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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
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
if you saw me
the way i see myself
maybe you'd get it.
"count your calories,
read the nutrition panels,
diet,
exercise,"
i know.
believe me,
i know.
"it's for your health,"
turns into
a chase
after my...
after your
ideal weight for me.
but you say it's mine.
I'm afraid of dying
because i worry they won't even be able
to lift my casket.
body positivity
until you no longer fit
into any of the boxes
you were destined for,
so i lay in a box
and shut the lid,
hoping you won't hear me scream as
the coffin is lowered into the ground
and i still worry that they're laughing at me
calling me names
worried about my size
rather than my death
so i shrink myself smaller
and smaller
because i think it will please you
and yet i cannot fit into this casket,
i am a product of pregnancy
and failed prosperity
the american dream
of my parents coming to these shores
with hope
seeing me dwindle it away
as each pound on the scale rises
i know their disappointment does not show on their faces
because they wear it on their hearts
I'm sorry
i hate it too
i'm scared of shopping because
i know i will need to forage for a size at the end of
the rack
because nothing near me will fit.
unable to read my poetry out loud,
because i can't speak without
obnoxiously frequent breaths.
i develop exercise induced asthma
like an excuse to avoid exercise because
I don't care anymore.
i tried
i really did.
but when a bite of rigatoni
turns into a fear of the scale,
i give up.
looks when i order my food,
if not at me,
then at the portion,
fit for a giant.
that's what i am to you,
isn't it?
no longer human,
but a puzzle you just can't fix,
a mishapen piece you need to cut down
to make it fit in its place.
fit.
what i'd do to look
feel
be
the embodiment of that word.
and by fit,
i mean thin,
and by thin,
i mean skin.
and bones.
nothing more.
I don't want to be anything more.
I'm cringing at the word body
because i know it's something
i will never like.
stares as i walk down the street
stomach bouncing
and I'm struck
with a memory of when
my stomach was pumped
because at the age of 13 I couldn't wait for old age
to die.
tired of laying in bed, tired
of seeing how i look in the lake of my bathroom
so i decide to
drown myself in it
I'm sick.
sick of myself
sick of looking into the toilet bowl
knowing what comes next
I'll purge.
purge myself of sin
gluttony
lust
love
of all the things
we choose to fear
and we chose love
because this world was not ready
for a heart as big as mine
so it takes
what i eat
and dissolves it into
a bloodstream
that is tainted with numbers
far too high.
i need to be high now
in order to eat
it's the only way my guilt
will not suppress my appetite
and even then
i know it will all call come back up:
the fear the fault the food
it all comes up
and i flush it away
the seven deadly sins:
I've committed each one
the worst was my confidence
my pride.
god forbid i have pride
god forbids me
to have joy in who i am
because the christian down the street
told me so
that if i want to make it to heaven
i need to take down that colorful flag on my porch
which i know they think waves in their faces,
rather than waving at them which is how i meant it.
i never expected that response
from you too,
i suppose.
i saw the way you looked at me,
trying on
a hand-me-down
from someone seven years my senior,
breaking the seams
as i struggle to fit an arm through.
i develop a fear of mirrors,
i deflect from the possibility of seeing
a reflect
of the error I've become.
breaking the binary of
skinny or fat,
I've become something worse,
not something in between...
just.
worse.
I don't want to live like this anymore,
but it's too much now
to change.
so maybe I'll give up,
and maybe you can rest.
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
if you saw me
the way i see myself
maybe you'd get it.
"count your calories,
read the nutrition panels,
diet,
exercise,"
i know.
believe me,
i know.
"it's for your health,"
turns into
a chase
after my...
after your
ideal weight for me.
but you say it's mine.
I'm afraid of dying
because i worry they won't even be able
to lift my casket.
body positivity
until you no longer fit
into any of the boxes
you were destined for,
not to mention the clothes.
foraging for a size at the end of
the clothes rack
because nothing near me will fit.
unable to read my poetry out loud,
because i can't speak without
obnoxiously frequent breaths.
I don't care anymore.
i tried
i really did.
but when a bite of rigatoni
turns into a fear of the scale,
i give up.
looks when i order my food,
if not at me,
then at the portion,
fit for a giant.
that's what i am to you,
isn't it?
no longer human,
but a puzzle you just can't fix,
a mishaped piece you need to cut down
to make it fit in its place.
fit.
what i'd do to look
feel
be
the embodiment of that word.
and by fit,
i mean thin,
and by thin,
i mean skin.
and bones.
nothing more.
I don't want to be anything more.
I'm cringing at the word body
because i know it's something
i will never like.
i never expected that response
from you too,
i suppose.
but i shouldn't be so surprised.
i saw the way you looked at me,
trying on
a hand-me-down
from someone five years my senior,
breaking the seams
as i struggle to fit an arm through.
i develop a fear of mirrors,
i deflect from the possibility of seeing
a reflect
of the error I've become.
breaking the binary of
skinny or fat,
I've become something worse,
not something in between...
just.
worse.
I don't want to live like this anymore,
but it's too much now
to change.
so maybe I'll give up,
and maybe you can rest.
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
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
we started together,
you and i.
we grew as we
wandered this earth,
the smell of soil permeated our senses.
we stayed so close
our roots began to bond,
the origin of our creation
became a union, an abomination.
given the choice
between their doctrines,
and their children,
they chose the scripture.
instructions
on how to raise
saplings and sinners like us.
over time,
our roots were separated
into divisions.
they hoped
that the sunders
would prevent our sins.
as if grafting our stems
in new locations
would be a solvent.
but we are of a long line,
an adaptive family tree,
not connected by dna
but a community nonetheless.
we learned from our lineage
to forge our own paths
unafraid of the trek ahead.
despite the watering,
the spillage onto our new leaves as
an attempt to squander our strength,
we persevere.
but this drowning
continues
and digs
us
deeper
into
the
ground.
soon,
we're
six
feet
below
surface.
the leaves and the buds
have erroded,
diminished
into a future fertility
for the sediment.
their attempt
to drown us out
with a downpour
has succeeded,
the moisture turned to rot.
but my dear,
no matter where you
may rest now,
i know that in the end,
our bones will be laid the same,
and our remains will one day
grow again to full bloom.
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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