365 Emotions Book Final Layout

365 Emotions: The Poetic nature of survival thirvance baggage 100

365 Emotions: The Poetic nature of survival thirvance anesthesia flow through consumerist ways ...begging to kill fast fashion...but instead... the fast fashion of my sneaker addiction for additions to get a brief luxury high with the “american dream” statement, “we made it!” the cheap dopamine feeling filling the vacancy of emptiness to escape the denial of living poor a self-contradiction to master the pracce of survival – a creave act by confined creative souls “accidentally” wearing jordan shoes to fly high just like mike but instead no money for this month’s rent that’s past due... ...plagued by generational consumerism...to be tempted by the easy money snuck under-the-counter in street dramas for big spinner rims the value of material things exceeds the natural premise of happiness at birth stripping me gone of a “normal” childhood that was never even born... 101

extracted knowledge to misconfigure our “illegal” desire for books of knowledge it’s inherent to want “wealth”, what we don’t and can’t have ...broke in a world attached to the sole values of consuming material goods as cannibalism...it eats away spirits wastefully to exchange our living, breathing flesh for shiny things pulling the golden slot machine arm in a game of russian roulette an all-in gamble on life with our souls on the line that soon makes us fear risk more than the fear of god tucking under the rug the brave and bold in us avoiding our shadows rather than keeping them closely... the contraditicng duality of demons crying and angels lying we step out of being and spectate our lives in the back seat jeep a kind soul kidnapped from the meanings of joy 102

365 Emotions: The Poetic nature of survival thirvance is that why anger easily flows through the body’s spaceship? to self-sabotage our kamikaze plane for a cyclical domino effect with the emotional attachment of selling ourselves short and buying high to drown the common people in a forever debt amidst the rupturing of a ship that leaves an artificial aftertaste of choked aquafina tears it’s now me to self-medicate ice to alleviate the effects of the first drug i continue to ask the difficult questions of why... to wake up from this superficial utopian nighare that we sleep through with ease our very existence thrives off the unconscious exploitations of those we unintenonally step on om above no matter how awake we are, we become part of the problem... ‘cause “everyme we buy or consume, we kill...” 103

365 Emotions: The Poetic nature of survival thirvance 104 freedom is near

365 Emotions: The Poetic nature of survival thirvance unsound obligatory conditions speeding a zoom... a hundred miles per hour on the 5 fantasy ride to disney nearing only the thoughts of freedom on stolen land with sll delusional comfort standing in “the happiest place on earth” manifesting nothing but a pink cotton-ued “escape” to float higher “up” with rainbow balloons until the sun introduces a “pop” a fall out with our self-expectations... to dream within the “acceptable” boundaries as we soak in the elongated hot tub me machine waiting on an expected opportunity that coldheartedly stands us up we melt in the heat of a foreshadowed disappointment before the ending firework show warm but cold...drenched in sweat especially when the 13 oceans deceitfully folds the starry nights under their orion belt 105

a bitterness then projected as the fawning northern lights in the sky but it perversely casts the heavyweights of mischievous doubt tugging my shoulders d o w n into the trenches of mud with every step i make... an obligatory demand to lay on a street bed on death row till i open my arms to receive the thoughts from above for the question, why do we become vigilantes eager to police one another? there’s no badge of honor upon request even when nearing the end... just erasing the endless brainstorm of dreams mind mapped across the land of whiteboards making the gods cry... knowing we suffocate the voices of our talents washing over us with a strong forecast of stormy rain pestering over our heads till purple rolling thunders clashes by like napalm lighting up the black abyss 106

365 Emotions: The Poetic nature of survival thirvance drilling holes in our dreams among the sky as it weathers the rock foundation of future sunny days ...stealing our breath right at the site, the beauty of life... to diminish everything and any possibility of sunflower superblooms graveling in my situational context, it reveals the true grave in ont of me becoming a tombstone replica of my counterparts at the instituonalized cemetery... where the robots of the 21st century are human corpses sleepwalking as zombie billboards with a propaganda agenda on a confirmation bias mission to spoil all meals at the table freedom is close 107

“ludacris”...when thinking idealistically... giving me the 3 strikes that chain an unbreakable straight jacket of imposter syndrome locked within the darkness of a system’s jungle beyond the premise of physical walls ...people know my worth, but they’re hoping i don’t... because “the most potent weapon of the oppressor is the oppressed mind” like a trembling buttery trapped on a spider web to be eaten at the death of night experimenng with injecve fear that botox the psych a mask to bury goldrush goldmines for any visionary regardless of me declaring the war within us... born to lose... built to win... my question becomes clearer: why do we self-police greaess in the making? do we fear the loss of attachment to a loved one we “just” met? 108

365 Emotions: The Poetic nature of survival thirvance a hood intellect actions speak louder than words but words pierce bulletproof armor with no words to stop the bullets it penetrates an open wound with salt causing a root shock of consciousness... seeing poverty with multiple shades along the color spectrum arc but the graph’s plot skews an immense urban denstiny towards the darker complexion... ...inside my sweater’s inner city hood... my brown-yellowish skin speaks itself at the feet of implicit bias although unique of a golden hue, it’s sad to know its glistening glow is unaccepted “beauty...” because “first impressions matter most” right? my appearance in privileged spaces comes as a threat because the greatest crime i’ve committed was going against the odds and above all pleading the question: can we be more than our statistical odds? intellects with no suits and ripped jeans create trouble that leads to power trips on hulk smash those from another world with the unexpectedness of seeing an “urban planner” like this 109

i freedom will come start to see through the backhanded jokes of my appearance am i a thug? ...convicted of a crime before even known... i start to believe it, when people hold their purses so tightly on the street with glares i start to believe it, when security tailgates me around the store with walkie talkies i start to believe it because even when i look into the broken mirror seeing what socie criminalizes ...i admit my wrongs... ‘cause i also fall at fault for doing the same to those of my reflection... like a durag, my beanie keeps my hair tucked doesn’t mean i have a gun like a bruise under a scar, my tattoo tells a story doesn’t mean i’m violent these public percepons of fear in people who look like me – looking like the enemy i interrogate as a nightly roune ...spotlight... good cop, bad cop 110

365 Emotions: The Poetic nature of survival thirvance convinced my paper degree holds no merit in the physical world i walk so then the fear from privilege heightens my anxiety beyond what i’ve known on the block to think twice about my own fears: of being raided of being pulled over of everything that has to do with the law... because the law was never created for people who look like this... so my question is... what does it really mean to look like anything? a deep breath in and out to i tell myself, i got to let go of the uncontrollable variables –the emotional projection of another’s own reflection allowing my inner peace to plant its roots for uits to ripen and flowers to blossom understanding my life’s true values to realize “ it’s impossible to love our enemy ‘cause when we choose to love, they’re no longer our enemy” i am brown i am beautiful i am a hood intellect. 111

it only takes one person to change a family’s arc 112

365 Emotions: The Poetic nature of survival thirvance seconds taken for granted can i truly grieve if i turned my back for myself? grabbing all the “gold rocks” i could t into my duffle to escape this concrete war.... leaving the forgotten essenal element, love left behind as i turned a creaking rusted knob isng dissonance inside out through a white foggy mist near the silent hills reminiscing the loud bangs of orange smoke grenades 50 years ago... an incinerated wooden pier at the red river delta ...ouflows a bloody bath as i look off from the indigo sherman wharf for life's farewell exchange digusted by how the paparazzi effect of ken burns’ panning... cashes out at the moment when morning sunkist meets the vanishing sunsets at earth's horizon adopting a generational pracce of abandonment in being violent like our colonizers to leave the stray kitten iends in the box i've known as a child when vising north beach park a walk “home” om the memorial park by the bank of childhood memories through the chinatown dark tunnel's light and never back 113

i risk my life in crossing with the hope that trauma landmines along the concrete river bank won't devour my legs into the quicksand's mouth where exploitation is hungry for youthful blood instead i ght with a diligent crawl to discover the riches of forbidden knowledge ...beyond the draped curtain veil... a lifeline light exposing me to the stage play of life that only i have the monologue to... with a memorable line, “never let yourself be defeated...” but the seal's sonic sound ripples toward thundering silence.... i still listen to your silent ow with the candlestick smoke that rises like how love never fades confinuing to chase your scent by begging for the “what-if ’s...” maybe my prayers could have reached you to stay in this lifeytime's fortune regardless of the predictions hidden in the cracked shells of chinatown's fortune cookies... now with an early grave, you became one with the warm air expanding your potential in the second life where you can nd solace to your unspoken pain entering the next stage of paradise in the afterlife i never expected to lose a childhood friend to the depression om the streets 114

the unexpected jabs to my stomach stole my lungs and stabbed my heart left me hung on the floor curled up .... crying for days .... knowing the fact you didn't get to see 24 to reach your mamba's peak the lost friends then hurt more now when i choose to embrace the hurting... your disappearance left the difficult questions of why the dishonesty... but choices in poverty “cautiously” highlighted with yellow tape on newspaper print aren't always black and white... making the forced decisions to eat off another's plate on an emp stomach in reluctant tears.... ‘cause the street condions of poverty make us do uncharacteristic things that steers us away from who we truly want to be so is then a wrongful act at all when stuck in the depths of abyss? ...the depths of despair... no one's innately bad, but rather we're all born good and put in bad situations with toxic political and religious beliefs surgically drilled into our brains to act on our primal animal insncts to hunt and survive like a coked up mountain gorilla can we own our proper? 115

adapting to racist colonial tactics in the jungle using poison ivy vines to divide and conquer darwinism to eugenics, “the preservation of favoured races in the struggle for life” the “survival of the fittest” that keeps us up at night ... tossing and turning makes me count sheeps hoping i’ll sleep to find the answers to my questions of why... a continual wanting of answers like a planted poisonous drug we're coerced to take... but instead “don't crease your air forces” repeat for me to think.... death by surprise and i can't help but feel guil to see 25 ... grief with no destination is a child's pure love lost in the forest of a city rage with no outlet is love mad at the world's corrupted realities we keep living ...to be mad at my own existence... the emotions i feel continue unread as i can only cherish the memories to embody this fragile love life goes on, but the thorn still stings when seeing mirroring destruction in youth today knowledge is merely a key to a broken lock when will we break this piece of metal to share the path through the kingdom's gate for prosperity 116 can we own ourselves?

365 Emotions: The Poetic nature of survival thirvance the killings of internal hypermasculinity disposable, but never recycled... broken and always replaced... starting death in the face with the saddest eyes like a gold medallion coin fipped to give us only death... not a chance to see the wide spectrum of possibilities over the mountain springs for a fresh view over the land of freshwater and fresh air... head in the clouds drooling yellow stains onto the purity of white pillows our innocent dreams are ushed away by a whirlpool of regrets that live as guilt to eat oneself asking the very questions le as an allergy to be avoided and never answered... how young is too young to feel pain? how young is too young to fade away? 117

the self-hatred wanders alone with anger for self-destruction on the cusp to cut the ticking wires of falling mortar bombs with nowhere else to go, the anger becomes nothing more than projected love venting to the maximum heights of emotions ready to jump through the megaphone on the park bench right beside the ear friend a self-reflection of one’s own reckless energy transmitted without consent putng internalized insecurities and self-doubt onto others as it will onto oneself a projection of our own worst self-reflections... like a coin with two faces including ourselves... inicng harm from loving too much – a toxic breed of its own the double-edged sword showing love can hurt and heal... so ready to give one’s life for another but still second guess about taking one’s own not wanting to kill ourselves but rather something we hate inside a normalized ride or die mentality with roots to hypermasculinity ...and motherly love? all still entrenched within the mind’s blank spaceof suicidal tendencies a street fight within the head to be so willingly putting our lives on the line? 118

365 Emotions: The Poetic nature of survival thirvance the same ideation to just let it all go behind closed doors... the worries, the stress, the hate... an electric chair execution on the streets of a concrete war or rather the slim way out by shipping o the 18-year-olds to enlist in war brave little soldier boys speaking with their lives toys romanticizing the shooting games till the roof falls while moms cry knowing they won’t get to hug their babies again when the march home begins 119

flipped automating wealth with patience as an asset “be a man and suck it up...” the mental toughness i learned was to desensitize the mental pain to be emotionless as i was once told that vulnerability makes me weak so then i kept my stories on private and untold repressed savings of emotional backlogs that overload the internal pain storage a suppression of my sufferings with no cross to my rosary chain ...crucfied ... awaiting a savior when repeatedly tortured by the overwhelming interpersonal oppression ...who are we to punish another already in suffering?... compounding hyper-sensory pains to then be falsely diagnosed with a higher tolerance of torture linked to my melanin shade disheartened outrage at programmed dishones to understand the equation ...of what truly makes me weak ... the hypermasculinity that kills me... openness in sensitivies, the traditional medicine helping me climb up the mountain springs at the top, i see more than i ever did ... 120

365 Emotions: The Poetic nature of survival thirvance seeing that vulnerability is my strength, my authencity, my nature using creativity with courage, a new breath of hope to all my healings with a meditative look at life, i propose the very notions that our lives are like seeds meant to be composted we can be the right seed for the right soil but with incongruent sunlight and water, we shrivel up in the cold stuck in a street-level view aerial droplets drip onto our leaves to finally feel, we need nothing else but love to be free 121

we tap into the forbidden knowledge 122

365 Emotions: The Poetic nature of survival thirvance systemically put in place the fragmentation of our dreams fractured by pragmatic demons capitalistic vampires lavishly sipping away the blood cocktails of our souls the artful craft of a con artist sucks away a redwood’s root energy to splatter maroon on canvas painting a drained dead couch potato lying unconscious around the emptied rum bottles crusting in grassy mold as days go by without sustenance to flourish leaving nothing left but the leftover dust of a dry chalk sketch beneath the cracked gray sidewalk feeling the overpouring venomous pain of structures building only quadrilateral polygons a nutritional meal to fuel hate making us nothing more than your everyday snake a cold-hearted mistake sparking the amboyant ames of the devil’s voice lingering inside all of us... a combusted trick at the touch of oil against ourselves to lose the self-belief in self-worth 123

the one percent hoard in their hidden safe sunflowers suffocating, barely breathing with an invisible broken glass vase clouding judgment behind the pieces of clear glass to wrestle with the foggy thoughts of survival with no air left in our lungs ...the breath to glass drawings cease to exist and our inner ame starts to dissolve like how the white smoke floats unremembered past the ajar doors of purgatory to see fourth dimensionally the cruelty of impoverished tourism as the rst naons perspecve of blackfoot tipi gets raided by maslow’s “supposed” pyramid we soon discover the scriptures of ancient egypt below the pharoah’s cave chambers showing a lost underworld with a wealth of knowledge again stolen by the upper echelon to be reminded of how we don’t meet the need for self-actualization even with our second chance at life... 124

365 Emotions: The Poetic nature of survival thirvance the feelings of not just intergenerational trauma, but intergenerational poverty... unable to see the futurisc visions of ourselves from above with a bird’s eye view unl immediate problems are resolved we instead indelve in the corner store liquor to enslave the mind, turning livers to stones to go under stones six feet below spelling r . i . p — not standing for rest in peace but rather a cry for help too late for saving completing “the ending” because the celebration of physical life’s conclusion is our entry to an “afterlife jubilation” – living by the stance that death is better than bondage in the words of shutter island, but how do we know if “misery” is truly exterminated in our next life? especially when forgiveness from our past self is not promised... after commiting the sin of not seeing our true self – giving up on one’s happiness... there’s no signed deed of guarantee that life abandonment will grant freedom ... 125

a bottled-up genie drug for self-decepon that leads to obsessive cravings for just a moment of anesthesia to sleep away the ruminations everything has a choice and my choice hasn’t rest easy... on the shoulders of insomnia, the expectations of me as a “family man, the breadwinner” perplexed my possibilities of ever being... the dichotomy of what they need and what i desire just further distance me at the rapid waters of a river crossing with the “what ifs” from freedom ...alive but not living... how many times do i have to die inside before i can truly live? ...we shouldn’t have to kill ourselves a thousand times to finally feel alive... 126

365 Emotions: The Poetic nature of survival thirvance the feelings of disposability for an extinction conniving big corporate uncle sams with omnipotent eyes hidden behind the clouds in the sky watching us as we sleep, in our sleep as if we’re cattles on the plantation... strategically micro-managing to sail past neighborhood war conflicts beeen the blue-red sea when distracted, they readapt the mission of colonization through the weapons of financial warfare – a modern-day ist to manifest desny productivity and profitzation gives capitalism the tank power to steal land once again and the pandemic exposes the deep wounds of our past infecting the gunmetal in our neck for bad memories to kill good ones – festering in the present hurting whiling arousing the piggy banks of the 1% like the grocery chains closing left and right in denial of the much-needed $5 hero pay that would have saved lives from the “life before death stress” of not seeing a hospital bed bypassing the eulogy and giving the bottom boot to all below increasing one’s anxieties from the sight of a giant’s foot sole as hotels scheme to redirect their responsibilities of workers’ health all towards governmental care 127

a planned recurrence of the food stamp deployment used to blackmail the poor into staying poor the band-wagon corporate decision that circles around a merry-go-round for the common people to tap out and throw in the white towel when in a mental submission lock so don’t be surprised if the word “prot” is written over and over again on the detention board the prep-work for the public-private collab to-do-list like the ban on abortion... scams om top-down revolve around the monopoly game for profit-driven greed exposing the hypocrisy of those who built the game can break the rules pawns to be played by the master’s monstrous hands... using covid-19 as the joker card in blackjack ... another heist by the black market for the knowingly “unexpected” medical profits in exploitation a hidden incarceration system centered around death like overcrowded lines to the mortuaries 128

365 Emotions: The Poetic nature of survival thirvance speaking with a “blind eye rhetoric” to strategize a record high number of deportaons the conquering for complete control with the invisible force that monitors all borders dictators in democracy diluting the values and practices in traditional healing exploiting every aspect of racial capitalism to repackage our culture in digesble ways ...for “americanness...” like hip hop turned pop... leaving the most vulnerable to suffer quietly as we screech in silence at the eyes of the devil the terminology of “disposable” will always be invisibly written behind our birth certificate names like the khmer rouge killing fields... “to keep us is no benet; to destroy us is no loss” dispossessed and dispossessions... when will we rise to be a threat to the uncivilized powers of our nation? 129

with 96% of the 1% as white elites making 8-9 billion 130 while acting as our savior

365 Emotions: The Poetic nature of survival thirvance living the manifestation of our contradictions 400 years of turkey-filled bellies on thanksgiving day as an annual date celebrating wikipedia’s denfinition for giving thanks a superficial holiday christmas wrapping gratitude into one day with food ...for thought? orangish-yellow mid-autumn leaves don’t feel the same when we consciously think families’ dining tables won’t be the same when we choose to change but forced growth is not always readily appreciated at the moment for change some are content with “comfortability” and “normalcy” a different trajectory to live in a false dream the truth to the matter is you can only offer to guide and the rest is le to follow different stages of life in which we outgrow each other... let the beau in one be contagious on its own through influence ironic enough, thanksgiving colonizes our dining room space pushing out all the cultural dishes to be the sides on the edge of the wooden plank making room for self-centered attention of the eucentric taste less vietnamese and chinese dishes for the sake of “fitting in” the fabricated visibility of americanness labeled as freedom of speech 131

cold mashed potatoes and ham we don’t even like to eat... trifling in so many ways to ask why we celebrate the pain of losing our language and speech normalized contradictions in the name on the premise of colonial ways nothing harmonious in taking lives and land during the day ll this day with eminent domain bloodshed of our indigenous family and friends, but we choose to enjoy this so-called “holiday” a holocaust of the native people repeated across invisible lines through time ...jewish, japanese, vietnamese, khmer, el salvadorian, rwadan, uyghur, and so many more... 132

fallen periods rewritten by corrupted powers for fame and fortune to rule the nation with the fire of anger as power rather than the nurturing energy of care the devil in the hero convinced by the snake in the garden of eden to become dean armitage’s frankenstein experiment surgical “mishaps” with the anaconda and python bodies in a basement within the forest of upstate new york poisonous blood leaking a trail spreading insidious hate taking a throne to propagate polical propaganda for one’s own benefit a transformaon in hate, silent racism to violent attacks from white hoods and burning crosses recognizing the pain of the past is not enough... intentionally changing our steps forward is a bigger statement puting words into practice for no more insincere apologies stopping the perpetuation of the privilege in ignorance as a fearful disease rethinking the “go back to normalcy” harm people intensely end when this moment cries out for justice, what do you hope to share and look back on? ‘cause my intutition like telekinesis tells me we don’t think the same... 133

365 Emotions: The Poetic nature of survival thirvance 134

365 Emotions: The Poetic nature of survival thirvance collage poetry notes 3: distress a kind soul kidnapped from the meanings of joy making the gods cry...knowing we suffocate the voices of our talents pleading the question: can we be more than our statistical odds? the emotions i feel continue unread as i was once told that vulnerability makes me weak just a moment of anesthesia to sleep away the ruminations as we screech in silence at the eyes of the devil recognizing the pain of the past is not enough... vs. an average american of 55k 135

inner thoughts on paper 3: muted ghosts a cry in silence wipes the oor clean to not think dismissing our pain 136

365 Emotions: The Poetic nature of survival thirvance letter 4: unlocking potential in self-discovery (older daniel to younger daniel) dear daniel, i see the first glimpse of joy you found in love – your own asian american hollywood movie depicting the realities of love beyond “crazy rich asians” more like “if beale street could talk” I also see the anger that still boils undercover within your blood – making it hard to cry whistling an outcry through the kettle’s spout but withheld at the mouth of your throat... a coded call signaling your discomfort within the privileged spaces you’ve accessed making you feel like “you’re hard to deal with,” but it rather means you’re not easily fooled and just remember that a person not easily fooled is dangerous... 137

i see so much groWth, but so little of you... as If you ran away om your authenc self due to the overbearing ustraons of this world losing bits and pieces of yourself that made you whoLe becoming a stranger by nature with self to write to me, “dear stranger...” my mixed emotions made me scared to know you’ve been away because i was aaid you’d lose your way with no return... but do you see the Light buried within your chest? dig deep to uncover your natural gift – a golden treasure to another walk as a beacon for others like a lantern to a hand stumbling in the dark don’t dim your radiang natural glow from the beau of your smile to your face ...just to compensate for the sake of other ’s sanity... even at the grace of your family and friends dimming your light to “protect” you... with the intent to collecvely practice the creative act of survival to be invisibly unknown i am writing to you to gently repose the question: what do you desire om life? the simplicity of “selflessness,” Giving all of you away is unsustainable to youR state of happiness and it’s clearer to me from an Outside picture that you smile on the camera While in silent pain to not be a burden during the lullaby at dawn i beg you to not give your happiness away because it shouldn’t be delayed practice daily joy with the placebo effect to train the mind puting your pride to sleep so you can be at peace don’t let the procrastination of your self-care and dreams 138

365 Emotions: The Poetic nature of survival thirvance be the abortion of your genius... prematurely killing the birth of visionary thoughts we were all gifted as seeds this shared wisdom might be my overprotective brotherly love talking To keep you safe the same continuous giving i’ve struggled tO recognize these past 25 summers to years i’ve learned that you shouldn’t have to give everything to feel like you Belong and I hopE you won’t continue to repeat my mistakes from one generation to another you are me, but you will be better than Me by being you, to be the happiEst you don’t stay where you’re tolerated, go where you’re celebrated move about the land you will nd success uproot to be where the sunlight is nice and the energy is beautiful listen to your heart, Daniel Luu i am writing om one generaon to another be the happiest you I WILL GROW TO BE ME 139

while acting as our savior 140

365 Emotions: The Poetic nature of survival thirvance Chapter 4 repainting we need to reclaim 141

our identity and me equity unexpected realities 142

365 Emotions: The Poetic nature of survival thirvance naivety’ s bliss pirated vhs tape rentals at the tenderloin waiting behind caged windows the bone barricades fence us o with swords as we patiently anticipate to be fed like chimpanzees on the walking plank with baguette pieces thrown out of the bánh mì express – a small shack replicating favelas a few cents less to beat the life out of a $5 footlong in the secluded alleyway by day as the underground subway whooshes through the tunnels of my ears to forget by night... but the memories never stop rushing fast and strong in waves along the shore of my eyes like the echoes of stampeding rhinos to parallel the nerves near revving engine street races glazing the intersection with re doughnuts by the parking lot of our local cambodian donut shop seeing everything through my sleep and in my nervous system as if i watching motion pictures on the window’s theater screen of shifting urbanscapes on a bart ride minutes to a day , days to a year... an endless crooked color dream on a me constraint pulling my feet back 143

moving of these words against the walkway escalator to feel the tremendous iron shackle weights “...this is my reality...” not a lot but enough... the proximity to gun violence marinates our living fresh in chronic conditions of trauma pouring gasoline on the charcoal spark adding fire to the flame to burn our skin with the normalized speech of negative talk – making us fold on ourselves impulsive spraying of sporadic words like blatant bullets piercing the heart making the unhealthy environment we grow up in a corrosive toxicity the standard in every shape and form: vacant lots, broken roads, and storeonts with no signs induce the regular frequency of subconscious trauma to birth the inferiori complex that kills 144

a thin line but a thick wall to be addicted to the normalization for survival when dead broke... “we've become numb to what we know is wrong” no wonder our invisibility becomes clear as glass with the purity of our inner waters drained... like how our neighborhood names are unincorporated till this day disposed from records to stutter in fear when we pray... are we a reflection of those names in which we carry on the legacies of being unseen? as i accessed various material resources to broaden my reach for opportunies my vulnerabilities widened my scope of the world to see the truth in my range of struggles confusion led to ustrations equipping me with a hyper-vigilant military vest an armor forever on to deflect an eviction to come... a shooting to occur... 145

for family and self for the sake of radicalism when can i live a life with my high alert off? hyper-analyzing every moment before anything happened – armoring everything except myself the double-edged sword of my privileges exposed my disadvantages sliced my identify into unknown pieces to mimic the double consciousness of the bluest eyes a puzzling bipolar experience like the globe’s opposite artics forcefully pulled apart from a pangaea reunification that was left to dissolve in climate change and sink under sea rises soon the sleep of exhaustion relieves the moments of despair to remember i rode out ba’s trunk to feel the wind breeze in my dreams as a grown kid living naïvely freed 146

bearing the guilt of not dreaming before night hits... our pitstops during the timed race home expedite fears and anxieties during an apocalypse non-nocturnal eyes afraid of the darkness that creeps beside our shoulders letting hunger follow with a forgotten sweet tooth craving as dinner is scared away... the 3 musketeers “save the day” at the corner store as i eye candy the chocolate gems salivating over the sugar sweets as if they had on neon lights like the ashy red-light district stripping off the wrapper when already in a scandal with bagging away kix puffs i stole to save... full of swallowed air and water gulps – my stomach filled with nauseous gas turning my hardened heart into agile glass ready to break... i act foolishly patient in hopes a miracle will magically fall into our lap 147

recalling when mom told me to drink milk to be full overnight ...full all the time... the growling wolves ran wild in my stomach’s acidic coastal prairies all day , every day before a full moon is drawn in with the stars on the cosmos canvas... the howlings toward the night sky strokes nail salon paint on my face with guilt worrying i’d burden my mom’s coin pouch on the daily trips home as the group of coin iends say farewell at the counter exchange i reminisce of the days not knowing we were poor i against act foolishly patient in hopes a miracle will magically fall into our lap 148

the “burden” i felt over me at a young age was a “rejected” responsibility... the idea to always provide as a “man,” but what type of “man” do i intend to be? or should i rather ask, how much longer do i need to be a man before i can be a boy? the care-free childhood dreams switched out with a lifelong duty making the static in my sleep keep me alert to ensure i will soon fulll an “undened task” the consequences of white patriarchy and supremacy tease me with scraps on a mousetrap to then extract every piece of bone marrow to take away my humanity... my childhood murderer with a killer psychology – fiending on malnourished kids on the block ‘cause our innocence is perceived as a weakness to turn “savagery” 149