her blue eyes

she sews on tight


every morning she gathers needle and thread

stitching in and out of the skin on her face

as blood splashes from her cheeks

onto the white marble counter top of the bathroom

making sure she misses her bones

and important veins

just to pretend

it doesn’t bother her

when the world

passes her words by

with grace

because her blue eyes

they are just too magnificent

too irresistible to the world

and she knows it

and she despises it


the worst is

staring at her blue eyes in the mirror

before bed

when she remembers

how she gazed into her brown eyes

and every night

she jerks her eyes out

pulling them until her sockets


until the blood runs clear in the water

rejoicing in the stings and sharp pains

like she deserved to feel torture

for the way she cheated on her brown eyes


she secretly waits for a night

when her blue eyes see her brown eyes once more

so, she can apologize

with her blue eyes

in hand

as a testament,

a sacrifice for her love

and, then, maybe

she can finally



in her blindness


her brown eyes

she sews on tight


as if embroidering a

most beautiful quilt

into her skin

taking great care

of the detail of each seam

to limit the amount of blood loss

after work

she spends a few moments

tugging the threads out



feeling every bit of

torment from the

slicing of her optic nerves detaching

basking in the agony

for the pain makes her feel something


every night

she places her brown eyes

on a lace fabric by the moonshine

hoping for a cleanse of the past

cherishing the youthful memories of her brown eyes


not the bitter truth

that her love,

wasn’t enough for her blue eyes

her brown eyes

she sews on tight



to wear them,

is to suffocate; a smothering reality

because the sadness is too bleak

because the tiredness is too debilitating

because the loneliness is too alienating


she secretly waits for a day

when her brown eyes are forever lost

within the night

and then,


she can finally



in her blindness




i see his soul


beyond the

reclusive, decaying



he walks in


I see his spirit

even beyond the

black liquid


sticks to the cement

every time he takes a step


i see his heart

beyond the venom

he drips after

each kiss to my lips


I can taste his sickness

I can touch his poison


and yet,

all I ever feel

is an undying





Malia Nahinu is a 6’5 queer artist who resides in the Bay Area currently.  Per Nahinu:  “I am very passionate about creative expression and thus I am currently working on written pieces surrounding topics of sexuality, gender and fiction. I began seriously writing a year ago when I realized a growing love for expressing within the written form and since self-published four poetry books revolving themes of life, queer experiences, Gothic, horror and sardonic poetry.”

December 12, 2018


Very good Malia,
Not sure if I understand completely but very proud of you for going for it!
Congrats on your publication.

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