Would you buy flowers for yourself? Can you tell me all the people who would? The people who have?

How many spoonfuls of shame must you measure out To start the recipe of my humanity?

Forgive me, my arrival has disrupted your sentences. gender is such a hoax, isn’t it?

I subscribe to a dozen magazines one night because these are such good deals and I've reignited an affair from years ago

“What’s he doing?” Jophiel asked, brushing their cornsilk hair out of their eyes.

when the sun goes down we step Together in glass slippers Far afar by miles, near with fright Of being predated, chased, killed

I find a sunny place to survive. Every morning, a new magnum opus greets me & I am so awake & my parents don’t have to worry.

the pen pierces the point in the plane of my graphing paper, at rest before it swoops, curves, and loops, where am I?

My father insisted that I should have perfect handwriting.

In the refrigerator: an unopened bottle of orange juice with half the sugar already missing because my mother remembered

My mother tells me of half recalled grandparents With possibility of tainted blood, of self destruction Of women who hid with their sisters

This is what joy looks like: palm to palm, radiant, mga kasama. Sing like every tomorrow is infinite

Natural Selection The quaint dwelling seemed to hunker down on itself as a bleak wind tore through the night, rousing restless trees in...

Finish Filipinx American History Month on a strong note and show Elsa Valmidiano your support!

Close like they did long ago. Death watches from the lawn, stalker that he is. He puts his deathpencil behind his ear and stares.

There is a part of me that knows my boyfriend is human/ but part of me still thinks him angel/ sprite/ fairy/ elf/everything soft

The darkness of The past frightens me For I once lost Myself, trapped in Society’s idea of perfection

A hit a sip then a chug then the lights start to strobe with a flash as it blinks as the thrill of the night hits a peak

Every morning in paradise, the locals go out to bury the remains  tourists have left in their wake under the sand.

In an unnamed grave, a few centuries after death, when they dig out my skeleton - from the pelvis and the skull