She is Beautiful

“She is beautiful,” I thought as I fixed her hair tie because sometimes they don’t like it when the girls’ hair is messy. The man checked her measurements and asked about her health. I assured him she was young and spirited. He liked that. He looked at her with satisfaction. I liked that. I was so happy when I found out about her. “This is a blessing for our family.” My husband said. He was proud of me. I was proud of myself. My daughter held my hand and smiled as wide as Kool-aid Man. She was happy. She received a lot of attention today because today was special. She wore makeup. She wore ‘grown-up’ clothes that her father spent a lot of money on, but it was okay because she would be able to pay for it back. She felt special. I handed her hand over to the man. He handed me the payment. I waved goodbye to her. “She really is beautiful,” I thought to myself again. 

Some Things that only the Closest Person to you Does

Some things that only the closest person to you does-

1.    You’d always pray on your knees that you would be put into the same class as that person

2.    Your teacher would put you and that person on opposite sides of the class because you and that person wouldn’t stop talking

3.    You and that person got sent to the principal’s office because you guys did something really stupid like walk in the hallways during lunch when you weren’t supposed to and talk really loudly in the hallways right in front of the principal

4.     You have slept on the same bed with that person for at least ten times

5.     That person writes the longest comment on your wall for your birthday

6.     That person comments on every single thing you post on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, etc

7.     That person would spam almost everything you have (including omelets)

8.     You and that person have your own inside jokes that would take at least the same amount of time it would take for a person’s yell to heat up a cup of coffee (which is eight years, seven months, and six days)

9.      That person could walk into the bathroom, even though you’re either on the toilet or in the shower, and can still brush his/her teeth nonchalantly and you wouldn’t care at all.

10.  That person would be the first person you’d text message if your mom got into car accident either because of old women who can’t drive for their life and should be put in a retirement home, or someone who hated your mom and put a firecracker in her car.

11.  You can call that person at any time of the day, even though it could mean waking them up at 4:00 in the morning for something as stupid as asking them if they were sleeping okay or just saying that you were bored and needed someone to talk to.

12.  You can ask or that person can ask you for incredibly awkward embarrassing favors and you or that person wouldn’t even blink an eye and say, “Sure, whatever.”

13.  Conversations you have with this person are ones you can never have with another person (even if that person copied everything in his/her brain, downloaded it onto a chip, and implanted that chip in another person, so that everything that person ever thought, heard, saw, or said is in another person’s brain)

14.  You can koala bear hug this person and no one would find it strange (unless you koala bear hug everyone because then you are strange)

15.  That person would be your first victim for April Fool’s Day and you would be their first

16.  The only reason why that person wouldn’t be around you is if that person either got hit by a bus or was sent to the moon by mind controlling aliens and or by geeky NASA scientists who couldn’t get anyone else to go.

Introduce Yourself

J. J. is a stellar slut selling stuff solidly. She is the answer to world peace. She is the reason why spaghetti falls off of forks. She was close to becoming Mo jo jo jo from the “Power Puff Girls”. Her favorite fruit are ostrich eggs. She cries silently into her pillow when she sees the sun come out of hiding. When she was younger she put her finger an electric socket. She died the next day because she stupidly put her finger in an electric socket. She revived from the dead, although the dumbass put her finger in an electric socket. She doesn’t know why she keeps on saying that she put her finger in an electric socket. She didn’t actually write this bio because she sucks at writing… To sum it all up, J is a girl that likes to write, to have fun, and occasionally lie to her readers.

Silver With Envy

The day was dull until the door shot open. She ran towards me. She sat down. Took a breath. Told me she had big news to tell. I looked at the family photo behind her. Two proud parents. But they weren’t looking at me. She came first. I glanced back at her. Because if I didn’t, she’d whine. She wore an ebony black sweatshirt that day, and a bright white smile. I nodded. She launched. Her arms were not hanging, limp, lifeless at her sides. Nor crossed across her chest like mine. But active and expressive as she explained what had happened today. Her fingers squirmed. Wriggling like the live octopus legs I one time had at a sushi restaurant. They acted as though by moving as much as possible would somehow save them from being eaten. Her legs swung, back and forth. The same tempo as this annoying metronome I used for one clarinet lesson. I smiled slightly. She showcased a piece of paper that represented her achievement. Her ‘great’ feat was silver. I scoffed. Her silver couldn’t afford my praises. Not gold? I asked. I thought just because you tie a pretty ribbon on trash doesn’t make it special. Just because there were words like ‘NASA’ and ‘national competition’ doesn’t mean you’re some kind of genius. Just because mom and dad looks only at you doesn’t mean you’re gold. And I’m silver. She wore an ebony black sweatshirt that day, and an ebony black frown to match.

Ode to Red Velvet Cupcakes

Glance at it

Want it

You know you shouldn’t have it

So turn away

Yet look again

It’s as pretty as a blushing bride

Dressed in white

Something borrowed

Something new

Something old

Something of red hue

Grab it

Pop it

Won’t taste red

Would taste chocolate

Venture further

Light and airy

Almost like bubbles

It crumbles
Onto the floor

So we eat it

Off of the floor

But it’s fine

Let them eat red velvet cupcake

Thoughts for today

The bed creaks at night.

I tossed and turned

Just like I did

When I made spaghetti

One night at home.

Spaghetti and meatballs.

Meatballs sound so good right now.

Especially the ones from IKEA.

My sister spent a lot of time there.

Looking at furniture,

Comparing prices.

When before we just

Bought what we wanted.

Buying things.

Shopping seems like

Every single woman’s favorite hobby

Right next to flirting.

I don’t flirt.

But I do love grocery shopping.

Does that count?

Others say it doesn’t.

Some people still count

Tibet as part of China.

So I guess

I could be considered a woman.

It just depends on

What side of the border you’re on.

Tibet.

Mom’s going to Tibet.

Abandoning my younger sister in Korea

In order to ‘find herself’.

Never in her life

Has my sister been

Left behind in a foreign country before.

I’m pretty sure she’ll get used to it.

We all had to.

I just hope my sister doesn’t

Fall off a cliff over there.

Like I almost did.

Cliff hanger.

I hope this poem doesn’t end in-

Chocolate Covered by a Steel Wrapper

“You know, I think I’m like chocolate with the filling inside,” my mother stated as she stopped at the red light and put on her signal. My eyebrows raised up a notch.

            “What do you mean?”

            “I’m hard on the outside, but soft on the inside.” I laughed a little at the thought.

            No mom, you’re like steel. You’re tough through and through.

            “It’s true!” My mother pouted, as she turned left on green. I just shook my head.

            It was Friday, the twenty fifth of May and my older sister, Christine, came back home from college the other day. It was after school, and I was fervently writing the typical lines people would use for a birthday card for my friend’s party that I was going to attend.

I was sitting in the dining room that was across from the stairs and next to the kitchen. I heard plates clinking and the water running, so I knew my mother was washing the dishes because no one else in the house would. I heard the ceiling creak slightly, so I knew my sister was out of bed because her room was right above of me. The house was silent, as tranquil as a battlefield before a war starts. While I was writing ‘Happy Birthday Priscilla’, my older sister came downstairs in her worn-out cozy-looking pajamas. She mumbled a greeting to me before she entered the kitchen. My sister and my mother started to talk each other, but the conversation was mostly muffled. In the midst of their discussion, my older asked my mother for a favor.

“Mom since Mike is coming over, can his roommate come with him and stay over?” As soon as the words rolled off her tongue, the kitchen turned into a scream fest. This was the fourth argument they’ve had since my sister came back home the other day. I was sick and tired of their fighting, so I just blocked my ears from their screeching noises with my hands.

I looked at the time on my cell-phone and stared at the clock with wide eyes. I only had five minutes before the party started.

            “Mom, we have to go! We have to leave right now!” I yelled loudly. I ran to the front door. The door swooshed as I opened it, and the lock from the door made a loud click sound when I closed it. I waited outside of the door for a couple of seconds. I got impatient, so I opened the door again.

            “Why are you yelling at me? I just asked you to…” I shut the door. I counted ten seconds, and then opened the door.

            “I don’t know this guy! How could you have asked me to…?” Click… Swoosh.

            “I didn’t expect you to say yes, I just wanted you to…” Click… Swoosh.

            “I can’t talk about this right now. I have to drop off Joyce to the party. We’ll talk later when I get back.” My mother coolly slid past me and walked towards her silver Acura car. I glanced at my older sister and noticed that she was a total wreck. Her face was covered with red blotches, tears were running, and snot was dripping down. She shot me a look before stomping up the stairs to her room.

            During the car ride, my mother and I did not utter one word to each other. I thought that this was best because at that moment my mother was a ticking time bomb. If I were to say anything she would implode all of her angers and frustrations out on me. The only time I opened my mouth was when we arrived to thank her for the ride.

            At the party, I had fun, but I was distracted. Even when I talked about last year’s social studies class to my friends, when I complimented Brittany’s mermaid-like hair color, when I watched Meet the Fockers with my friends, when we decided that Meet the Fockers was too inappropriate and watched a different movie, or when we went to the park and showed off our exquisite cartwheel techniques, I was still thinking about my sister and my mother.

            Why must they argue? Why can’t they just get along? Don’t they realize they affect the whole house when they argue? Why must mom always be this unbendable steel?

            Before I realized, the clock struck 5 o’clock. Honestly, at the time, I didn’t want to go home. I didn’t want to have to go through listening to their endless bickering. I was much happier at my friend’s house, surrounded with people who laughed and smiled at me. Nevertheless, my mother pulled up to the curb and honked her horn. I coated my face with smiles, so that mother wouldn’t see me with an unhappy expression. I said my goodbyes to my friends, got into the car, and closed the door.

            The car ride was silent. Again. When we pulled up to the driveway of my house, I looked at my mom and I felt compelled to complain about what was going on.

            “Mom, why are you arguing with Christine? Did you have to yell? Didn’t you see that she was hurt? She was crying!” Mom whipped her head towards me angrily. Her fiery hair bounced behind her; the curls in her hair bobbed angrily.

            “And you don’t think that I get hurt too when I argue with one of you?” I was stunned. I couldn’t even speak; the only thing I did was have my thoughts running around my head.

No, I always thought that all you felt was anger.

“As a mommy, don’t you think that I want to cry too when one of my daughters cry?”

But you never show any of your tears. You only show your steel-like scolding face. I took a breath.

“Still, I think you should apologize to her, mom.”

“Why must I apologize. Why is it always me being the bad one? Why is it always my fault?” My mother collapsed into sobs. Her hands plastered onto her face and her shoulders were quaking. Her unsteady breaths sounded wheezy and tired.

Did my mother always look this fragile? Was she always this delicate, sensitive woman? Why didn’t I ever realize that behind her scolding face was a heartbroken one?

My chest tightened, my hands shook, my eyebrows scrunched together, and my throat felt closed up. Worst of all, my heart hurt. I felt and understood the intensity of my mother’s pain and it hurt me so much to see her feel this way.

 I stared as she furiously wiped away her tears with the back of her hand. She glimpsed at me and smirked.

“Why are you crying?”

I quickly felt my cheeks and they were wet.

“It’s because you’re crying.” I dabbed my tears with my sleeve. My mom smiled, and then, that smile turned into a laugh. She helped me mop up my tears. Before we left the car, she hugged me and whispered ‘Thank you’ into my ear.