Obsession

The things you obsess about are you
A thoughts your mind cannot expel
The hours of repetition you can't undo

And you can only see and go right through
and if the thing you're obsessed about still dwells
The things you obsess about are you

And God, if I lose it, what can I do
My obsessions gone, my life sinks through Hell
The hours of repetition you can't undo

As days pass by, my life refresh anew
This obsessions remains, I'll yell, might as well
The hours of repetition you can't undo.

Two parts of my heart, together I sew
Obsession as thread, my needle upheld
The things you obsess about are you
The hours of repetition you can't undo.

Rendezvous

BY JULIE CHEN

I have big dreams, he whispers, quietly

Mixing the whipped cream into his frappe. I nod,

Lightheaded from breathing in the sugared

Scent of a bush of hyacinths nearby. Spring was

In full bloom and flowers mustered in every

Corner. The air hung heavy with redolence.

He coughs and I tried to regain focus. My mother

Never even tried to understand me. The last 

Time I went home, she’d replaced my bed

With a pool table. If only I was as tame as

A billiard ball, he mumbles. I look down and

notice a ladybug lounging on my toe. I shift my feet

and it jolts away, speckled wings all in a fluster.

A drop of rain lands in my coffee. You’re better

Off now anyways, I say. You’ve been smiling

A lot more lately. He looks at me and his

Eyes are glazed with dejection. I give him

A nudge as the waiter steps outside to announce

Impending rain. The girl at the next table

Squeals and rushes to finish her meringue.

At least you’re welcome here. I drain my

Cup and stand up. He pushes back his dreadlocks

And gathers up our empty sugar packets. As he

Walks to throw them away, I wonder what

It feels like to be replaced with cue sticks

And a pocket table.

The clouds crack open above and I sprint

For the door leading back into the café.

We wait for the storm to subside. He unfolds a

Withered map and I watch him trace his slender fingers

Down miles and miles of dirt roads and turnpikes.

Rainy Day Parade

All week the sky hangs low
pressing its breaths onto the city pavement
and combing slick fingers
through ruffled hair
The sun plays hide and go seek
But hides and disappears
Wasting himself away
behind a canopy of fog
It has been raining since Monday
and the people are growing angsty from
the constant drip drumming
of rain pressing its palms onto window panes
I search for Hermes in my phone book
Surely he will know who to deliver my message to:
Dear atmosphere
I only have so many muted colors in my wardrobe
to reflect your August blues
And I whip up a batch of chocolate cookies
and place it on the windowsill
so the scent of sugar and vanilla may calm the brooding heavens.

JULIE CHEN

Crushed

Whenever you find that yourself unapologetic,

Step on a flower.

Feel the sap bleed into your soles

And listen to the earth silently weep

For its loss.

How easily we wreak havoc

On the ingenuous.

How easily we forget

The raw aching of wounds
which brings us to our knees

and leave us wary

Maybe the crushed petals will teach you

To be more careful.

Maybe the hole in the soil where beauty had once grown

Will tear a rift of remorse

Within you.

JULIE CHEN

Physics

She sits at the desk

Books sprawled around her, spines up

Like prized animal pelts on display

And she fumbles for hours through pages

Of inked formulas, rigid diagrams, and what is

The speed of light minus a heartbeat.

She doesn’t know.

But she knows that somewhere in the universe,

A star has devoured itself and left the cosmos

Tingling.

These implosions, rebirths, twinkle toes and
stardust are falling into Jupiter’s
non-existent craters and
While the planets careen in their orbits

tossed by the force of unfathomable hands
she sits in a darkened room
studying the laws of motion.

JULIE CHEN

Gramps

I went to see grandpa today.

He is flopped on the couch like a broken arm
Cracked, fading

Too ancient to speak.

We’ve never been close

But now he stares at me with eyes
like powdered feathers.

My aunt runs her finger through my curls.
She says I'm all grown up 
I wonder why she sounds surprised.

Gramp's utters a grunt of approval,
Voice like sandpaper on pearls.
It makes us laugh though.

His eyes linger, then.

And I become the best thing in the world.

The weight of silence roll down my shoulders.

But I don't do anything.
I sit and stare at my pale reflection in his brass tumbler.

And I suddenly wish I had cherished him, more

When he was still the ruddy old man

With a tan beret on his head
glaring into the distance and drinking strong tea. 

And it is the most heartbreaking thing I have ever known.

JULIE CHEN

Match

When the house is dark
I take out a hidden match and drag it down
the leg of my chair.
The flame licks my nails.
In a moment of silence
I stare at the eerie billow
and watch it cast whiskers of light
in futile effort.
I sit, crossed legged
and sway to to the dance of the sparks.

The moon intrudes on our secret date, then.
The flame flickers, indignant.
I take a breath and he is gone.

Colorblind

BY JULIE CHEN

Here is what I know about myself:

I am very pale.

So pale that I have grown to fear

Flash photography, because it

Makes me appear an incandescent lightbulb
glittering

I am chronically impatient. I refuse to wait for anything that can be hastened

I am very receptive to change.

Hobbies, clothing, people,

Sometimes I go out of my way for something new.

Even when the old fit perfectly 

Some days I think I am too old for my age.

Swimming amongst the fragmented pieces of philosophy and wisdom

I hoard in my head is tiring.

Mostly, I commit acts of naivety 
which subject me to burning cheeks and

my face in my hands.
I pass the seconds by melting into my own bellybutton

I am terrified of being caught off guard.

My English professor once said that 

people who have this fear often dream of being naked.

Well, I’ve never had this dream
But I am terrified

I have also been chronically leery, ever since you’ve turned your back.

I am leery of human emotions.

They are such fickle things: happiness, sadness,

Joy

Jealousy

Love

Hate

All but transient outbursts of the flimsy mind—

And in my naivety, I had believed that these were all genuine

All the time.

Here is what I know for sure:

I used to see everything through rosy glass.

But your last words shattered windows, and I am no longer colorblind.