Rice Queen, Making Marks on Paper.

A description of the self.

I see the dexterity of her fingers.

And her cheeks speckled white.

She undresses her lengthy arms

Laced with ornaments

From Siam to reveal

Her skin,


Dark brown from the sun.

They are marked,

And I see her obsession for scotch tape transparent hair,

Poppy red lips,  and old manuscripts with etchings,

Of sad stories.

She dances to the beats from the stereo,

Then stops to glance in the mirror.

Thinking, it is amusing to draw lines and touch up imperfections.

So she exaggerates,

Accentuating them.

Continuing this madness until,

Her green lashes spill flecks,

Of white rice,

That soon trickle to the floor.


The Creative

Amor unnum (One True Love)

The adoration of my soul is what  makes me write.
It tempts and teases.
It bades me welcome,
So sweet it is.
My heart,
Quite impatient,
Falling victim to love.
I whisper my affections
This beloved  soul,
And  true love,
For an invitation,
To kiss,
Curiosity and the Black Skirt
Just as the city stirs and I feel my lips start to crack,
The seduction of your scent makes my heart soften.
As the infliction of the sharp wind,
Strikes and slaps against my cheek,
I struggle with this newness.
That shortens my breath.
I’m not used to such things.
Like the length of my black skirt.
Crinkled now,
My skirt doesn’t allow a sin,
Of such thoughts.
But this scent of yours,
I can’t place,
It makes me curious,
To know so much more.
Unlaced Thoughts
Why I must ask, I don’t know.
But it just seems a series of unanswered questions I have about the way you looked at me.
You tried to unlace my thoughts with your eyes,
When I looked away.
But I knew what you were thinking and it made me laugh.
You made me
Enough to grab,
And scratch
At the pages.
Asking me to draw on these walls,
What your eyes
Spoke to me that night.
I found it unfashionable,
Deciding to paste,
It, as just a memory.
The Beauty of Curves
Hips are so romantic.
Inviting some might say.
Softly, slowly swaying,
Like the immeasurable beat of affections I feel
For my devotion to love.
I see the beauty of their curves reflecting
Images I can’t stop thinking about.
Where every hot minute burns,
Begging me to marry my thoughts.
The Way of the Wise
The decadence of where beauty lies,
Is where song notes play rhythms that make my eyes tear.
I can’t remember the last time I let go.
Seems weak you know.
But I tell myself it’s okay,
See what happens.
I’ve found re-learning these complexities in itself is a challenge,
Especially when it is all you know.
At least,
That’s what  I used to think,
I woke up.

Crinkled Pages

Dear Self,
Water droplets dance,
Then scatter all over,
Smearing the text, words I’ve spent long hours writing.
Opening up, can be an challenge when I can’t seem to see straight.
My rouge is starting to fade. And the past colors my vision.
I feel nothing is left but to crinkle the pages,
But I decide to carefully pick up the delicate remnants and fold them.
These days
I just keep trying to figure it out.
Though I’m not really sure why,
For obsessing over thoughts in any way doesn’t seem to make much sense.
So I decide to let go.
And in doing so,
My vision becomes unclouded,
Letting me open,
To see,
The New begin.

Daily Affirmations.

Mastering My Own Mind and Thoughts, Empowers Me

I am responsible for my thoughts, actions, and views of the world.

My thoughts and words have value, and are important.

My time is valueable.

I make time for me.

I am learning HOW to think for myself everyday.

Peoples’ comments and opinions can’t make me feel unpleasant unless I let them.  If I experience feeling unpleasant, I accept these emotions and let them go.  They are not for my highest good.

I release all fears that others will judge me, I know who I am.

I choose positive people, who always want the best for me.

I am intelligent and powerful and have the ability to choose WHO I want to surround myself with.

I love and respect myself, by nurturing all of me.

I love and embrace everything that I am.

Sacred Prayers

My Dearest,

I remember when I fine-tuned my words.

They became sacred prayers to me as they unfolded behind my eyes.  My eyes, wet, and my heart playing tunes of timeless classics pasted on me with peachy ribbon.

The wetness blinded me and I couldn’t see where I was walking so I stumbled over the cracked cement to my room.

The trip to the ground shook me awake, and I dropped my pencil.

I suppose that’s what love can do to you…

The Light and Embracing All That is Feminine.

Dearest Love,

I’ll simply go mad if I don’t write to you everyday.  I get all sick inside when we miss each other.  I just keep thinking of what kind of sweet words to write to you, and then those thoughts become lost amidst my day.  I know that if I commit myself to you, the words will surely come, so I should not fret.  There is always something to write to you about, as each night seems difficult to quiet my mind.  I know this is nothing new.
Every morning, my hair, drenched still, from perspiring all night, has left its mark on my sheets reminding me of the night’s tousling.  I peel them off me and notice they are stained peachy cream from my tea I fell asleep with.  And the scent on my skin perfumes the room like I’ve been somewhere exotic.  Most times I glance over, and I just see sketches and scribbling in my journal next to me, that don’t always make sense.
Except this time the words came fast and I felt them shock me out of my sleep.  The words were scattered, but I’m sure my scribbling translated the words correctly, La Luz, in Italian, The Light.  I see it, as a calling, speaking the language of my soul.  Because, shocking me awake, it made me sing and showed me notes I’d never played before.  The words became scrolls, imprinting themselves on my body.
Oh wow, now, this was something!
Oh, to have found something i’ve been keeping from myself, and hidden.  Another language.  What is this that has been keeping me from myself???  To let beauty win? To embrace something I never have? Now this is something new dear friend, help me to understand…I will speak with you tomorrow.
Of course, I am realizing the new task at hand from last night.  A mildly challenging task indeed, but actually quite amusing.   Like I’m running the race backwards.  I just never thought to embrace beauty as a thing to be adored, as we all don’t have much control of this in this life as I see it.  I’ve always decorated my hair and adorned my body for amusement, a display of personality, you know.  But this is something new and profound.  Oh, the many ways to use this knowledge, allowing the expression of something you thought you never had…

Liquid Poetry

Liquid Poetry
My skin still feels wet with henna,
Like it will never dry.
I see the black of night wrap around and caress my hair then fade away.
While I obess over this passion to decorate.
What a love it is to paint with curiosity,
Just like writing.
When I see the words flow and they move me,
It is an adoration like no other,
It seduces,
And it’s expression is a passion,
That takes my breath away…

The Art of Seeing

When I wake, and pull up my hair,
I see gold.
It’s no wonder the wind broke so fast and the cold came so quick.
I spoke,
Asking what I am to write,
But I can’t quite see clearly.
The room fills with gold flecks,
That flicker and keep blinding me.
Here I am left again,
Scribbling what seems to be nonsense,
But no,
Something more interesting.
It is my own heart,
That wants to spill
Messages on paper.
Obessively now.
To move me.
I wonder why,
It took so long
For a love
Of this kind,
To find me,
Once again.

  Marking a Woman’s Soul  

Marking a Woman’s Soul
 I dreamt last night.
Remembering the night I sat at the bar on Silom Road,
Watching the girls with their delicate fingertips making gestures to dance.
I look away, for a sign.
Sipping sweet Singha, my lashes pick up the smoke and dance with the music of bar.
I think my lashes are scented now, so I pick up my jacket to leave.
I feel someone graze a hand past my lower back.
He winks, and his glance deepens.
Everything goes black.
My heart skipping beats turns to follow him,
I’m sweating and I can’t see straight.
My mouth goes dry.
I stand to adjust my skirt,
Now drenched from my sweat,
And turn to realize,
It was love.
I remember,
That feeling,
So real.
Fleeting by.

A Collection of Scriptures and Painting Portraits

Dear Self,

Scriptures lay waiting
As I contemplate.
I scramble for words and rhymes,
Where my voice can’t stop talking.
And where my spirit opens to write once again.
I pick up my quill,
With my fingertips drenched in elemi rose,
To make a quiet gesture.

Flipping pages,
Is like picking up the pieces of my heart,
As well as my soul.
And my heart mimics
The sound of records,
Crackling on old turntables.
Just like the pages flipping of my life.

I see now that my reflection has stained the walls,

In smoke-like stains.
Leaving me scrubbing remnants
Of my old self.

While unlatching my corset,

I smile to capture the snapshot

Of old news.

Where my tears paint a new portrait,

And my snow white blood red lips kiss the walls now decorated with sweet love.

My new face,
Of Snow-speckled cheeks,
Reveals the essence
Of my true self.

Which is,
My Beloved Soul.

Dear Self,

I thought of you today when I picked up the pleats of my skirt and danced to the rhythm you made in my belly.
I laughed at first but it made me sniffle a little. You are reminding me I forgot to write to you today. How dare I forget you!
I’m sorry I didn’t bless you and thank you today for your love. You are always so kind with your sweet words.
O Love Divine, please know that I devote my love to you now, and promise to turn to you daily. I know I can find all my answers here and I can trust where you guide. You always help me remember who I am, so I love you most dearly.


I remember the day our lips met and I walked away melting.
the way you enveloped me with the scent of night and tuberose petals
and I escaped to a place that kept me safe
and I knew you would always be there for me.

The power that you showed me made me ice cold and my legs shivered
in the glow that it gave me to win.

Dear Love,

I ask you to awaken me.
Awaken the love
That resides within,
As I speak to you now.

You envelop me,
With your delicate kisses,
And perfume me with this liquid poetry.

Oh, how I love
The written word.
How it touches and romances me,
Like sweet song notes when I hear Billie H
As she kisses the moon
And it turns green.


While my lips,
Sip sweet silence,
I fall in love
With the tune of my heart.

It reveals its true chords,
Playing poetic notes,
Of perfection to me,
That transform into
Masterpieces of spiritual art.

I call them,
Sacred marks,
On paper.

Tattoo-ing permanent beats,
On concrete walls and crumbled paper.
My cramped hands,
Decorated with red ink can’t keep up.
And I try to keep sketching.
Til I’ve found the words.

For this love affair with prose,
I must call the language of my soul.

I smile and step away from the green of the moon,
Wiping my wet cheeks smeared with black now,

And tighten up my corset,

To pray,

That I’m finally back.

Dearest Immortal Beloved,

I surrender.
To this romance.
To always remember you,
Take care of you,
Respect you,
Honor you,
Protect you,
Listen to you,
Like the divine temple,
That you are.

I adore you.
I give all that I am,

Surrendering to your love,
This romance,
A promise to my heart…
To speak with you daily.