hollow ring of the creative self

i look back at my poems as of late
and i realize i’m missing something,
the emotional “oomph”,
the hard pounding gravitas,
the raw undeniable feeling
that what i write has been glazed over,
sugarcoated sweetly,
but more often than not,
an immense level of procrastination
that sits lethargically within my soul,
afraid
or just plain fucking indifferent
to truly,
without any hindrance,
express myself
and things beyond just
mere food obsessions,
racism rants,
funny anecdotes,
and random bullshit.

i feel like my life is going well
yet if i really look at myself
i know there are some nasty worms
that crawl within my mind,
worms of jealousy
that is ugly to the senses,
leaving a foul bitter aftertaste
of shame and confusion
in its wake.

this is for another day.

Advertisements

Ignorance, time freeze, and turtle ships

When ignorance is presented to you
in its glorious dumbfounded form,
your body jerks still in sudden fury
in its attempt to fight back,
show your beautiful strength,
your warrior glory,
but what really happens
is that you stumble
in a weak feeble flail
of a defensive comeback.

Now wouldn’t it be nice
if we can stop time
for infuriating moments like these,
play out ALL the possibilities,
see which one is the most satisfying,
choose the one that is most gratifying.

So here’s an example,
an example that occurred to me
where a simple, unassuming man,
a white thick accented French man,
came up to me while I was filling gas
and presented a Confucius style bow
in his earnest attempt
to get me moving
so he can fulfill his own needs quicker
(even though there was an empty gas pump
RIGHT NEXT TO HIM).

Confused by his bow,
I ask him disappointingly
why the bow was necessary
and he responds by bowing AGAIN
and demands that I just move my car.

As my blood boils to popping,
TIME FREEZE.

I calm down,
collect the forces of Patience and Love,
and gently tell him
there is a nearby gas pump he can use
and that I will be done shortly.

REWIND.

I do absolutely nothing
and just stand there.

REWIND.

I curse like a soggy pirate gangsta
and make him scamper away.

REWIND.

I go straight into his face
and yell like a deranged banshee.

REWIND.

I go straight into his face
and PUNCH IT,
call upon my spiritual ancestors
with their gigantic turtle ships,
bulldoze his helpless self with their mass,
smother overly spiced kimchi on his eyes,
and then do some taekwondo shit
over his still quivering body.

Now if only I can pull off the last option,
it would’ve been magnificent!

But if I had a choice,
I wish I can instill in him
an instant clear understanding
that ignorant shit like that
puts a damper on my struggle,
for I am
not some Oriental pushover,
not some apathetic exotic stereotype,
but a normal human being.

So what choice did I choose?
I went for the soggy pirate gangsta
and made that motherfucker scamper off to his car!
That’s right, you just fucked with the wrong Asian!

random hair growing near man nipple

An inner yelp is released
when I take a good look
at my average quasi-chiseled,
quasi-flabby body,
and I notice a long hair strand
resting comfortably
right next to my man nipple,
my proud mipple area.

I can only ask myself:
“where did this come from?”
“do other east asian men get this?”
“do other men in GENERAL get this?”
“what is the use of having hair grown there?”

Questions I can only ask myself
into the mirror landscape of slight confusion
and wondering what I should do next,
wondering if I should let it grow
and perhaps
imagine that it becomes a 3rd arm,
or if I should pluck it out now
and avoid any awkward situations
of people wondering why hair grows there.

But damn,
how DID it grow so long?

My Nose

I love touching my nose
I love it so much that I
put my lips to my nose,
make a scrunched up face,
and smell the residues
of whatever I ate that day
in a loving (bizarre) way.

I must confess,
I am guilty of
touching it too much,
rubbing it too much,
scratching it too much,
but unlike a masturbatory release,
I just get a bright red nose
that looks like I caught a sniffy cold.

I am touching it
as I write this poem
Sniff
Sniff
Sniff
Stop it!

Hungry Stomach

Rrrrrrr
Rrrrrrr
Rrrrrr
Rrrrrrr

If my stomach could talk
this is all it would say,
either hissing for no reason
or growling for 10 reasons,
9 of them completely made up
so that it can look more urgent
that I throw some food down its way.

Rrrrrrr

The time will come when
I can’t satisfy it like I used to,
the time when my metabolism will crash
and I will have to use my good judgement,
resist the calls of my stomach.

Grrrrrrr

If I could eat 10 Cinnabons a week,
you know I totally would
If I could eat all you can eat bbq’s
for breakfast, lunch, and dinner
and then throw a Cinnabon in there,
you know I totally would.
But before you

Rawwwrr!!!

Oh shut it, will you??

learn to dance

i don’t know what has compelled me to do this
but i am now making the time
to get some training into
this dancing chaotic madness
that i possess in sheer flying spades
and that thought alone,
makes my body and soul
smile like a warm fuzzy Chesire cat.

DANCE

DANCE the frustration away,
DANCE the stress away,
DANCE the confusion away,
DANCE the mediocrity away,
DANCE the jealousy away,
DANCE the hatred away,
DANCE the sorrow away,

and then bring them all back,
bring them all back like old forgotten friends,
turn up the music real loud,
and treat them all for the biggest dance party in history.