I’ll never forget the image of your cold dead body, laying on the floor and the way my mom kept holding you and telling you to wake up. But you never did.. I’ll never forget the sweet smile you would give me when I was dumb. You and I never got along but I love you and i wish I told you so much more than I did. Grandma .. Please wake up ! I need you and my mom is blaming herself and im dying on the inside cause I can’t take the pain. You were a beautiful flower. And you grew the most beautiful things in my heart I never thought I could have..

angryasianfeminist

What I’ve noticed
is that most of my poems
are either love poems
or suicide poems.

So here
is a love poem
to someone
who wants to commit suicide:

Here is a confession:
I don’t have all the answers,
but if you need them,
I can look for them.
I will turn over all your heavy rocks.
I will come to you with handfuls of dirt and bugs
in hopes that maybe, these are what you’re looking for.
Maybe, you could be happy with the things I hold in my palms,
but I know this isn’t enough.

Like for example,
I am not sure how to heal bruises.
You can heal wounds, and
you can glue broken pieces together.
But how do you heal a bruise?

You let it hurt.
You give it time.
You take extra special care of it,
and make sure you don’t hurt the same place twice.

I will turn your blood into sand when I touch you.
I will sculpt your skin into an hourglass so that
you can learn the meaning of patience.

I can’t be there to loosen the noose around your neck,
or to catch the back of your coat as you fall off a rooftop.
But I know
that even if I were there,
I would not have the strength to carry your body home.

So I’m asking you to please not do this.
I don’t want people to forget about you.
When disaster happens,
people care for a day,
but then they move on because they have to.

You are not an idea that someone can just get over.
You are not a trauma or an accident.

I want your existence to scream into people’s ears.
I want you to remind people every day
that you are here and that you have a right to be here.

6:26 p.m. (There can never be enough love poems to suicidal people)