A clownfish survives in the arms of an anemone: its poison is protection, a ritual of sting and shelter What is it, if not the push and pull of love of an Asian family a bond so deep it suffers inside the sea When my partner says, “Just tell your mom how you feel,” I try. I really try. But the words stick in my throat Stinging me like I’ve swallowed an anemone All that comes out is: “I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.” So I hide the little white pills And the pain with the fears I ma

Some plants wilt if you shift them just an inch. Others thrive even after weeks alone. Some return home to find them thriving still green, wild, loyal He is more a snake plant. I’m more of a peculiar eucalyptus. It’s not my fault. Still, I feel guilty. A sensitive stem. Water me. Whisper sweet nothings. Brush my leaves. Carry me from corner to corner. Just don’t leave me alone drying and crisping. It doesn’t matter. I’ll fade away anyway Love has its seasons Replace me but no

How do I say my stomach is in knots? How do I say my brain is rotten? How do I say my warm, beating heart, full of insect wings, turned icy cold? How do I say: hold me. Overnight, I grew a shiny black hump. I turned into a beetle. All six feet want to run, like horses with wide eyes. All four eyes want to glance away, like a man caught doing crime. How can I say it? I can’t even say it. Stop throwing apples at me.