Winston Widjaja Lin is a trans non-binary gaysian whose writing has been published by several remarkable journals, including Buah, The Institutionalized Review, the lickety~split, EcoTheo Review, and Papeachu Press. He is currently an MFA in Creative Writing student in Pacific Lutheran University’s Rainier Writing Workshop. Their published work has been translated into Spanish, and has appeared in journals across three continents. Interests that complement their love for art include health, social sciences, and comparative theology & philosophy. Feel free to follow him on Instagram @faboo_boba_teh! ‘
Monologue
Murdering is a basic activity.
Some daffodils bloom before uh child
Decides to rip its buds & make em Dead.
Misty, isnt it Inside u brain. Huh?
Monsoon my crab o’er ur genitals,
May music cry you tuh slumber parting!
Marry me! Mary had ah little lamb
For wedding guests who’ll devour in Love!
Then—we’ll meddle with carpets underneaths
Case corpses have hysterical history.
Mua haha. hah. Hawt Mystery hot;
Am Overwhelmed. Embrace the Mundane.
Forget i wrote this sonic cut sonnet fuck
Refridgerator: the poetically multisensory metaphysically starting at 6
diarhea, but brain likes impulse | no long term planning!! | apple juice
green grapes make label, apple juice is wine for children | top
shelf won’t beg but actually will yell for Ma to bring down |
she okay with this? | purple grape juice safer? |
cup cup cup in cupboard; serf, put it in like a gracious
hand |
yayyyy..!
let’s do this again
no compare
—————-
i didn’t look in fridge too much; do many children?
or do they ask parents to magically give what they
want?
what will you teach? abstract.
breathe in Asian food (what Asian food?)
24 yrs – kimchi
24.5 yrs old – taro bubble tea
mindfulness meditation
——————————–
back to fridge: empty now
changes like brain – mind – heart – body – soul
yadda dad do ey eeeeee .
Love,
24.5 years old
P.S. Who/What created this again?
Working Thru Indigestion
Note on content: There is an instance of verbal shaming & some sexual references in the
poem.
The red magenta buds on stems can’t melt
“I HATE YOU, MOTHERFUCKER RACIST”
knifed in my heart
like cute couples might carve on trees!
The sunshine sets sail upon an unpopulated arena.
no football (great!);
just observe nature & architectural beauty
Will I ever tell you? Will, do you know?
Mockingbird makes a nest;
best home in this condo neighborhood, huh?
This home should be in Animal’s Digest.
Fireplace | noises | marry me – err side of caution
Who’ll 1) fuck me 2) ass? 3) penetrate, prostate
Heal my heart and boners to no end
{type it up}
What percentage of homo sapiens partake in anal sex? What is the average frequency?
Shadows remind us of beauty’s darkness.
Paying attention needs to be on repeat.
STOP!
tension down
never look in the rearview mirror
Smile:
turn up right, left
or left, right
or both at the same time.
Place hand over heart when you walk, sit, alone,
with friends; just whenever Beauty comes your way.
A Movement of Trust
1)
and the natural sour of raspberries,
grittiness of the seeds between teeth,
this morning, hybridized with honey,
its pace languidly traveling the palates,
all eventually surrenders in—
Downfall.
二)
“cl-ee-eenk!” went the wrench outside the window upon the downfall.
became the living room succeeding the eyelids’ calm.
thump…thump…thump… rejoiced where a heart had believed its beat stopped.
tiga)
when edge every plateau over
ineffable like enrapture like gust bones
JUST
allow a loud aloud
allow a loud aloud
allow a loud aloud
Ecstasy After Effects
You dick.
Had some nerve…
If I could cut your dick
(OFF WITH ITS HEAD!)
without being pressed charges
I sooooo would.
But I loved to suck
and touch it, and your bod,
and hear the cells of your
heart,
pecs,
esophagus,
skin
reverberate.
I have a face that doesn’t need saving.
You have a face that is fake
and makes the world fake
like the alphabet that the
Romans
believed was TRUTH
when it was just their truth.
Remember I’m an Asian boy;
you know you are not right?
I am an Asian boy with a sword
and a decent dick
and a good heart that broke
I’m brave.
that Slime escaping your Heart seeps out your nose.
I hold my head high because the flesh that holds it is Divine
and you’re a god less human
(Not that I mean that; just mad just wack.)
Who needs the gym.
Your bod is just fine.
We’re all just skeletons after we die.
Don’t be emotionallyspirituallyphysically shallow.
Be here and now
I have a good brain, you an empty skull.
But your Heart is good, and your insides good.
And that is why I stayed for so looooooongggg……………
Lilies smell sweet
your tongue used to inform me
without vocabulary
The terminology that my ears and heart formulated
because of you
(not from you)
deserve a doctorate for originality.
Inhaling oxygen is what happened after the
ideal my brain had of you died.
And I sit on this beach bench, play with sand, wait for the clouds to roll by and the sun to set
and love again.
A Tried and True Story to Sell to a General Children’s Audience
One summer, a dad taught his 6-year-old son to throw a football.
On some empty grassy field, Son observes his old man mindfully lean back on his right foot,
extend his right upper arm backwards, fingers nearly the color white as they rip the pigskin.
Dad transfers his weight onto his left foot, whips his forearm forward at 10 miles per hour,
fingertips still squeezing the football’s circumference before proudly turning to his child.
Son blinks five times in a row, bares an increasingly widening grin, opens his hands to be gifted
the brown ball with pointy edges that will forever change the trajectory of his life.
“Do it, son,” Dad affirms as he places the feces-colored object on the son’s palms.
Dad gestures a thumb upwards like a sprout.
Son throws the football. The football flies super far like a plane.
Dad shouts to the blue sky, “HE DID IT!” Son runs to hug Dad.
Son becomes a millionaire who tells this story of the childhood summer that made him a man.
Dad is dead by this point, but his contribution for teaching Son to throw a ball is memorialized.
Creative Differences
Honey, I think you need to change your lenses.
The darkness and smudges block the spotlights.
Did you forget you can be one of the Models?
Before you get caught off guard by your gaze,
Practice flashing your stupendous smile.
Get a glimpse of the Fashion Show:
What is the world but one, bright, beautiful Fashion Show?
Honey, I really think you need to change your lenses.
Believe me. When you do, no one will forget your Smile.
I promise you’ll come alive under the spotlights.
Under the spotlights, you’ll lose consciousness of your gaze.
You’ll see and you’ll understand what it means to be a Model.
You’ll be one, bright, beautiful Model.
When you adjust your lenses to the Show…
Begin by setting the floor ablaze with your Gaze!
Forget about your old lenses.
Don’t walk; STRUT under the Spotlights.
And smile!
Smile.
You’re a Model!
My intestines dislike the Spotlights.
Attentive with audacity yet amaze. (FASHION SHOW)
Not left, not right, but directed straight. my lenses—
Honey, you almost got caught off guard by your gaze.
Their Gazes.
Their Smiles.
They’re the kinds you see from afar. lenses!
You’re an in-demand Model.
Just hadn’t realized you are. Sweatshop Show???
Time for the bows under our scrutinizing Spotlights.
Snipped away at my Soul under these spotlights.
What’s happening to your Gaze?
My Soul can longer glimpse this Show.
You have an ugly ass smile.
I won’t be alive or conscious as a model.
Ooh. I see my stupendous, bright, beautiful, attentive, audacious, amazing lenses!
You’re gonna regret not manufacturing a Smile for the Fashion Show
You’re gonna regret not living under the Spotlights as an in-demand Model
You’re gonna regret not adjusting your Gaze after changing those goddamn Lenses
A Study
Abstract:
[RESTLESS]
Aim:
The unfolding is beyond my knowing –
in rut with English terminology –
to comprehend the systems.
Following orders, slowly executing…
Life. Divine. Unknown.
Background:
An image of God: fog.
Or Restless and Gassy!
I find Restless this body
of copious possibilities.
Methods:
The wistfulness for one’s childhood, youth
A somewhat common phenomenon.
Mysterious, pervading life in subtle ways,
Not exactly tangible,
Discussion:
I have this wistfulness
Rest-less living just wanna Be
Conclusion:
Have the answers already existed?
Paying close attention is 1 key.
A moving beauty.
Moving onward though.
Another Blue
Can’t I just be blue?
Not…a baby blue.
Or…a slightly blue.
You named me Dark Blues.
Deep as an ocean!
Oceans aren’t just blues.
Blue’s clues!!
Why do I show shades
You don’t know?
Are bereft of knowing??
Do you not try to understand???
I’m human and not
A color fucking!!!
A Stirring
Ah; men.
Awww, men!
Ahhhh. Men.
Aw, men.
Ah, men!
Aww. Men!
Amen..
Amen..
Amen. Amen.
SULFUR 