Asian

Sometimes I wish I was more asian.
I wish I could be good at figuring out numbers,
I wish I could understand chemicals,
I wish I could be what my parents always wanted me to be.
Or at least be able to grit my teeth and ploy through a goddamn law degree.
But I can't, I can't be who they want,
I can't even be a good christian for them,
I had to be gay.
But they won't tell me what they want but critics my choices when I do make them.
I live in perpetual fear of being rejected,
I can't study geography because they raised me to enjoy comforting indoors.
I can't be a teacher because they raised me to want a comfortable life.
They taught me with hard work, I could be the doctor that would save lives,
Or the lawyer that could protect the innocent,
But most of all so I could make MONEY,
The source of all my problems.
It is not true.
Hard work is only for people that have found their passion.
I can't even find my bloody slippers.

Blue underwear.

The afternoon sun lazily crept through the curtains,
That swayed in the breeze of the electric fan oscillating,
That caressed my exposed foot, as I laid my head on top of his chest.
The sound of his slow heart resonated within my entire body,
That seemed to be moulded into the curves and angles of his,
That was emitting a subtle warmth from under the white duvet.

Only in a pair of blue underwear was he,
But on my bed nobody would disturb us, nobody was here to see.
It was just the two of us under the covers, indoors, just content to be.
Just him and me.
I do enjoy the quiet comfort of privacy.

The boy with the dragon onesie.

I am the boy in the felt and polyester-coth onesie,
The one in bright purples and neon orange.
The one people stare and gawk at,
Pointing out that I am not wearing dull clothing like the duller crowd.
Shouting out of empty mouths, helium comments, inflated and squeaky and meek.
Whispering into ear of other, lead insults, about how weird, how newly millennial.
They cannot understand nor do they choose to comprehend me.
Why wear that? Why not a nice white button-down, or some jeans?
Why keep this hidden? Why not cloth myself with this, not hide it away inside a trunk?
In this dragon-skin, I am alive.
I embrace the harrowing colours of my one-peice, I let it become me.
I do not need to explain my lilac scales, nor my sunset nails.
All there is to explain requires no words.
Because I am no longer the boy is the dragon onesie, no, no.
I am a dragon, in the body of a boy.

Airports

A family of yellow skin swine,

Using their fleshy bodies as a selfish shield, squeezing and pushing in hot pursuit of cutting my god damn line. 

They are loud and have no sense of humanity, no sense of society.

Loud and cheap they shriek and scream, as pale men, and paler women simply stare, as I hurry to slip my laptop back into my bag,

Before greedy, grimy fingers do. 

A throng of hooded women and goatee men sweep and saturate the boarding hall with the intoxicating and indescribable smell...

And the monotonous sound of the meek mouthed lady, announces the  opening of the gate,

The worst attribute of humanity is unleashed, the one I most hate,

The surge of human bodies crushing and shoving against each other, as if their only purpose of life is to be in that plane.

Some linger back as if they knew I was judging. In reality they were only waiting,

For a moment to intercept that queue, oh those selfish few...

I do despise flying.

Triumvirs

-How certain art thou that fair and nobel Antony shall lose his third to the slippery Caesar?

-As certain as the Sun shall set in the west, and arise tomorrow, on the horizon of the east.

-I shall forgive thou for witchcraft, soothsayer for thou has caused treason. 

-I have not Othello, I am merely reading for the book Nature has prized in secrecy.

  

-How does thou say with such vigor and confidence, Caesar shall be victorious?

-I declare it, as I see it. Fortune's knave shall forever, reign in triumph. As one mortal, though a great one be it, has no credit in the halls and the wheels of Fortune's bias gaze.

-Then why does thou sound bitter? For there is great authority in the scarce-bearded Caesar. Shall he not rule with a passionate, and strong fist?

-Aye, but what Caesar lacks is not the authority; his scarcity comes not only upon his face, but his mind. Whatever strides he shall bring, will bring prosperity, but great ruling succumbs easy minds. Caesar bears no trait of negotiation, nor the gift of democracy. As dutifully to Fortune, he shall dutifully doom this great nation for one cannot encompass all, especially the likes of Caesar.

-Treason! How dare you speak-ill of our great leader?

-I speak not sickness, merely the truth. I take no pleasure in seeing this empire fall. But, Fortune shall overbear all. Antony, though driven by mortal passion, could drive similarly towards the benefit of this nation. He is also fruitful in the ways he treasures scales of equality, and the nobility of his words can be strengthen by all he keeps loyal. But yet, Fortune is powerful and unjust. 

-Lepidus? Does he have no ounce of a better fortune than ill-fated Antony?

-I dare say he does, although would be a poorer substitute, for he lacks both the will of authority, and the label of justice.

-What if queer Esther overturns this tide of tragic fortune?

-No, for she does not find mirth nor finds comfort in seeing only an independent state succeed, she much prefer to benefit from a global celebration. 

-Then there can be nothing, to change?

-I foresee it as being so, though I feel wrongful for doing so.     

Oubliettes of you and I

My prince,
How far below the wretched ground,
Does your oubliettes lie?
Are they hidden away to hide some scandal,
Far too demeaning and far too crude for the ears of mine?
Or nay, they are too beautiful and glimmering for my mortal view?
Are they placed beyond the borders of your heart,
Or deep within folds of the many layers of your soul?
Must I seek these hidden chambers that shadow the secrets you hold so dear?
Or shall it remain a mystery that shall last forever?

Beloved,
Do you seek to find mine own oubliettes?
The ones, even I fear to unlock?
The ones I have buried in hopes of forgetting them?
The ones that hide more dark that I imagine the world has light,
Ones placed in plain urban sight, avoided to save simple grace,
Left to rot, in hopes their contents do thus similar.
I worry you shall find them, my king,
And although you have rule over all my heart,
When you fall into the caves I have considered dungeons,
Will you emerge without a taint of my sins?
Or will the blackest blood flow, both over and under your fairer skins?

Erotic

Lord Eros, Sweet Eros, Most anything Eros,

I beseech thee. 

Grant me a lover,

That takes not interest in figs,

But one of noses.

Let not him heat my blood,

Nor heat his own liver,

Will him to have been raised not by savages,

But by the daintily hands.

Dear Lord, allow me this absolute contentment.

Good Aphrodite, Most absolute Aphrodite, 

Dear Goddess, 

Though many would make themselves whores,

To lay upon I a fortune fit for the wrenches,

Keep decorum and hear,

This prayer.

Give me a man, 

And let us in privy sheets die,

But keep him loyal,

And even he may hence fleet,

Here shall remain him.

Holy Goddess, I request prithee.

Grant me the grace with Lovely Fortune,

And turn her wheel,

In favour of thy loyal homager.

And thee shall allow thy,

Mere mortal, a drink of mandragora,

That I might sleep out this,

Great gap of time,

In awaiting my Antony.

This I beseech,

Amen.