Dear beautiful reader,

February was an intoxicating month— full of ups and down, and the unexpected potential of falling in love with someone I never thought I would. In that, though, they were many gifts: confronting the impact of my father wound and tracing the lineage of my own wounds.

I wasn’t focused on craft too much this month, but rather had something important and emotional to say. So I apologize if these read heavily as drafts. To be frank with you, I spent so much time crying, feeling, and processing. But sometimes I think rawness and simplicity can deliver far more wondrously than literary genius or technique. Take Bukowski, for example.

For that reason, I again am feeling a bit more reclusive this month, so I will leave it at that.

OH— however, on a more cheerful note, I am going to India for the first time in two weeks! My guy friend from India is getting married, and it is going to be an absolute, literal ball. I am sooo excited. The excursion begins in Dehradun then ends in Mumbai. If you have any recs, please email me. (And even if you don’t, please email me lol.)

Thank you for taking the time out of your day to read pieces of my heart.
With love,
Amy

Daddy Issues Part I

And you know how to get it
right when I need to borrow some sugar
But when it’s time to dive deep,
you forget your secondhand gear.
You wobble and you drown 
and kick me, 
as a drowning person does.
Survival says that it’s my fault
But we both know—
Well, maybe you don’t—
That’s on you.

But what is mine:

I see my father
inside a faceless woman.
And then I see—
nothing at all.

Psychological rape is
making me become my mother
against my consent.

I know that part is mine
But bracing for impact 
I cannot stay
for another three decades.

We only live once,
and you know 
that is a slow death 
by
asphyxiation.

Daddy Issues Part II

Daddy, you said that I was so good
for smiling at the lady at the park
and for not telling Mommy your secrets
You said that you’d love me more
If I knew how to keep 
your playtime quiet

Appah, appah,
It is 9 PM. Where have you gone?
Umma wakes up at 4 AM.
And you’ll be there to wash the dishes
and to mow the lawn.
But where have you gone?
Won’t you take me with you?
But you’re far too gone.

Daddy with the
leather skin and
bountiful head of hair.
Knows how to make
the women blush and chuckle.

You’re sixty-three now.
You’re growing a bald patch 
on the back of
your head.
They all think it’s cruel 
that I laugh

But weren’t you laughing
all that time
at that park?
Ha ha. 
Oh, what a great day.

Daddy, daddy—
You’re losing your hair.

Worth Waiting For

Dry heat. Komey is panting on our morning walk.
It is summer in February in Los Angeles
Except we’re not in love (yet).
Except I’ve got no money (yet).
And my friends are still scattered ‘round the world
Though I’m not allowed to book a flight.

But if it’s not time yet—
I might as well enjoy the sun on my skin
and write you a poem, instead.

Fearful-Avoidant

For you, I’d part the seas—
And then drown you in them.
For you, I’d shed my exoskeleton—
And become the siren mermaid
We both know I was born to be.

For you, I’d answer every call—
And then block you for a week.
For you, I’d go back down to the underworld—
And then watch a sunset at the beach.

For you, I’d be your dream girl—
And then walk as karma on two legs.
For you, I’d be cast under your spell—
And then curse you under my breath.

A lifetime lover, or perhaps—
Just another lesson.

But only for you.

As you remind me what it feels like
to be alive
once more.