Mark Chung

i never use apostrophes where

they should be, sentences hanging like a waxing gibbous moon

cat emoji, blush emoji, heart emoji, with double 3s 

bracketed notes (ps) with random abbreviations

hyd

ttyl

smd (you know the drill)

and i can never apologize in full form

sowwy /j

sry

sr

i only eat grapes with skins peeled off, boiled veggies dipped in soy sauce

i gnawed on all my tea bags before throwing them away 

mom still thought i used chopsticks wrong

for eating is just hand and mouth 

mouth

           and

                    hand

movements with no grace as i swallowed stiff 

i left the table before dad had his second serving

forgetting to count the rice grains

i draw roses in the form of cabbages

a single eye at dog-eared fringes, granny squares across the spines

and my signature looks like bananas — two letters 

but with triple the loops

held up in the bank twice because they didn’t recognize 

my cursives — the vietnamese ‘d’

i blamed on unappreciated arts

i call the scars from my dog’s bites badges of love

i have acne you can play connect the dots on, too low of a nose bridge (my glasses slip down)

and i feel shrinking yet never petite

not conventionally attractive, fit for the unfit

for how much should i cut and carve and sculpt

i say “having a body is so weird what in the metaphysics”

and fold myself

neatly

into a cutout without thickness

i listen to the same songs, yet call one bold and the other italic

crisscrossed with times new roman, calibri (must be light!) and gothic

i think white music tastes like comic sans 

yet still got closer secretly on repeat

i spin words in uneven circles, checking boxes of whats and what-nots

this is an ode to myself, as i unravel the failed knots

of stitches over stitches over stitches, my body a triple crochet

breathing etched

on needles and yarn

unspool and weave them around your pinky

a frail strand of scarlet

for closed fists and open palms, for clasps that ring platinum not iron

for i dig promises into silver-lined joints and gold-plated knuckles,

fingers crocheted, and i would 

never

           let

                    go