I am bigger than that.
Pale blue breeze
hit my hurt
like a remedy.

Clear blue skies brought
clarity to dusty lines
I carried

It feels like
creamsicle pink
on orange waves.

I waste time
like I am not
running out.

Impulse dripping
in a biblical sense.
The warmth of your skin
melds with the light
after we’re done.

I would ask you how we got here
but there is no confusion
as the ticking clock
and your heartbeat
and mine
swim to crashing shore.

For me,
have always been
little deaths.
But somehow,
in this moment,
there is no reason
to mourn

I know that our feet first pressed into and second leapt off the boulder at the same time. And going up into the air, I could have been your shadow. But at the freeze frame peak point, before going down, before hitting the warm spring water, our synchrony unraveled, and I got scared. Or maybe I got scared first, and that caused our synchrony to unravel. Either way, it was then that I changed my mind. I didn’t want to hit the water anymore, I realized. I wanted to go back to the boulder. I missed that warm protective thing…

Just to know that it’s there.
Helpless, in hindrance.
How attached are we.
It’s always a dim light,
wooden form,
a firedance,
tasting sweet like velvet advice.
At least he recognizes
a tarnished word.
Blood sea ocean shine.

I am grateful for you.
A red light
moving on.
Dear insight,
I’m softening
Milk spilling.
I fall back too.
What I want is ocean waves
waving bye.
Help is coming.
Who am I.
Whelping wind,
broken streams,
God’s favorite.
Can’t help it.

3 orange diamonds.
I’m not alone in this.
I bought my own emerald,
I didn’t buy my bag.
Wolf peak mountain top,


Climbed up a mountain
the other day.
It was hot as hell,
and I kept telling Christian that I was scared.
But that wasn’t the right word.
I think I was mostly
in awe of…

When I Move Around

I’m tired of justifying myself, even to myself. Some things just are. And it’s with this urgency that they are. The streetlights shine with indifference, whether my heart breaks or beats or gets filled with light. I can’t turn myself in. I wish I could. I can’t turn myself inwards. The raw might be rotting, or just a metal ball. I compare myself to the world. Am I vast enough and bright enough? Am I whole enough with healing, or do I prefer destruction? I’m angry at the world, which has no self control. It lets…

in our being
they will never
oh well.

it’s all happening
in the in between
what vices
what virtues
we cling to
to cope with knowing

In Spirit

In spirit, she wasn’t really there. I guess there wasn’t any part of her at all that really was. A plum, a peach, and a Caribbean island filled with extravaganza, and really, I mean really, is that not enough for anyone? You would be surprised. Universally, there is .a period of growth. A bleeding red menstrual of growth ripe with worry for Her children’s children caught on white linen sheets. An extravaganza. …

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

sweet horizons in blue skies
held on
to the wet hurricane.

Like summer
in sweet rain.
Like fear of a wildfire
before any flame.

Lingering kisses,
like drunk eyelids,
kicking butterfly wings.
I am swimming,

deeper than I could ever fall
through the floor.

Barely becoming, a treasure, I yearned for a heartache or two.

For the need to know to froth on the surface of the soup meant that I was lacking pretty bad, I guess. But it was strange to me that there was no seed that begged to be watered by a love beforehand.

Fairly soon, I realized that fantasy makes paintings commissioned by my discreet agony. But execute that shit in your real life and it’s just disappointing.

I walked between a strong denial and a slow withdrawal, each with one of my arms draped around their shoulders. They worked to steady my stumbling while laughing to each other about my state.

I’ll never rid myself of those guys.

Tracey Nguyen

Poetry and writings // PDX

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