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Oliver Chu Poem
i see the way you look at him,
holding his hand,
kissing him,
and i see you’ve been cursed.
cursed to love a man you never truly loved,
cursed to lose the girl who gave you butterflies.
if you were a boy,
you said, so many years ago,
i think i’d want to kiss you.
so unsure of yourself in your sentences
out of fear of being cursed with a life sentence
damnation, you said.
but how could a love so sweet be so wrong.
how cruel for a sixteen year old girl to hear these words,
i cut my hair,
i bound my chest,
i made myself a reflection of who the world wanted,
in order for us to be together.
i waited for you.
but time did not wait for us, my dear,
your parents laughed when you brought me home to meet them,
then their laughs turned to violence
when they saw us
said we were cursed,
laying with the devil
they turned your bright green eyes into
swollen shades of blues and purples.
now, nearly twenty years later,
i see you with him,
saccharine smiles,
absorbing his touch
like a reluctant sponge.
heartbreak is not nearly strong enough a word for this kind of pain.
my love,
we were never cursed,
the world was.
Copyright © Oliver Chu | Year Posted 2024
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Oliver Chu Poem
it was cold, yet hot,
a fever.
i am surprised,
as though I didn't fill myself with poison
just the night before.
my arm is taped down,
attached to an iv,
four pouches of medication seep into my veins
it burns,
yet any tears i have left have been taken by my father,
crying in the seat beside my hospital bed,
next to my mother, a stoic statue.
how rare to see your father cry,
how jarring.
to see the grown man who has been a fortress all your life,
break down like a child
the violence of the sobs,
the sharpness of the gasp as he realizes my eyes are open,
as though he were drawing his very first breath.
this is not how i wanted this to go.
and to see your mother,
silent and still,
for once, she had no words to say.
her pain would come,
but as the world told her,
she needed to be strong.
the plan was simple,
sleeping pills before bed,
the perfect excuse to lay limp.
eyes shut,
it'd be over within a few hours,
a smile rests on my face when i realize, this funeral bill would be cheaper than the countless medical ones.
a hug to my parents,
who i never hug.
a goodbye.
i play my favorite song on repeat
and close my eyes,
waiting for what comes next.
but as i sit up in this bed,
gauze shielding the barcodes carved into my arms,
i see i've simply made things
so.
much.
harder.
their trust would be the last to come,
that's for certain.
but first would be sleepless nights of my parents arguing about where they went wrong,
loud whispers as though our walls were not thin.
debates,
not knowing who to blame.
mimicry of their actions,
going through a range of motions,
they are no longer whole.
i wish i could say this changed my perspective on life,
my taste of death inspired a new life,
but it didn't.
they took out the poison but left my brain,
my body's one true toxin.
Copyright © Oliver Chu | Year Posted 2024
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Oliver Chu Poem
baby elephants stay with their mothers their whole lives
they follow them for miles,
hiding in the maternal shade
of large, floppy ears,
perfect for listening to their cries.
so why, mom, did you leave your baby,
even after hearing my cries.
you came back,
left again,
came back,.
such a confusing cycle
for such a young elephant.
baby elephants learn from their mothers.
how to use their trunks,
how to climb out of ditches across the lands,
so why, mom, did you leave me in that ditch alone.
you came back for me,
you did,
but not before i learned to climb out myself.
baby elephants stay in their herds for life,
with their mothers,
they walk as long as their legs will take them,
the herd does not leave them behind,
their mothers make sure of that.
so why, mom,
did you let me walk alone,
no one to teach me,
that walking alone for so long,
takes such a grand toll on my legs.
baby elephants love their mothers,
and their mothers would
do anything,
anything at all,
for their babies.
protect them,
feed them,
watch them sleep.
so why, mom, did you do everything
but love me.
Copyright © Oliver Chu | Year Posted 2024
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Oliver Chu Poem
It wasn’t the life she wanted.
This life drained the light from her eyes,
Turning them to deep gray circles,
Her voice lost its tone,
She lost herself.
Mothering was not a part of the plan.
She was supposed to get out.
Out of the town,
Out of the house,
Out of the state,
Go to school,
Go to college,
Go to work.
Grab the job of her dreams by the reigns,
Ride it into the fantastically detailed future
That she’d been planning since the 6th grade.
A home,
A steadfast group of friends,
Maybe a dog.
But not a kid.
Not a husband.
This was not the plan.
Over the years, she learned to pretend,
If not for the kids, for herself,
For the husband,
That she was happy.
Trapped in this provincial life,
She was happy.
Wake up at 7 a.m.,
Make the bed,
Walk downstairs,
Make coffee,
Make breakfast,
Remake the bed that you forgot to make.
Wake the kids,
Get them ready for school,
Get the keys,
Get in the car,
Get on the road.
Go home.
Sleep because you can never sleep at night,
Trapped in the spiraling paradox
That prances in your mind,
Telling you that this is not your life.
It shouldn’t be.
It can’t be.
At 3:00 p.m.,
Get back in the car,
Get the kids from school,
Get the kids back home,
Get back on the road,
Resist the urge to keep driving
Past the house, into the night,
Never to be seen again.
Resist the urge.
Because you have to.
At 10:00 p.m.,
Make sure the kids are in bed,
Make sure the lights are dimmed,
Make sure the stove and oven are turned off,
Go to your room,
Your husband won’t be home yet,
Not for another 2 hours.
You’ve got time to kill.
Read a book,
Look for flights,
Watch a show,
Cry into your pillow,
Because no one has given you their shoulder
For a very, very long time.
Husband comes home at 12:00 a.m.,
He takes a shower,
Crawls into bed next to you,
You exchange pleasantries,
He turns off the bedside lamp,
Within minutes, he’s asleep.
What to do tonight?
Another successful day,
Set off without a hitch.
Walk back downstairs,
Fold the hampers of laundry,
It’s 3:00 a.m. now,
The kids will be up in 4 hours.
You’ve got time to kill.
Maybe this time,
You and time can trade places.
Maybe this time,
You can keep driving.
Maybe this time,
You can be free.
Maybe, but not today.
Copyright © Oliver Chu | Year Posted 2024
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Oliver Chu Poem
Little Girl swings in the air,
legs pumping, wind in hair
the closest to flight she’ll ever be.
freedom and fairytales whisper in her ears,
telling her with each swing, she’ll be closer to the clouds.
Little Girl and Little Boy swing in the air,
legs pumping, wind in hair,
‘friends forever’ echo in their laughter.
their shadows chase after them in the shade of the trees
and disappear in the sun.
Little Girl and Little Boy walk to the playground.
Little Boy’s hands cover Little Girl’s mouth,
no escaping sound.
her shadow disappears and his darkens.
Little Boy’s hands crawl over her body,
and Little Girl screams with no voice.
Little Girl’s ‘no’ is a game he now plays,
seeing how long until his friends focus their gaze,
laughing and pointing and poking and touching,
no this is not a phase.
Young Man steps into a dorm.
Young Woman is cornered by the upcoming storm
and he grabs her and smiles.
finally alone again she cries,
her skin burns with anger
fear and disgust become her reflection
she scrubs her skin,
but the dirt does not wash away.
Little Girl stares at her bedroom wall
she rewinds the clock, trying to stall
but when the sun sets, his shadow emerges
and hers runs to hide in the Land of Innocence.
Old Woman turns on the tv
Old Man is surrounded by red and blue lights.
Little Girl’s wails turn into a siren’s
Old Woman cries new kinds of tears,
her first smile appears after 75 years
freedom, relief, breathing again.
Old Woman swings in the air,
legs pumping, gray traced hair
no longer alone.
Little Girl holds her hands which no longer shake,
she clutches her heart, there’s no more ache.
they smile and watch as their shadows swing in the sunset,
flying fast,
healed at last.
Copyright © Oliver Chu | Year Posted 2024
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Oliver Chu Poem
I see the way your body dances through the halls of our home, how dirty you are. dirty little girl.
My teacher said this is not what we do. Mom tells me this is bad.
They’re wrong. Beautiful girls get lied to.
Dad tells me not to do these things.
This is because he does not love you. Beautiful girls get lied to.
Daddy said he loves me.
He doesn’t. Beautiful girls get lied to.
This hurts.
there is blood. but he cleans it up and makes it better.
Tommy at school said I’m ugly.
You are beautiful. I see how beautiful you are. Beautiful girls get lied to.
Why am I beautiful?
Look at your body. See this? This is beautiful. I will show you how to feel beautiful.
Beauty hurts.
No, it doesn’t. I will teach you to love being beautiful. Then it won’t hurt anymore.
everything hurts. mommy and the doctors say it’s a uti.
Someone said I was fat today. I cried at recess.
You are not fat. You are beautiful. Beautiful girls get lied to.
it happens. again.
I have to tell Mommy. It hurts me. My pants are red now.
It will hurt more if you tell Mommy. Do you want it to hurt more?
…no.
i
forget
everything.
the aftermath.
the shower scalds me. but i like it. It makes me feel… beautiful. i think my beauty needs to burn.
my papercuts feel good now. i scrape my skin off and i’m euphoric.
i don’t cry anymore. because i am a beautiful girl.
now i dream
a gun to my head and i pull the trigger and i laugh. I feel… complete.
i turn pain killers into brain killers and it stings and it’s fantastic.
and when the nurse sticks the needle in the fluid is cold and burns my veins and i inhale the toxins and everything is i don’t quite know but it feels good and i feel beautiful.
i eat enough for a beautiful family and i stop moving because everything starts to slow down
and i see my reflection in a tear my eye sprinkles onto my phone.
i am not beautiful anymore.
i’m ugly and disgusting and it feels like perfection to me and it’s a phenom of it’s own an inexplicable shooting star and i am happy.
happy that i am ugly.
because no one will ever lie again to the ugly girl.
and i think i can tell mom and dad now
but i don’t.
because i crave my beauty. my crown of thorns, my soul on fire. i need to be beautiful again.
this pain is now comfort my hurt is my shield and the blood on my body is my armor.
i need to be a beautiful girl
this feeling is carnal and i eat to feed my insatiability.
i stay in agonizing silence because
Beautiful girls lie.
Copyright © Oliver Chu | Year Posted 2024
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Oliver Chu Poem
Make noise, be loud, bold, let your voice be heard; don’t be a wallflower, we have
enough of those already, the world needs leaders; you are soft spoken, don’t let dismissal by
others of your quiet tone discourage you; yell if you have to, if it’s what it takes for your voice to
be heard by others; you have things to say, so say them; But what if I’m uncertain of what to say;
speak with an open mind, listen to others, their words are just as important; look for your future,
find it, start to live it; I’m a bit young to be thinking so far ahead, aren’t I, the future isn’t your
adulthood, it’s what you make of yourself, now, in the future, and a revival of your past; find
people you can rely on, and who can rely on you; be sure of yourself, don’t let others tell you
you’re wrong without giving you the chance to speak; you have many things to say, so say them,
do not be afraid, But I am afraid, and so what? say it anyways; women, specifically Asian
women, are far too often dismissed without a chance of voice, of heart, especially of mind; do
not let them make this of you too, do not become another single narrative for them to write in
their cis, het, white, rich, male, history textbooks; make some noise; make sure that if any page
in that history book pertains to you, it will not be about your silence; I won’t.
Copyright © Oliver Chu | Year Posted 2024
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Oliver Chu Poem
Welcome to our generation,
We hope you enjoy this fantastic nation,
Kids here stand on a quicksand foundation,
And fear their schools are a gunned down station.
When they watch the news near and far,
The horrors they witness leave a scar.
When they’re in school, their fears on par,
They remember their bleeding peers, free and barred.
How many wars are being fought?
And how many of them are being taught?
Do our leaders know these kids are distraught?
For every noise could be a deadly onslaught?
But our nation’s great, it has its perks,
We have freedoms and fireworks.
But there are red-stained hallways where great danger lurks,
Forcing our emotions to be overwrought and overworked
People come here to fulfill their dreams,
Or escape their hometown’s deadly screams.
They soon learn this country isn’t all that it seems,
It ignores and distrusts and divides into teams.
Children across this landscape are torn by division,
Hoping for a lawful collaborative solution.
Anxiously waiting for a black-robed decision,
Wringing withered hands in hope of a life-changing conclusion.
A country is ripe with discrimination:
That’s America’s way of “education.”
“Land of the free” is a mischaracterization,
Of a world that clings to willful exclusion.
But we mustn’t surrender to the dark powers that be,
A more perfect union is within reach, you’ll soon see.
A time will come when all the “isms” will ride away with the breeze,
And through the sizzling warmth of empathy and liberality,
We will earnestly redress this fractured morality.
Copyright © Oliver Chu | Year Posted 2024
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Oliver Chu Poem
the lunchbox moment.
I can feel the looks of disgust as I make my way to the table,
I sit down,
others stand up,
walk away.
kids grimace at the meal I’ve placed in front of myself,
“ew” and “what is that?” fly across the table into my ears.
I try to explain,
but only assumptions are acceptable as they switch their tables,
away from me.
the labels we have in our classroom.
we all have the same name here,
those in the skin of privilege think we are
one,
the same,
nothing but another Chinese kid.
teachers with saccharine smiles plastered on their faces
call on my raised hand in class.
a name,
that is not mine,
empties out of their mouth.
after 14 years here,
I’ve learned,
there is no point in correcting them.
the Chinese New Year festival.
second grade starts.
a new name,
belonging to another Asian kid,
is assigned to me.
they don’t know who I am,
but I don’t care.
I let myself fade away,
shrinking into my surroundings.
kids gather in the hall in “traditional Chinese clothing,”
sticking chopsticks in their hair,
stretching their eyes into slits,
yelling gibberish at me as I pass,
thinking that they are speaking “my” language.
teachers ask me to do their job,
to teach their students about “my home,”
“my home” on the other side of the world,
a home I’ve never seen.
the country I am from.
born American,
yet still a foreigner.
the words of my classmates, teachers, fellow citizens,
echo constantly in my mind.
“go back to your country”
“your English is very good”
“where were you born?”
“where are you really from?”
because no matter what,
in their eyes,
I am not,
and never will be,
American.
the future we look to.
isolation has become our routine,
a cycle of exclusion,
we turn and spin around in,
we are given no choice but to fight back
in a world where we are looked at,
and without hesitation,
labeled:
“perpetual foreigner.”
we can no longer
allow ourselves to be stripped of our identities,
until we are nothing more than
yellow-skinned wallflowers.
together,
we can take the ignorance
that tries to demolish our individuality,
and use it to reinforce resilience.
the words you choose.
your privilege bestows you the choice to learn about racism.
we are not your teachable moments.
do not look to us as spokespeople for a land you think we’re from.
we are not less American because of our appearance,
do not
hyphenate,
separate,
divide us.
we are just as American as you.
Copyright © Oliver Chu | Year Posted 2024
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Oliver Chu Poem
you remember that one time when ava fell off the swings and cut her knee?
how everyone laughed at her for her childish hubris in thinking she could jump and land,
unscathed, from that high a distance?
how the laughter roared as they watched a 9-year-old cry
and clutch her knee with both hands,
creating a burrow for blood under her nails?
how, without a moment of hesitation,
you ran to her, helped her up, and walked her to the nurse’s office?
yeah. didn’t think you’d remember it, if i’m being totally honest.
well, that moment, watching you put her arm around your shoulder for balance,
so she could hop her way down a flight and half of stairs for a single band-aid,
i think I fell in love with you.
maybe love is an exaggeration,
but looking at these old photos of us,
with your hair flying in the wind and my hair tucked in your helmet
as i clutched your waist for dear life,
the two of us,
flying down the freeway on your motorcycle,
i can’t think of a better word to describe my feelings for you.
these pictures,
now covered in layers of dust,
remind me of everything that could have been.
of everything that will never be.
i lost you so many addictions ago,
i guess i should’ve known when your words turned to lies,
and your lies turned to routine,
but i didn’t want to believe that the girl
with the bright pink hair and tacky leather jackets,
the girl that i had fallen so hard for,
was now gone.
that she had been replaced with someone who simply
went through the motions every day,
no longer able to feel anything for anyone,
someone who looked in the mirror,
wishing that the reflection would be blank.
the doctors say that your liver gave out,
but i think that the real cause was that you gave up.
i saw how hard you fought,
how you ran away from who you’d become,
leaving us behind in a race to find yourself.
you were gone long before the red line representing your heart’s last efforts flattened.
you’ve been gone so long that i’ve had to rely on these pictures
to make sure that you were ever real.
you’ve become nothing but a memory,
a hope, a wish for better,
a tragic story that i wish i never was a part of.
i miss you,
more than you could ever know,
more than i can ever process.
i miss you because no matter what happened,
no matter where you went,
no matter how long you’ve been gone,
i still loved you.
Copyright © Oliver Chu | Year Posted 2024
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