Sometimes I Wish - 06/04/16

Sometimes, "I Wish I Was A Girl" by Counting Crows plays and I'm never sure if it's okay for me to sing along or if that'll give someone the wrong impression, even if it's just me, singing alone in my bedroom.

Sometimes, I wish I was a boy so I didn't have an existential crisis every time I hear my high-pitched voice or want to bind or a store clerk tells me I'm welcome to use any changing room .... on the ladies' side.

Sometimes, I wish I was a girl so that I didn't have to explain what I "really" meant when I said, "I am so gay for Rey."

Sometimes, I wish I was a boy so that I could hate my curvy hips without feeling like I've disgraced the entire body positivity movement.

Sometimes, I wish I was a girl because my mother always wanted a daughter ad I can't help thinking, would it really be so tough to just suck it up and give her this? My honest existence and happiness aren't that important.

Sometime, I wish I was a boy so that I didn't feel guilty over the little hint of joy I get when anyone mistakes me for one or addresses me as "sir" on the bus.

Sometimes, I wish I was a girl so that no one could accuse me of not being a feminist or of forsaking all the joys of womanhood or of no longer being a suitable role model for young women in physics. Look, what the young people need to know is that they don't have to hide any aspect of themselves to succeed in science, that electrons have no bias against my gender identity, that mathematical proofs will still be as logical no matter who you choose to be, that experiments will work the same no matter who runs or analyses them, and any professor, adviser, or peer who says otherwise can come talk to me. I've got poems and rage set to burn pages and pages, whatever it takes to make them see.

Sometimes, I wish I was a boy so that you'd take me seriously.

Sometimes, "I wish I was a girl, so that you would believe me."

A Cold, Dead Place - 05/27/16

When all is said and done
what have I become

but a fragment of a human soul,
hardly indispensable,
hardly irreplaceable,
hardly unforgettable,
a shadow cast upon this world
by a glory unimaginable,
it left me shattered in this hole
with no hope of being fixed or whole.

I'm falling,
I'm kneeling,
reaching for stars on the ceiling,
screaming,

"Remember when I used to write?
Put pen to paper
and let words take flight?
Let worlds take flight,
bring worlds to life?"

But now I all have are funeral rites,
cascading chamomile trips through endless nights,
an exhausted homily
in eerie harmony,
begging to be set free from me,
be gone from me,
released from me
and this excessive misery
and the melodrama surrounding
every failed attempt at healing.

In each quiet moment,
these violent thoughts return,
berating:

"All you do is burn.
When are you gonna learn
that there is nothing in this world
undamaged by your flame,
no one who will be the same,
no memories left unchanged?
All you do is burn."

Tell me how to heal
and I will do it.
How many times
must I insist that
I am not a cold, dead place
before I believe it?
How many lines
must I erase
until I no longer
feel the guilt
of their creation?
Is there any penance
I could pay
to drive
the catastrophic thoughts away?
Is there any amount
of self sacrifice
that would suffice
to end this repetitive annihilation,
these oscillations
between "almost okay" and this?
I have tried to find
a villain I could blame this on,
a monster I could pin this on,
an enemy beyond my mind
that I could fight



but the only one out here trying to kill me
is me



and I have spent too much energy
tearing at my own flesh
and hating my own head
and destroying myself endlessly
and all it's gotten me
are scars
and fading Sharpie stars
where I have to see
and remember
exactly
how I betrayed me.

When I Say That You're Stardust - 01/19/14

Don't let anyone tell you that you can be anything;
that if you dream it, you can be;
that you'll get anywhere wishing on stars.
This world was not built to grant your wishes,
nor mine,
and, someday, you'll find
that your blood is required to get very far.
I want you to know this going in.
I don't want you to know
that the world is mostly darkness;
I want you to know
that you're the world's only light.
I don't want you to know
that life is a battlefield;
I want you to know
when and how to fight.
I don't want you to know
your place;
I want you to know
how to scream,
I want you to know
what your words taste like
when they leave your mouth;
how to say "love" and mean it;
how to say "hate" and mean it;
what equality looks like,
what power feels like,
and how to have the parts
of both that you want and need
in order to breathe
a sigh of relief
in this eighty, ninety, hundred year struggle
of your life.

I want you to know
you'll never get anywhere wishing on stars.
I want you to know
you'll get exactly where you are
and you'll never be happy
if you aren't allowed
to watch comet trails in the night
and imagine a utopia
where you don't have to fight
for the right to be
exactly the way you were born.
I want you to know
that a star is more you
than a mirror and
I want you to know
that the same is true
for everyone you meet.
I don't want you to know
that you can be anything
because I want you to know
that you are everything.

Debate Guys - 02/18/12

Ladies, how many times in your life
have you opened a sentence with the line
“So, there's this guy . . .”
Well, pardon the cliché reality
of my presumed originality,
but I'd like to flip that phrase to say:
 
So, there's this carbon-based life form,
the product of 4 billion of evolution
compressed into 40 trillion cells,
the way Carl Sagan jammed it into 40 seconds
and flipped my perceptions around,
this boy flips my whole brain around.
 
He's hot like an exothermic reaction,
fly like the numerator in a fraction.
He's got more sex appeal than Richard Feynman,
so in a crowded room, it's not hard to find him.
 
Oh, and he looks damn fine in a suit.
And he's a debate guy, so it's not hard to find him in a suit.
There's something about those debate guys,
spouting statistics like I write rhymes,
with arrogant smirks and pick-up lines,
with confident voices and easily-rolled eyes.
Damn, those debate guys are fine.
 
And this boy, this carbon-based life form,
the product of thousands of years of genetic manipulation
ending in this culmination of human expectation,
is sassy and sexy and arrogant
and I like that.
Some girls don't, saying,
“Ew, get away.”
And I say, “Hey, baby, walk my way.”
 
He's smarter than Jimmy
Cooler than a neutron
Sweeter than glucose
Hotter than a bomb-omb
And on top of everything, he's a great debater.
 
He is everything nerdy little me could ask for,
so I summoned all my courage, and then some more,
and I asked him out, and he said,
“Maybe later.”
 
I broke down all barriers,
brought my heart on an aircraft carrier,
and I asked him out and he said,
“Maybe later.”
 
Because on top of all his admirable features
are also all the twists and detours,
the unavailability,
and the over commitment to everything.
So, maybe later.
 
But I'm finding it hard to accept,
because direct rejection is not what I met.
So I haven't quite given up yet,
believing your heart is still mine to get.
 
See, I'm a non-ohmic device:
a flash of your smile, and my resistance decreases.
Dear, you're like ozone in the troposphere:
when you're near, my respiration ceases.
Guys like you are more rare than Platinum,
so let's Fluorine Uranium Carbon Potassium!
(Periodic table joke. Look it up.)
 
I don't mean to be obsessive, creepy, or alarming,
but when I'm with you, I feel sparks.
And I know I'm strange, but you're so charming,
so together we could be second generation quarks.
 
You're the sunlight to my photosynthesis,
the conclusion to my Extended Essay's thesis.
(IB joke. Don't look that one up. It's terrifying.)
I think about you more than Euler did math.
I sure hope our vectors aren't skew,
so we can cross paths.
 
But I suppose it's not a matter of how you make me feel,
if so we would have sealed this deal.
It's the fact that you don't like me,
and I get it,
I can totally see.
I mean,
I'm like calling pink “anti-green,”
just weird.
But don't you know how explosive we'd be
if you were my anti-Tangereen?
 
So, go out with me.
Because I may be pretty far from perfectly flawless,
but I'm no where near perfectly flawed.
Because this confidence is why public nudity
had to be outlawed.
Because I am the arrogant, crazy girl
who wrote a slam to demand that you go out with her
even though I'm reasonably sure
you'll still say, “No way!”
I'm still here anyway.
Because I am the Alex Dang of poetry,
the Queen of IEs,
the quiet physics geek
waiting to be adorable and sweet,
for no other reason than because I can.
Because I am the warrior princess -
duchess -
maiden?-
 
Because I am the warrior girl
with gray eyes like daggers
and fingers curled,
ready to take on the world
or at least momentary discomfort
if it means the slightest chance at love.
Because I am the warriors girl
with a sword in her heart and a shield on her soul.
The wielder of words like fire
and a voice soft as snow.
Because I am the warrior girl,
strong and brave,
who doesn't care if her heart breaks,
willing to do whatever it takes,
to stay happy enough to continue to be strong and brave.
 
But that doesn't mean it's perfectly okay if you say no,
that I'll be alright, don't worry.
It means stop breaking my heart
before I give up completely.
So I'll ask one last time
before I'm forced to move on with me life:
Can I take you to lunch sometime?

3rd Grade Math - 04/04/11

I hardly recognize
The old school division sign
The x we used to use
To multiply
They’ve all been replaced by
More neatly spaced
Symbology
The new cryptography
For me to decipher

And whatever happened to 3rd grade math?
Well, I can tell you,
It’s a thing of the past,
Because my little brother,
7 time 2 years old
Can’t divide.
And when I heard that
Something in me died,
Because I remember when I first learned
That 5 time 5
Is the area of a square
With a 5 cm side
Something clicked inside.

See, I like math
Because I like my world to make sense
Because I like to understand
And the surest
Purest
Truest way I can see to do that
Is to add, subtract, multiply and divide
I like to integrate and differentiate
So I can explicitly calculate
The persistent existence of
e and pi.

Or tau,
For those of you who may think it’s more accurate
And who may not hold
The same sentimental value
As I do on that number.

I remember the first veil
Lifting when I was eight
As I learned how to calculate
Combinations and permutations
Although I did not quite yet
Experience the sensation
Of fully understanding
Those implications.
That came later.

But each small step
Has been a building block
To this big picture
To where I can see the world
In equations
And if I know the luscious curve
That built your head,
Why, I could find the area of your face

So maybe you can almost understand
How my reactions
Can sometimes get out of hand
When I realize
That my little brother,
7 time 2 years old,
Can’t divide.

But, then,
There’s this girl,
Who is also 7 time 2 years old
Who is at the same level of math
As others in my class
With a calculator in her brain
Able to instantaneously retain
Any combination of numbers
Add, subtract, multiply, divide


I am in love
With the beautiful, sweeping S
Of the limit sun,
With the big wide curves
Next to their skinny little tangent lines.
With the singsong quotient rule
I repeat when I’m stressed,
I repeat when working on homework
That is boring
Or when I wish is was sleeping
But am instead up so late repeating
The singsong quotient rule,
So that makes it alright.

Sometimes, I wish that
The more strange
And more easily changed
And constantly rearranged
Classes, like English and physics,
Were all purely math

And I like long math problems
Tangles of numbers, letters, and signs
That stretch a whole page,
And pull me in
To a half hour
Of scrambling through its maze
And then, upon reaching the finish
That exquisite exhale
Of complete knowledge,
Perfect understanding,
Supreme control
Of the universe
That is governed by those
Long lines of numbers, letters, and symbols.

So you who speak a different language
Like English,
Let me say, as clearly as I can,
That I love mathematics.
And for you how do speak my first language:
M times A to the power of TH,
Is equal to the integral of
e to the x times y.

Let Me Take a Note from Tunisia - 03-01-11

Ladies and Gentlemen,
adults with baby brains,
kickin’ back to the glare
and the snare
of FOX News,
listening to whatever
and whoever
is on the radio,
turning the dial low,
making your brain slow

Let me remind you Americans
what the people of Tunisia
recently discovered,
let me inform you
what the people of Egypt
have uncovered.
Come and hear the wisdom
of Yemen, Bahrain, and Jordan.
Listen to the secrets
of Greece, Algeria and Sudan.

We are oppresses
by the clothes in which we’ve dressed,
by the revolutions we’ve missed,
by the chemical lips we’ve kissed,
by the star lit crack addicts we’re caresses,
by the companies we’ve supported,
their causes we’ve donated to,
by the way we’ve paraded to
their mass sales,
throwing workers wages back at you.
The consumed consumer.
The used user.
The obsolete treat
to freedom’s enemy,
the television.
By everything you see,
all the Barbie dolls you try to be,
every advertisement you believe.

That moment when you stop perceiving
and start following.
The moment when you stop following
and sit down.
When we sign our votes to companies,
and disregard epiphanies,
and throw poets away
to the modern day Gulags
of writing crap pop songs
that someone else will sing.
When what Lady Gaga
wore to the Grammy’s
is more important than the riots in the streets.

And here’s the ultimate plot twist,
the deadly kiss,
the last lisped words
of hope:
they look to us.
People in other nations,
praying for freedom,
marching for liberty,
bleeding for basic, human, rights
look to us.
We symbolize freedom,
we symbolize progress,
we symbolize equality.
We have women senators,
but I still wouldn’t earn as much as a man
for the same job.
We have a melting pot of culture,
but Portland only has nine Synagogues
among endless churches.
We have the first black president,
and we beat gay men to death.

You know,
I won’t debate over the second amendment,
because we were given it
for a reason:
so that when the government
- our government -
commits treason
we can correct them
and protect
what we are currently
neglecting to respect.

Freedom.
It’s more than a constitution,
it’s a state of mind.
and the reason not every dictatorship is revolting
is because some have bigger things on their minds,
like their next meal
and clean water
and their children’s lives.

And we?
We have the Oscar’s.