Category Archives: Poetry

100 Poems | 100 Days: Day 2

Black has never been so dark.
I never dread wearing black so much.
Black may mean slick, slim, or mysterious but for the past 4 days
It meant no sunshine
it meant pour some rain and thunder over my head
It meant death
It meant you, were gone, forever.
I am trying to think about all the times we spent together.
So many things left unsaid.
Did you know that I am trying to get this painting class, grandpa?
Wanted to channel my inner creative side
But at the same time embrace a little bit of you.
I was thinking about sharing my piece with you.
Wanted to learn how to use the medium of oil paints and work on landscape, just like you.
I wanted to be just like YOU.
But as of right now, I my skies are painted pitched black
Fuck rose color glasses, because shade is all I am getting.
Darken my path. Black out. Lifeless.
Black has never felt so dark.

[Started December 14, 2014 // Semi-Edited February 14, 2014]

100 Poems | 100 Days: Day 1

Thanks to my close friend Mitch, who started 100 Moments, she sparked the idea of doing 100 poems! Since we kinda started at the same time I guess we can keep each other accountable for this commitment! So here it goes 100 poems whether it be stupid, short, or “deep” lego.

 

We were once completed, you and me down the pavement to perfection
You slipped on my feet and caressed my arch as if you were made for me.
Traced my heels and linger on my toes.
Keeping me warm on winter days
Protected and supported me through my life changing moments, of sneakers.
I slipped you on as if we were infinity and you were my pool
Endlessly peering at the horizon
Searching for sunsets, you were my happy ending.
But fairy tales don’t last forever
Missing sock, you were no where to be found.
Disappeared into the night sky when I needed you the most.
Constantly looking, but we can never pair up
Separation that feels like anxiety
Like a child, you were my home base
I wanted you in proximity but maybe, just maybe, we were never that close.
I guess it makes me feel kind of insecure
But I’ll save the other pair until you find your way home.

Missing Sock by Han

Poetry: Assata Shakur – To My Momma

It’s been awhile since I’ve posted .. I have many drafts but I haven’t made time to edit and post. Anyways, I’ve been reading the autobiography of Assata Shakur and I am amazed and inspired. I haven’t gotten that far but my friend bookmarked a poem for me. It is called To My Momma and I relate to it heavily.

To my momma,
who has swalled the amerikan dream
and choked on it.

To my momma,
whose dreams have fought each other —
and died.

Who sees,
but cannot bear to see.
A volcano eating its own lava.

To my momma, who couldn’t turn
hell into paradise
and blamed herself.
Who has always seen reflected in her mirror
an ugly duckling.

To my momma,
who makes no demands of anyone
cause she don’t think she can afford to.
Who thinks her money talks
louder than her womanhood.

To my butchfem momma,
who has always
taken care of business.
Who has never drifted
hazily to sleep
thinking, “he will take care of it.”
Who has schemed so much
she sometimes schemes against herself.

To my sweet, shy momma.
Who is uneasy with people
cause she don’t know how
to be phony,
and is afraid to be real.

Who has longed for sculptured gardens.
Whose potted plant
dies slowly on the window sill.

We have all been infected
with a sickness
that can be traced back
to the auction block.

You must not feel guilty
for what has been done to us.
Only the strong go crazy.
The weak just go along.

And what i thought was cruelty,
I understand was fear
that hands, stronger than yours,
and whiter than yours,
would strangle my young life
into oblivion.

Momma, i am proud of you.
I look at you
and see the strength of our people.
I have seen you struggle
in the dark;
the world beating on your back,
dragging your catch
back to our den.
Pulling your pots and pans out
to cook it.
A mob in one hand.
A pencil in the other,
marking up my homework
with your love.

The injured have no blame.
Let it fall on those who injure.

Leave the past behind
where it belongs–
and come with me
toward tomorrow.

I love you mommy
cause you are beautiful
and i am life that springs from you:
part tree, part weed, part flower.

My roots run deep.
I have been nourished well.

Spoken Word Wednesdays: Shihan

Since this is my first Spoken Word Wednesdays post, I have to dedicate it to Shihan! Shihan is the first spoken word poet that I discovered in high school (somewhere between 2005-2009..)! The first poem I heard from him was “Love Like.” I swear I fell in love with spoken word poetry ever since! I love how it is a way to express your individual experiences and stories without any fucking rules. It is such a powerful and creative way to use words, out loud.

Anyways, Shihan, National Poetry Slam Champion Poet, has been featured on Def Jam, currently hosting Da Poetry Lounge (DPL), and more! I had the privilege to watch him perform at UCLA for The Word on Wednesdays and see him host all the time at DPL. Thank you for being such an inspiration to me!

shihan

Picture of me with Shihan! Excuse my awkwardness and purple uniform.. haha I just got out of my internship from Mattel Children’s Hospital and rushed to see him perform!

Oh and Happy Holidays everyone!

xoxo Han

SPOKEN WORD: 23:24 (Rough Draft)

[soundcloud url=”https://api.soundcloud.com/tracks/70430214″ params=”color=000000&auto_play=true&show_artwork=false” width=”100%” height=”166″ iframe=”true” /]
 

To the wife who just lost her husband through an agent called
TIME
December seventh, two thousand thirteen
Twenty three : twenty four
the doctor pronounced your husband was dead
You see your children and grandchildren mourning
crying their eyes out, trying to hold whats left of his body
discoloration
skin no longer the vibrant sunshine you see

you put a hat on his head to make sure he stays warm

staying strong for your family you stepped aside
you anticipated this
you felt it deep in your heart as dark as that may seem
the doctor said he wasn’t supposed to make it
he would have died last night
how did he make it to this point

everyone gathered closer to the warm body

you understood
you held your granddaughter’s hand
watching her hold in her screams as much as she can
tears tracing her cheeks as she stares at the floor
squeezing her hand tighter you began to speak
you know he loves you and everyone in here
he waited for everyone to come
he wanted to see all your beautiful faces from all generations
I’m sad too but I only need to cry once and I only cry for the people I love
My love for him is forever eternal in my heart and nothing can take that way from me

You then stare at your husband
age 94
a best friend,
a husband,
a grandfather,
a great grandfather,
an artist,
and a kind-hearted soul.

Your legacy lives through the canvases you paint
and the people you love.

Spoken Word: Grim Reaper [11.14.13]

To be honest, I wanted to start off my blog by posting my previous fun experiences like going to a stussy launch party but I just can’t. My world feels like it’s crumbling down. My grandpa was hospitalized yesterday and I drove back to Orange County to see him …. he looked so weak. He is currently in the ICU for monitoring and I can care less about my internship and work today. But I still have to go. Anyways, I wrote this poem a couple weeks ago when one of the patients I work with at Mattel Children’s Hospital went to PICU (Pediatrics Intensive Care Unit). He needs multiple transplant organs and he might not make it (He is still in the PICU). The poem is to shed light on the darker side of working with children in the hospital and how I felt at the moment thinking about him and other patients.
grimreaper

Although working with children is a blessing
I am having a hard time shadowing the reaper
I can’t stand the fact that I might not see one of the child, here, next week
You see, I have always loved and appreciate life
but this
this shit is too real
this shows me that life is too short
that even if you have never done anything wrong
your body may fail you
that you’re praying to an angel called the waiting list
that you’re counting on the grim reaper
so you can take other
ORGANS
church echoing with the sound of hope
hope that a death of another will give you life
will give you parts that you need to survive
because the one that YOU were born with, failed
failed to allow you to enjoy the simple things like
like sun rays tracing your face on the deck
the smell of spring in march
failed to live up to its promise
a healthy life
but you wait
you wait and wait and struggle through the
dialysis that makes you fatigue
infections that spread like wild fire
needles that poke more holes in your skin than an addict with heroine
cancer that made you think twice about survival and life
beating your heart to death
it makes it difficult to love your body, love yourself, and love life

STAY STRONG
don’t let those scars wound you even deeper but
do let it tell stories of every stitch and knife you have been under
don’t let the tubes coming out from your body define your worth
don’t let the bare skin of your head define your beauty

I have never been so close to this thin line of life and death
So I continue to shadow the grim reaper.