Writing (selected)
Poetry
The bone spirits have taken an interest in you. In the morning you wake up heavy, their skeletons not quite aligned with yours - fragments of gossamer down in your hair, spurs against your collarbone they have found a home in you laid down anchor made of bird bone and your grandmother’s white hair and em dashes
love, it’s 2099, you know that now love means stretching wide as a redwood, linking roots at the planet’s core and sharing memories and cat gifs like water, means drinking stories at a trinary star sunrise and dancing beyond the possibility of burial, but you’ve always had a taste for the old fashioned.
Time is, according to her bio,
apparently asexual, lives 300,000
miles away, is the second best
mtg player in the world, and im not
even a ripe plum, just an angry
persimmon nothing wandering
the aisles of joes abode like i would
rather be at costco instead.
You are other. Question folded
inside answer. The question an incision
splitting your tongue in half.
A wish: for this story to be more unique,
to burn to nothingness more elegantly, though
even that wish is inelegant,
a collection of bitter, sweet, sour, and salty poems accompanied by original sketches. (read)
Prose
Here’s the thing about being a 1.5th generation immigrant: you have two tongues and neither of them fit quite comfortably in your mouth; you are the broken parts of both countries stitched together; you are deathplace of family recipes and national history. Published in Kalliope.
Screenplays
A screenplay that is an ungodly fusion of the superhero, romcom, and drama and genres. (read)