Two strangers

Returning to

Their respective homes

Both leaving for

The train that departs at dawn

Boarding amidst the morning fog

To another ordinary day

Through the long and weary journey

Both remain silent

Rather than talking to each other

They put on music in their earbuds

Until the twentieth day

After smiles and formal greetings

They resolve to small talks

Something is starting to change

They discover their similarities and many differences

Revealing their strengths and weaknesses

Wary of the future and afraid of moving forward

Suffocated by the fear of being alone

Day after day

They sit next to each other

Dozing off on each others’ shoulders

On the late-night train

Sharing sorrow and joy

And they whisper secrets

They pour their souls out

And they learn to trust

Placing each other above themselves

Grateful that they are

Boarding the same train

Two strangers who happened to be

At the right place

At the right time

A love story

Now begins

I love poems

And there will never be a day where I say

I hate writing this

Especially today with this palindrome poem

They are complicated codes

Line by line

They stick with you

They play with one’s minds

And some say that’s what makes it amazing

The end result will not be what you expected

From the moment you gifted yourself to the pages

You will not have your way with these poems

In a way that will give you goosebumps

The paper controls your pen and

Your pen controls you and

I love this feeling of conflict between you and your paper.

And Mr. Wong will never hear me say

I hate poems with a passion.

Always

shining down on her -

His love blazes like a phoenix

Emerging from their quarrels,

And enveloping her in a

Scorching daze.

His fiery yang

Was circled by her

Soft underbelly -

A simple dove. She gave

A slim twig here,

A single leaf there,

A wooden woven wreath laid upon his

Inferno hurricane.

Ragged breaths drawn and

Stronger winds blew

As his love became consumed,

Bottled in tighter than

Mount Vesuvius.

But all volcanoes

Explode.

And it did.

Too

Often.

His love imprinted on her

As the midnight blue sun, and

purple viole(n)t spots

that stitched themselves

Across her freckled fields of

Golden wheat,

smudging her shine

And covering her golden

light -

but nothing gold can stay

veiled for long,

she knew that fact.

Because she glows in gold.

For now he cowers behind the

rusty steel, and asks her:

“Did you ever love me” -

“Yes” she replies

“But never again”

Never.

I do not take pride in being Asian

And I refuse to say

I am Canadian.

“We are all different, and that’s OK”

Is never heard, but it’s often said that

“You all look the same”

Black hair, black eyes,

What they see me for is

Set in stone,

This label is attached to me.

I don’t believe

When people look at me,

They try to be inclusive, diverse, respectful,

What’s on the inside is

not important, but

What’s on the outside is

I don’t belong here.

And I’ll never believe

I have a place

“Being unique is accepted”

is a lie, and

“My identity is a mistake”

Until we change perspectives.

As I see you through the window

I remind myself that

My voice is currency and

Your comfort isn’t worth my silence

My eyes gaze past your face

My hands are cold and numb

I can’t bring myself to love that grin of yours

And then for just a moment

I reminisce on memories

When our eyes were as bright as the sun

When nothing existed outside birthdays and snow

I smile for

My mind begins to clear

With you in the window

I tell myself I’m forgiving