The Variety of KPop

It’s not all just 9 member girl groups and bubblegum pop. There’s R&B. (And Dara from 2ne1 as the lead girl :)).
Plus that thing he does where he takes her hands and locks them behind his neck…oomf.
And GD? That’s another weakness. (“Who You” video).


The Next Time He Asks Me About Bands

Let me start this off by saying I’m slightly distracted when the boy smiles.

Let me warn my future self I’m probably in for some type of heartache.

Let me remind my future self, he said I’d be bored of him “after two weeks”

But the next time he asks me about what music I like,

I won’t only say KPop.

The next time he asks me,

if there is a next time,

then this is what I’ll say:

PTX and therefore various other types of accapella.

My heart soars with songs like “Bohemian Rhapsody”,

“Carry On My Wayward Son”, and “Come Sail Away”.

It’s predictable and all too cliche.

And though I despise them,

I am a living and breathing one in and of myself.

The next time he asks me about bands

I’ll tell him:

Backstreet Boys


One Direction

Teen Top


I have infatuation with boy bands,

and sappy, catchy, yet poorly written rifts.

Don’t get me started on bridges.

The next time he asks me who my top three are:

I’ll tell him Ellie Goulding,

Florence + The Machine

and Ed Sheeran

Because they told me it was okay to struggle

in the relationship.

They told me that love can be destructive,


and beautiful in its devastation.

That in the wreck,

that in twisted scraps left over in your heart from when it collapsed in on itself,

from that time when you refused to let it function with a now bare,

a now spare room,

there are antiques to be admired,

and hope that has managed to survive in the rubble.

The next time he names bands that I don’t know,

I will beg him for mixed CDs,

I will acquaint myself with their melodic poetry.

I will learn their words,

their names,

until they are like fingerprints ingrained in my memory;

until they are are pass codes to unlock worlds,


and emotions that I didn’t know could stir within me.

The next time he stares at me quizzically,

I will gush about my love for all things 80s:


Billy Joel


The Cars


Michael Jackson

and even the one-hit wonders,

because how can he know me without knowing about “Come on, Eileen.”

If he is still standing by me at this point,
I will have no choice but to hug him.

The next time he asks me what’s most recently added to my iPod,

I will have to tell him New Politics

Arctic Monkeys,


and Miley.

I am sorry that I lack originality.

I will have to explain that I have a fascination with middle school R&B:

Chris Brown,


Ray J,

New Boyz.

But have no idea how to rap,

or what rap I know besides the three verses that are in

“Super Bass”,


and the scarce lines from “Pound the Alarm”;

all Nicki.

Will he know that I was rocked to sleep by Motown

and woken up by rock anthems in the course of driving between

Florida and the border of South Carolina?

That when I awoke to Twisted Sister, half the time I was singing along.

Classic rock comes on the radio,

and somehow,

I can manage to make out the chorus?
And though I don’t know ACDC well enough,

“Get Loose/ From the Noose”

Is a line worthy of blasting.

When I reveal that I jam hardcore to

“In the Closet”,

and sing like a one-man choir when it comes to

“Man in the Mirror” and

“Will You Be There?”

will his fascination with me finally fade?

Will he want to know about the CDs I have accumulated in the past five months:

Michael Buble,

Ariana Grande,

Katy Perry,

One Direction,


and now: Miley.

I’m debating if I want AM

or Lana del Rey?

I want to listen to Cage the Elephant

and know all the words to “Loser”,

I have never been keen on Nirvana,

but I can sing the classics

(at least the lines I make out).

He says I don’t know him well enough to write poetry.

But the real question is:

will I get the chance to,

after he figures out these musical revelations,

the harmonious reflections

that make up just a quarter of my


and dazzling complexity?

White Lines & Red Lights

I’m driving off my exit and I come to the light.

Pulling my car up slowly,

I watch out my window as the meter ticks off the seconds

before someone can’t cross anymore.

3, 2, 1.

And then,

my favorite moment happens.

The moment, where,

for just a split second, both lights are red,

a suspended moment in time.

I’m struck with fascination and awe,


Maybe it’s the beauty in the “flaw”,

maybe because it’s something that you would normally miss unless you were waiting for it.

But it could also be, in that in that small rip in the space-time continuum,

possibilities are endless.

If two lights can be red,

if both parties are stopped at mean’s end,

who’s to say caution can’t be thrown to the wind?

Who’s to say risks aren’t worth it,

and what is logic, if no one is moving forward?

If you aren’t moving forward,

but instead hanging onto a second of recklessness,

of complete abandon where the world is laid at your feet,

waiting for you to cross not only roads,

but rivers and oceans,

and climb hills as well as scale mountains?

Who says you aren’t unstoppable, completely invincible,

if it is possible for two lights to be red at once?

And when the light switches,

and that green arrow appears, part of my heart is lost,

part of my soul becomes only imagery,

and reality shatters all illusions of impossibility.



is how I feel with you.

Catch myself in

complete fascination and awe.



your hands in mine,

and they were freezing cold.

I warned you about girls, like me,

the ones who write down everything,

the ones who see,

and yet,

I’m thinking ’bout you,

Frank Ocean in the background,

singing about you,

and I can’t;

not right now.

Because this is improbable,

impossible, and you…



you just have to find out the rest from me,

next time we speak.

Which will be,



Fingers crossed,

red lights;


Break in time,

green lights.



Say you’ll go with me.

That last piece

Was inspired by its title song: “Sometime Around Midnight” by The Airborne Toxic Event and my unrelenting masochism.

But I’m writing this to tell you,
It’s a moment in time, not truly experienced by me. It is an image brought to a page, but maybe not to life.

It lacks my passion behind it.
I wrote it to possibly impress him (?)

But not for me.
So if you get something out of it, great.
But just know this,
I honest to God can’t relate.

It’s probably because I’m the one who usually gets kicked out.

Sometime Around Midnight

We are wrapped up

in shadows

in moonlight

and I begin to feel your body

sinking into me

and that is when I start thrashing;


They promised me this moment

would be like a dream,

you know.

The moment your soul leaves its body

only to join with mine,

but yet they didn’t tell me

that my fragile rib cage would be

the fortress for them both.

They didn’t tell me that I’d have to watch some part of you

die inside of me;

they forgot to mention to you that I’m a pit of poison.

So I’m thrashing;


And you confuse it for insanity,

and grab hold of me;



I’m only breaking,

and consequently,

you’re only fading inside of me.

That is when you told me that I started shaking.

That is when I wanted to claw you out from the inside.

That is the moment I wanted to shake you from me,

shame you from me,

because all I can be

with a soul like yours inside of me

is sheer travesty.

A mere tragedy to swallow up the hope and light

of a person like you

dying on the insides of some

time-bomb like me.

For I am a mangled up mess

of emotion and damage

and innocent intentions gone awry

on the hope of expelling some sort of inspiration to a world

where the possibility of muses and imagination seems to have run dry

in the minds of the over-educated.

They are the ones who sleep;



I remember the day you left.

You were begging me to pull you back,

clinging to the hope I’d change my mind.

Swearing I wasn’t going to be your demise…

but I declined and as the door closed your face fell

and the only body curled up on my bed was mine.



I lie awake at night.

I remember us wrapped up together

in shadow

in moonlight.

And I remember the feel of your body sinking into me.

In the dreams it’s always ecstasy,

in the dreams my heart is pounding;



I am awakened,

in the middle of the night,

by a phone call,

an unknown number.

I answer;


It is your new lover,

begging for clarity.

Was I the one who haunted you so bad,


the moment you touched her

(in your sleep)

caused you to stir from your dream,

with tears down your cheeks,

only to start thrashing;