Lueneburg Blog      The clock struck seven and the bells gonged away, scaring the pigeons as they

flocked towards the bridge in the distance. The basalt road shone with a reluctant

gleam as the morning light poured onto the deserted main street. The outside seating for

the pizza restaurant had no occupant but some stray pigeons pecking away at the legs of

the chairs. The tired, five hundred year-old Treppendach houses rose once again,

although unable to abstain their heads from hanging. The curve of the road seemed

to embody a voluptuous woman posing in the light, her body encompassing the entirety

of the city.

It was the last sunrise I was to see in this city, and I wanted to make the most of it.

With eyes half open I begrudgingly left her house and rushed on my light-blue

second-hand bike to the city centre through the car-less roads until I got to the little

pavement. As the sunrise slowly and gently lifted my eyelids, I remembered the pre-class

breakfasts I had at the Italian restaurant with my guys. I remembered the

countless times I gorged on some döner boxes from the kebab shop on the corner. The

many times I met up with her to get the berry infused summer love smoothie from the

smoothie joint with the outdoor seating. The two opposing ice cream stores sandwiching

the landmark church with the gigantic clock. The night we couldn’t catch a taxi for a

couple of hours. When I rode my bicycle in the pouring rain without any lights nor a

friend to comfort me.

I took the picture, got one last look at the view as I straddled my way to the

train station with my big backpack. As I walked past the church, the bells gonged away,

and I heard a collective flapping of wings in the distance behind me. I couldn’t help but



if i can

they call me a poet

in my backwards hat

i usually dont make it to class nor get up in the a.m.

i eat a lot at once and fight the food coma with a frappuccino


i work on line breaks while watching basketball

i get drunk on thursdays cause i like my weekends long

and cause my best friend leaves me every friday to go see his girlfriend

im way too asian and pretty white at the same time


when i was enthralled by the romantic idea of not going to college and becoming a starving artist

my father convinced me to go

saying that

the people you meet are the real treasures in your life

hes a smart man and this stands true

but sometimes it feels like the real treasure in life is

actually like real money

some of that would be kinda nice

or a lot



they call me a poet

i watch many shows for “stimulation”

when im sad i eat mac and cheese and watch sex and the city

family guy gives me comfort

south park makes me feel like a rebel

and rick and morty makes me cynical

for like a day


some days i listen to bob dylan and live life like a rolling stone

other times biggie hypnotizes me and i earnestly yearn for the day i can say

mo money mo problems

but most of the time my disney playlist is on so that i can paint with all the colors of the wind and let it all go

and look for the bare necessities in life


i go to coffee shops and try to look sophisticated

sitting next to the window with coffee thats far from black and a blank word document

i have a sweet spot for tattooed girls

im scared of guys who wear their shirts way too tight

i take romantic drives at night and call them “artistic breaks”

which usually end with a triple meat whataburger meal

which i call my baby and buckle her tight cause

just hold on, we’re going home


they call me a poet

cause im too lazy to write in sentences

i dont use punctuation

i dont have to explain myself

i think its what im good at

and its how i think

i do spend hours fixated on a syllable

i have days where i feel like Shakespeare

and days i feel like i took the road that was never supposed to fucking be like taken at all

then i write about them and feel better


they call me a poet

then why not you




















































Excerpt from “Soliloquy” (Temporary Title)

Meryl finished the last sentence for her blurb for English class, and took another bite from her veggie sandwich. She looked at the seat across her and imagined her mother looking out the window, repeatedly tapping her feet, while she held a cigarette between her ring finger and pinky finger. Whenever Meryl asked why, she told her that it “kept the thumb and index fingers open for a good time and the middle for expression.” As a routine, every time they were at a restaurant for dinner, they sat across from each other. It was not planned or anything, but it just seemed like the natural thing to do: her mother would just take the menu and order food for both of them, while Meryl imagined a world where salt and pepper did not have to fight for where they wanted to be placed on the table. Meryl specifically remembered eating her egg Benedict while smoking second hand smoke from her mother’s Camel. It was a cold winter night and her mother was slouched, looking outside to the darkness with her foggy, green eyes.


im flooding

lack and white coming at me in frames

romantic triplets

you are my coke dealer and im okay with that

fruits of life
stepping, stepping

and you light it up with passion


a cute imagery

halos flying over you

its still when I look in your eyes

and wonder about what you dont dream about


twin tales

green at the ends

flying towards curiosity

and what you deem as poetry

with your soft laugh

fitting like the notes you play

listening to your talking about love

and waves

and empty eyes filled with emotion

i wish, i wish

your arms seem longer than mine


one letter and you will be what I want you to be

funny hierarchy of tense tartness

i sense you

one step at a time

making sure everything is okay and looking the part


flying to Chicago seems easier than taking that lean in

45 degree hug upwards

i counted, tried not to look at you


side eyes

a beautiful day is also a beautiful night

from any angle

i dont know why but its there

a notion of irresponsible matureness

sharing common vice

losing its objective

caught in impulse for you and what pulls me towards destruction

its okay

really, its okay


once, twice,

but not three times

push and pull game of quarters hitting you on both sides of the cheek

keeping things in check

out of the lines you sold me

just for social purposes

Scare Me, I Dare You

laughter is a scare

a loud resonance in a quiet room filled with cultural discontent

when the butterfly effect is waved away with the slightest wind of indifference

an appropriate culture of cultural appropriation


foreign comfort in the eyes of your mothers efforts for suffering-jets

a raging effort to imprison in 1919

two years after a drunken revolution

a northern hemisphere crossing two continents

a suite

divide up a lake and call it a border

comforting sights of disregard for human rights

an eye looking out for everyone

through an authorized source of technology

think about it

black face white face

appropriate frat parties

alcohol poisoning synonymous as joy

political correctness as a norm

rush PC

a hereditary privilege without color

a gorgeous woman with a lesser gender identity

phallic discrimination

a hall full of white colors

mental institutions with writing workshops

a college campus without freedom of speech

catholic schools vetoing homophobia awareness

religious restrictions of sexual activity

your mom jokes that are kind of okay

a site dedicated to hurt your feelings

and Grinch the green out of you

reality is too hard but the noble lie is not noble at all

and you think its okay when its done to other people

and your Halloween costume appropriates other races

inhibiting libertarians appeasing socialists and killing originality

Spokane spoke for you

the real horror you cant see

no, not the darkness and the unknown

but the known which is familiar

suddenly defamiliarized

take a step back and embrace your uncomfortness

your comfort zone is as far out as you make it

dear white people and you especially

and shame on you for shaming me

body shaming a six pack

you should embrace your blackness

or maybe that line sounded racist

you decide

im not scared to say shit and maybe that’s scary

or am I scared that I cant follow the rules properly

I really don’t know

but rather than looking behind your back for a horror story

why don’t we start by opening your eyes

you can make that an Asian joke an ill laugh with you

and some will find that uncomfortable

a white society offended by a black intention

cultural repression known as appropriation and appreciation

an in and out from consciousnesses

deeply rooted in your jeans

just do it

but what?

a republican committee trying to build a wall between me and you

and mexico

40% of illegal immigrants cross the border legally on a plane

and then overstay

while the half of you don’t get my poetry

of those half most of you might be afraid to say so

homerian works talking about courage in a way you scoff at and also admire too but

even Achilles died too, didn’t he?

a motivational speaker often tells you to look at the person next to you

and a wise man once said that horror is perceived through the eye

and I agree

an eye for an I


In life we face choices

to kneel or to pray

to peel or to spray

words of hate on your heart or out on the streets under the bridges

burn them down, I don’t care

just make sure you don’t come crying back and diving for your soul

we preach and teach them not to impeach

because love is all we got and money is all you need

terrorism is bad but too much love is out of the question

a good businessman is not the altruistic one

service is self serving and charity is just a good name for a girl

sisters, unite and brothers start a fight because gender norms are supposed to be broken

homosexuality is a choice and you can choose your parents too

planned adulthood, they say and they criticize you for earning money

defenestrating your dream

words you don’t know should make you reach for the dictionary

but then again, don’t show signs of weakness

don’t let them know that you don’t know




preaching, teaching

see, churches and schools have much in common when it comes to

saying one thing and doing another


sometimes I don’t understand what I don’t understand


I do something right and somehow its wrong in the rightest way

and heir with minute loans

spend a life time paying back your loans and then tell your son to

chase his dreams

just like you did

you yourself only started yesterday


so don’t tell me which road to take

don’t tell me to take the time to smell your flowers or stop by the woods

and then rush me into making lifetime decisions I might regret

but you shall regret nothing and

there is only do or don’t, no try

but trying too hard gets you in trouble

theres just no way out


yeah I can take the one less travelled by, sure

but I don’t want to sigh at the end

I want to know I did the right thing

the one that feels good in my heart

no one elses

because at the end its my life

but its still jesus’s life and I owe it to my mom and dad and my best friend from childhood

and my girlfriend or my wife

and also to my grandparents who made it possible for me and for their legacy

or thats what all the basketball superstars say when theyve made it

and its true

the people who have been supporting me the whole way is the real mvp

see, id always rather get the most improved player than the most valuable because

that to me is better

being the best is awesome but

im always chasing something, man

its hard, though

its hard to chase after something when you don’t know where to go

or how fast

should you slightly jog or hold onto the horn of the saddle and trot

a full-on sprint is never full-on until you’re being chased by something

but you also need to be chasing something to be running in the first place


im decisive

I dont know what I want

dont tell me what to do

help me figure things out on my own

im an adult now

ill hear what you have to say

and ill build on your critiques for my next revision of this blank script

but I really don’t know


cause as long as theres food on the table that’s okay

at least we have a table, my friend once said

caring too much makes me hurt she says and weeps because she doesn’t fit in

so tell me

why does she have to cry

I thought we were supposed to care about the small things and think about things in a bigger perspective and

maybe theres more to the fact that shes a vegetarian than the double zero prom dress tucked neatly in her closet

but I suppose we don’t have enough time for that or

any other choice

Price Tag

It was a bright, Sunday afternoon when Dan was sitting at the corner of Olson’s, a local coffee shop that was slightly less disappointing than when Monica Lewinsky wasn’t as attractive as she was expected to be. As he took another bite from his sugar crusted honey almond bagel that he got every other Tuesday after his long meeting with Jenna, his boss who probably took part in no shave November, the usual flood of people came in through the two gold framed glass doors for the lunchtime rush. A couple wearing similar scarves with a fall color scheme, and elderly gentleman with a slick, dark navy fedora, an irritated career woman with a Hublot glimmering in the sun, and a teenager with a white shoulder bag with a button badge on it that said, “Sleep Less, Read More”.

There were more people behind in the line but Dan was not in the mood to intently study the irrelevant people lining up in line for some cup of diabetes with a side of high blood pressure. Not that he wasn’t guilty of it as well. It just doesn’t make sense to observe and watch people when he was off work. That was all he ever did ever since he was an intern at Jordan & Hobbes. People think that international marketing is all about being personable and being a good business person, managing time efficiently but a lot of the job lies in observing what goes on around you, the world, and most importantly the people you are dealing with. A great business can be crushed without the right personnel. But it gets stolen if you work with people who are too good.

Dan let out a sigh and looked down at his iPad. He had chosen the wrong one. His selected reading for the evening featured an adopted teenage girl who goes through a gender transformation surgery because of a traumatic event in which she saw her father getting raped by another man. The premise sounds like the most interesting thing ever, but the story is written like another young adult novel, with the focus on the emotional processions of the teenage girl who will most likely regret her decision to undergo the surgery.

As he was picking up the sugar bits spilled onto the paper napkin on top of the tray, he looked up for no particular reason. It wasn’t anything, really. Just another woman lining up in the coffee line, now a bit past the lunchtime rush but hard enough to find a seat just for yourself. However, Dan found himself unable to look away from her. She had almond brown hair, with a semi-wave all the way down with a curl at the end, her slender shoulders still did not prevent to compliment her physique epitomized by her midsection which was hidden behind her frilled white blouse, but it was still easy to tell. Her round hips lead all the way to her smooth legs that was slender even in her flat Oxford shoes. While all her body parts and the way they came together to form this beauty of a being that was seductive in every motion, it also brought onto her a sense of elegance and almost arrogance as she stood there waiting, holding her golden purse in her hand, pouting her lips at something she saw on her phone screen.

Ellie. Dan decided that was the name that suited her.