This weather feels like Grove City, the cold twisting its way into the skin. I would always keep my windows cracked, my roommates would shut them. Lunchtime breaks that I had I would spend sleeping on my covers. It gets me in a funk. I am trying to make this winter new, and energized and safe.
I am scared of cold weather. I bite into it, and into myself.
I did yoga last night. Yawned my way through it. But my body feels full of that oxygen.
I am going to make yogurt, and wheat bread, and involved projects, then give them away.
I will not, not not lay on my bed and stare and drift. I have moved my bed away from the window and given the spot to An.
I shouldn't paint myself. look look look.

I am rolling up my heart a little bit every time this happens.
Bjork says hers unravels.
Mine turns to clumps, and clumps to logs,
My dad unburied a rock in the garden
and showed it to me with triumph.
I just stared at the hole. What is
going there nowlogsclumps. hearts.

Raw emotion makes me uneasy.
I would rather sleep with the window
tipped open, and the dupatta in the window, my flag, my smell
and Rumi with his lazy eyes.





Welcome to the world, oh happy
Tremble jungle.




Hung Liu