In the animated Netflix original Kipo, the titular character, Kipo is biracial Black and Korean. The two supporting human characters, Wolf and Benson are Black. Benson openly announces he is gay and Kipo and Wolf are debated amongst fans to be queer-coded. The rest of human society is filled with multiracial characters and peaceful racial coexistence is the norm, at least among humans. 

As a biracial Asian American growing up, it was rare for me to see this level of racial representation in film or animated children’s media. Nowadays, it’s apparent that representation of all kinds is becoming more important especially with younger audiences seeking out more content that reflects their demographic.

Kipo Fandom Wiki: Kipo And the Age of Wonderbeasts poster

To speak a little about the plot: 

Kipo has been living in the Burrow her whole life in an underground, suburban coded utopia (and quite literally sub-urban, as she lives below a city) for humans where they can protect themselves from the surface world, where mutated animals known as “mutes” dominate. When she is accidentally separated from her family in a mega-monkey mute attack, Kipo goes on a mission to get back home, meeting friends and making allies along the way. Kipo’s world is set 200 years in a post-apocalyptic future, and the range of race and sexuality are easily accepted, addressed, and normalized. The main issue of discrimination and specifically racial tension focuses on the animosity between humans and mutes. 

Racial Redesigns

Kipo and the Age of WondersBeasts was first created in 2015 by Radford Sechrist as a webcomic. It was eventually turned into an animated series by Dreamworks and Netflix, and all three seasons were released in rapid succession in 2020. 

While the TV series starts off fairly similar to the original webcomic in plot and character roles, many racial aspects of the main characters were changed. Benson was changed from a middle aged white man into a young Black teen. Wolf is redesigned from a racially ambiguous, potentially Asian character to match voice actress Syndney Mikayla ‘s Black American ethnicity. And while Kipo looks the same as she does in the webcomic, she was not originally created to be the bispecies, biracial (Blasian) character that she is in the show (Kipo was originally intended to be Korean, but her character was not redesigned to reflect changes in the show). 

Images from Kipo Fandom Wiki, From Left to Right: Benson, Wolf, Kipo

Radford Sechrist has offered up some reasons through interviews and comments on Reddit, one of them being that the producers wanted the characters all to be kids and for Kipo to be “special” somehow.

What does it mean to be special? The transformation of Kipo’s character from a mono-racial, human character to a biracial, bi-species character has done two things. Her biraciality on her human side can be read as a symbol for her dual species. Furthermore, the purple skin offers viewers a foreshadowing indication of her mute DNA. It can also be read as a way the show codes Kipo’s Blackness and status as POC.

In the history of animated film, there has been a pattern of portraying POC, particularly Black people as animals or in colors that deviate from skin tone to indicate a non-humanness to them. Tiana, the Black main character in The Princess and the Frog spends most of the movie as a green frog. Similarly, the Black main character, Lance Sterling, in Spies in Disguise turns into a pigeon.  In Soul, Joe Gardener is immediately turned into an amorphous blue blob and literally disembodied. At one point in the film, a white woman’s soul even inhabits his Black body – animating a black man’s body through the desires and thoughts of a white woman.

People of Color have historically been depicted in animation as non-human characters that appear to exist outside racial constructs. By portraying POC as whimsical colored or as creatures, the animation industry can attempt to circumvent accusations of racism while still appealing to white audiences with the humiliation and exploitation of non-white characters. These character designs of POC skirt realistic depictions and stories as a way to appeal to that demographic that historically only mattered (with their buying power): white audiences.

Despite Kipo’s mostly successful attempts to provide representation that doesn’t rely on negative stereotypes surrounding race, it does still end up using established racial tropes in animation that viewers are already familiar with in their visual vocabulary. 

Multiracial Asians in Film and Animation

The show actively plays on Kipo’s racial ambiguity to build up the postmodern, suburban utopia that Kipo grows up in: “The Burrow.” The show introduces Kipo’s father as her primary caretaker, making it immediately clear that despite Kipo’s appearances, she is indeed Black. And because Kipo’s mother’s Korean ethnicity and Part-Mute nature are not revealed until later on in the series, Kipo’s character design and story arc become heavily tied into her own racial ambiguity. Both Kipo and the audience learn more about her heritage the further we watch the series. 

In addition to Kipo, the Burrow has quite a few racially ambiguous and multi-racial characters in the background and ensemble cast including Troy Sandoval, who is also a multiracial person, this time of Asian and Latino descent. Troy too, joins Kipo on her mission of resolving tensions between the mutes and humans and ends up befriending a giant frog named Jamack.

Kipo Fandom Wiki: Troy Sandoval

The coding of ‘white’ and ‘black’ can change between the mute world and the human world.  In season 2, “The Ballad of Brunchington Beach” a mute restaurant refuses to serve humans, mirroring twentieth century American racial segregation. In the same episode, the TheaOtters put on a show stereotyping and dramatizing Team Kipo and other humans, which seems to allude to minstrel shows in which white people would put on blackface to entertain white audiences. It’s interesting to note that as these acts of racism take place against humans on the mute dominated surface world, the three main human characters in which these acts of racial violence occur are all black.

Troy and Kipo both share a multi-racial Asian identity. As multiracial people, they serve as an example of a film trope where multiracial characters act as a bridge between cultures.  Through these characters, the animation is able to represent racial differences between humans without actually addressing racial issues during the script. Furthermore, because of their status as Asian Americans, they are members of “both the targeted, racialized, group in US immigration policy and yet [part of] the least ‘colored’ group in racial debate. Asian Americans offer a charged site where American nationhood invests much of its contradictory desires and anxieties.’ The prominence of peaceful racial coexistence amongst humans as evidenced by multiracial people indicates that this is a postmodern society where humans live in a race free utopia.

The idea that multiracial people are symbols of the declining significance of race also lends itself to the future that Kipo is working towards: a world where humans and mutes thrive and live together peacefully without adversity. The explicit identification of multiracial characters in Kipo can be read as a symbol for hope, for a future where ‘color-blindness’ is the norm and racial categories are continuously blurred.

This comes with its own set of qualms, as it can ignore much of the context of racial upbringing and cultural heritage that comes with being a Person of Color, let alone one with a mixed background.        

Multiracial Ambassadors

Kipo is what we call a multiracial ambassador in Hollywood, a persona well established in film history. The multiracial ambassador is a main character who often appears in action films that is supposed to reflect the diversity of younger generations and their interests in seeing people who represent them. Instead of relying on brute strength, the contemporary action hero is distinguished by, in the words of Mary Beltran, “their natural ability to navigate in, command respect and when necessary, kick ass in a variety of ethnic communities.”

The multiracial ambassador normally operates within a multiethnic cityscape, a setting that appears frequently in Hollywood action films. It is appropriate then, that Kipo’s world is set in a reimagined Los Angeles called “Las Vistas.”

Las Vistas, Kipo Fandom Wiki

One of the key features of the Hollywood multiethnic cityscape are turf wars based on racial tensions. We see this in the gangster films in the 20s and 30s, social problem films from the 40s, and movies concerning white flight in the 50s and 60s. Non-white people were seen as violent criminals in urban centers, prompting white people to flee to the suburbs.

For those who have seen Kipo, this may ring some bells. Humans retreat to the safe societies they built below the surface, far away from the upper world where dangerous mutes live on the surface. Despite the racial diversity of the human characters in Kipo, the humans can be read as symbols for white society in relation to the mutes. The predominant narrative surrounding mutes in the Burrow is that they are uncivilized and dangerous.

But with the appearance of the multiracial ambassador, such as Kipo, characters are able to navigate complicated and nuanced racial tensions  Kipo is able to navigate relationships between humans and mutes not purely because of her biraciality, but because she is willing to listen to others and develop connections with people. However, her biracial-ness mirrors this cultural savviness.

Political Blackness

Kipo’s portrayal as both a black and Korean character also allows the world’s environment and music- a core theme in the show- to be built around her: Black and Korean musical themes and cultural references are woven through the fabric of the show. However, while this ‘cultural Blackness’ is celebrated, ‘political Blackness’ (including the persistence of racism) is disguised more as a class struggle, similar to the conflict between Mutes and humans. Kipo’s biraciality and Black identity is diluted as an appeal to mainstream pop culture, and a more fantastical interspecies conflict of humans vs. animal Mutants.

While the plot of Kipo heavily relies on considering racial tensions and discrimination, the show avoids directly acknowledging the way that Blackness affects and shapes the characters’ lives. In terms of the postmodern future, animation and science fiction tends to see human society as color-blind, yet at the same time uses racial allegory to create the ‘other’ the same way POC have been ‘othered’ and dehumanized in film history. The tensions between the Mutes and the humans can be read as an allegory for racial tensions we have had in human history and are having currently.  However, the post-racial lenses that show views of the human world in Kipo don’t acknowledge racism in human history or how it may affect this fictional future, instead focusing it on the adversity between humans and mutes.

Final Thoughts

I thoroughly enjoyed watching Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts, and would highly recommend it to anyone looking for an animated series with beautiful world-building and well-developed characters. I think the steps it takes towards building well developed and diverse characters are highly notable and to be commended. However, I think it’s important to acknowledge the circumstances in which Kipo was created to be a multiracial character.

 Kipo builds on a legacy of multi-racial tropes in Hollywood and takes advantage of popular trending ideas of our time such as Black hip hop, anime, and LGTBQ representation to create an action TV series that is neatly packaged for younger and older audiences alike. The show skirts over the political context and histories for its human characters in favor of more light-hearted and marketable content. At the same time, it attempts to touch on complicated issues regarding racial discrimination and prejudice through Mute-human interaction.

 This post-apocalyptic, post-modern future of humans aspires to be a post-racial utopia where a multiethnic population can thrive, first in terms of multi-ethnic humans and by the end of the series, for both humans and mutes, now deemed ‘Wonderbeasts.’ 

There is further work to be done in animation yet in creating multi-ethnic characters without their identity ‘becoming’ the plot, and in acknowledging the political and cultural heritage of People of Color, but I am optimistic and look forward to the progress being made by creators in the industry.

The post Kipo: Biraciality and Blackness appeared first on The New Absurdist.

Let them eat McDonalds says director, Mark Mylod, with one of Searchlight Picture’s newest star-studded original films, The Menu. There’s a lot going for this film: Ralph Fiennes’ hypnotic performance as psychopath Gordon Ramsay, a hauntingly memorable score by Colin Stetson, and Peter Deming’s masterful camerawork weave gorgeously together to create what really is an entertaining time with friends and family. But sadly, that’s where the buck stops.

At the end of the day, the film rings hollow: there’s enough Christopher Nolan brand spectacle and pseudo-intellectualism to satisfy most viewers exiting the theater (or more likely, turning off their streaming device), but you’re left with a sour taste once you inevitably realize that there is no depth to the film at all.

Class is used as a buzzword in the hopes that the film will appear profound, but frankly, the message of the film is insulting. The protagonist is named Margo, a sex-worker who manages to escape because she fulfills the crazed chef’s fantasy of having his high-end food rejected for a ten dollar cheese burger to go. Chef Slowik, his staff, and the wealthy clients trapped on the island perish explosively as Margo hungrily scarfs down the burger on the boat she escapes on. 

So what’s the message? Satisfy the white man in power if you want to survive? Flipping burgers is more fulfilling than pursuing your passion? Whatever hang ups you might have about Rian Johnson’s Glass Onion (assuming you’ve watched it), it’s hard not to admit that the imagery it closes with is powerful and evocative of radical leftist rebellion; unlike The Menu, Glass Onion actually says, eat the rich.  

Mylod writes in a snooty critic to dismiss criticism as a whole, insinuating that they destroy artists arbitrarily because they are given too much authority— that artists can’t fail because their work… might not actually be that good. And Tyler, played by Nicholas Holte, is created to criticize fans who obsess over things they can’t do themselves. It’s as if to say that only people who know how to do it should enjoy it, whatever it may be. 

The film, like Fight Club, The Dark Knight, and American Psycho, is essentially about cults and intoxicating cult leaders. But unlike the movies mentioned, the ideology and allure of the cult is never developed in The Menu, robbing it of the entire premise’s appeal. We watch people burn themselves alive for Chef Slowik, but we never quite get why, and that’s extremely disappointing!   

I desperately wanted to love the film, but it’s best described as a bunch of interesting ideas, loosely strung together in the hopes that viewers will make something of it. Once it’s in their hands though, it quickly falls apart and any meaning you might try to extract from the film ceases to make sense once you think about it for two or three seconds. There are a lot of reasons to watch it — just don’t be surprised when you’re left hungrier than before. 

The post The Menu: Beautiful Presentation… But Lacks Substance appeared first on The New Absurdist.

of an even earlier morning (I do not change), boston december 2022 

Glasses smudged everytime 
Hungry and just a little bit unraveled, 
With so much love this time around 
I am Full. 
I like to keep my pockets empty so I can fill them with useless things, 
Heart racing to fall asleep softly 
With a pleased smile on my face 
I am proud of the words I am able to speak out loud.

kjr

 (A call and response poem about the romancing of the precious everyday and its pastimes. Illustrated by Tara and Katie.)

The post in the hours of the early morning, london december 2021 appeared first on The New Absurdist.

Having them exist on the floor the same size as me
Knowing I could pick them up and rip them to shreds if I wanted to

Could wrap myself in their delicate paper 
Cover myself in charcoal 
Feel the glossy print against my smudgy human hands 

Wrap myself in the protection of my work 

In the physical proof that I am capable of making 
And bringing into being and creating 

Craving the embrace I pull them tighter 
I pull tighter the only things I have to show

I pull the flat reproductions of my insides tighter around myself as if I can put
Them back, take them off this paper

kjr

The post My Human Hands appeared first on The New Absurdist.

He would gently sit next to her worn plush lamb inviting her to a soft blanket.
She remembers the smoothness
of his skin, and the warmth of his
touch.
Rose-colored lips and beaming eyes.
He was forever precious to her.
She would climb in after shuffling though the creaky house setting her bag down, and bringing water to
the room.
He waited, and an inviting smile crossed his face as climbed in beside him.
The sound of his breath and the beat of his heart consoled her.
A deep sigh.
She pressed her face to his cotton shirt.
It smelled like a floral blend of lavender.
His long arm stretched underneath her neck, and she lay peacefully enveloped in his warmth.
She moved closer and up until her face was an inch from his.
She could see his bright eyes beginning to flutter. His grin relaxed. Her fingers pushed his soft curls
away from his face and their eyes were looking though each other like opposite sides of a beautiful
portal.
She pressed her lips to his and pulled him into her chest. He wrapped around her body and she felt his
embrace and head gently laying into her arms. She brought him closer into her heart. He could hear it
beating.
Now looking across from the bed,
she sees her lamb slumped over
next to an empty spot.

She curls up into the covers
and brings her lamb into her chest.
She remembers his warmth like a flame
lighting her up inside.
She holds on to her feeling of love,
and closes eyes to preserve her energy.
The flame and light pushing her persevere.
A mellow buzz wakes her, and a familiar notification lights up the top of her screen.
His spirit brings her happiness and hope.
He is forever precious to her like a
light that shines forever.

Art Pieces

I.D.
Reflecting Her Light, 2022
Collage

I.D.
Flourish, 2022
Collage

The post Nap Time appeared first on The New Absurdist.

impending fear turns into reality.
you didn’t want it
to,
but it did.

expectant smiles
full of teeth and crinkled eyes
fade into the corners of their lips.
the shine in their eyes is dull.
gone.

but you
take a deep breath.
force all the forty-three muscles in your face
to mold into Persuasion & Deceit.
easily like clay.
cheap clay from the 99 cents store down the block.

‘it’s alright,’ you repeat for the hundredth time.
‘it’s not the end. i’m strong. i can do this.’
and smiles reappear.
softer, but from ear to ear.
yet in their eyes, the shine is still
gone.

pity.
something i never asked for,
but is something i attract
like a magnet. something that
doesn’t go away, like a
mother who clutches their child’s hand
when crossing a
dangerous
road.

a simple graph would show you that
when the number of particles increase,
so does pressure.
a common consensus in chemistry.
but the positively sloped line doesn’t show
what happens when the pressure is too much.
the line goes on for infinity, but shouldn’t it show
a glass container breaking into a million shards?
the particles spilling over, uncontrollably. the pressure
slowly
dissipating?
like emotions that have been
shoved into a miniature bottle, with
the lid shut
too tight?

the disappointment saturates the blood in your system.
it has become every fibre of
your being.
you can predict the
pitiful, fading smiles. the
brief hugs that lack understanding. the
i’mfine you croak out with your mouth, and the
butimightbreak you desperately communicate with your eyes.
the fear that someone might see your
fragile emotions
and hold them with
inexperienced, harmful hands, and
let them spill
in the wrong place and the wrong time.
the need to be alone.

‘it’s not a big deal’.
that’s what you’re supposed to understand.
but the millions of brain cells trapped in your skull
tell you otherwise. you know it isn’t
rational, but the future seems
so bleak. achievable, but bleak.
there’s a fork in the road, but the prettier
path you’re so well acquainted with
is no longer
yours.
you prepare for the looks of disappointment
like planning a speech for a wedding. it has to
be perfect. the words have to be
just right. but you can’t show that
you really don’t want to be up there.
the blankets on your bed in your dark room
are inviting.

‘stay with me forever’.
time rolls by, and when
the clock flashes a bright 2AM into your eyes,
that’s when your glass container breaks.
under the blankets.
endorphins spilling onto your pillow
in liquid drops.
shuddering breaths.
shaking hands.
thoughts rushing thousands of miles
per minute.
then
silence.

3AM.
sleep takes you away.
you’re tired.
tired of working so hard
with sleepless nights,
tears laced with
anxiety and worry,
your dream as your morning caffeine.
only for it to be snatched from the
very tips of your fingers.
gone.

fantasy (2018)

it’s heavy,
foreign,
and
uncomfortable.

your heart is surrounded by
unknown hands
crushing each cell
till
they
burst.
cytoplasm
oo-
zing
out.

still under warm blankets,
but in your hands the
added comfort of
aged, yellowed paper.

eyes peering through rimmed spectacles,
darting across the thick pages.
words coupled in perfect harmony.
each letter the building blocks
of a world that
turns your brain into a pleasant fuzz.

sunlight swimming
in salty seas.
squawking seagulls
pecking at people.
then a hand intertwined
with another.
ice cream melting,
temporary residents on
each fingertip.
sticky reminders of
a day barefoot on the beach,
water splashing on their sunburnt skin,
and tender, tentative touches.
the warmth of the page
melts the icicles pricking
your lungs.
oxygen rushing in, trying to make
it to
each
capillary,
flooding your pulmonary vein.
your left atrium might burst.
blood laced with life
explodes from your aorta
racing to each and every end of your body.
numbness?
feeling.
suffocation?
inhale.
exhale.
breathe.

dopey smiles & giggles.
slowly flipping through
a packaged world.
face pressed so closely to it that
you just might find yourself
tumbling into hills of
white sand,
rolling into the
translucent waters
sinking silently
just so that you can
stay.

not wanting to
escape
this

fantasy.

gone (2021)

there wasn’t a particular day that set me free.
much like a prisoner who isn’t quite sure
when their release might be.
but that winter was when the weight was lifted.
heart finally able to dance
to the rhythm
it dearly missed.

yet memories of being locked up still linger.
how can one forget what felt
like
a life sentence?
crossing the road, seatbelts in a car;
simple things take me back
to when i wanted to be gone.
shivers rattle my bones,
so i shake my head to forget,
as though those memories
would
fall down
to the ground
and run.
as though those memories
aren’t a part
of every single breath I take,
each thumping beat within my chest.

if only they were stray pencil marks I could erase.
but they’re stubborn,
like the label on that jar of sauce
sitting in the corner of your fridge.
you can rub and scrub but it’ll never be truly gone;
you’ll always know it existed.
so when you toss it into the recycling bin
you begin to question
whether it can truly be processed and
set away with such certainty
if those small remnants of paper
contaminated
what should have
just
been
glass.
so even though that jar is physically gone
is it really? when you thought about it
for even a minute too long?

sometimes the solid cement
that my feet naively get acquainted with
crumbles into slick quicksand.
threatening to pull me under.
fingers grasping at edges.
desperate to hold on.

like the aftertaste of hard candy
that persistently resides in your mouth,
nothing is truly gone.

The post The Time I Lost Myself appeared first on The New Absurdist.

Thinking that, if I assumed 

A false sense of self confidence 

Heartbreak would skip this door 

And move on to the next one 

What I didn’t realize 

Is That Heartbreak Didn’t Have To 

Come Through The Door 

If It Was Already In 

The Attic,the kitchen,the bathroom 

The threshold that a lover once stepped through 

And unceremoniously departed from, 

Leaving the door open 

The lock broken 

Heartbreak didn’t need to ring the bell 

Or knock at the window if no one heard it 

It already lived in the Saturday a.m. radio 

Turned on  at noon  while  we deep cleaned the house 

Like a routine, like a normal day 

Heartbreak was there when we opened the fridge 

And saw that it was empty 

Because we said that we would shop 

And forgot 

Thinking we had everything we needed at home 

Heartbreak is like the part of a song 

You always remember without 

Remembering any other part of it 

It’s like the birds you hear chirping 

Without knowing where it’s coming from 

You’re accustomed to it 

Maybe I don’t need to make myself open to it 

If it’s already made itself comfortable 

Wherever it chose 

If it’s in me 

I guess a broken heart is what it takes 

To heal.

The post Who’s There appeared first on The New Absurdist.

I am in my first apartment in a tangle of narrow streets,

my roommate’s painting of the Madonna as a snarling wolf adorns

dark brick walls. I spend each day with a dustpan,

on my knees, sand and fuzz and hair tumbleweeds across the floorboards

I make attentive notice of my loved one’s words. 
I want to welcome him into my body again,
the way we would have in unmasked times before March,
but I fear disease stealing his breath.

Sometimes I want to call every
shimmer at the throat of a rock dove by his name,
the thing that glistens in ultraviolet light,
like he is in his happiness.
If I cannot kiss him, I want to exhale the softness in my chest
so he can breathe it in too, a reminder that
it is not always so bad to give invisible gifts. 

            My KN95 makes streaks of sweat on my cheeks.

            I greet passers-by with my eyes.

            I smile with what I have

How, how, how do you get back things you have lost?                                            

My first four years of life   My blind child years  

that raw happiness that tastes like dragonfruit and lime

Barefaced bargoers gather in groups of fifteen or more on the curb,

a strange replica of everywhere else I’ve been,

                                 a world crafted by a child

                                 so false and so heavy

How to clean when you know you’ll have to do it again tomorrow

in the corners of your kitchen where you can barely see,

uncovering some grimy reality?

(Are we not all alone in the end? Are we not all just wasting our time now forcibly making ourselves into the inevitable?)

The virus tells me to consider what invisible things I carry in my spit and exhalations,

what infectious things I breathe into the people I care for,

             what can be healed and what must simply be prevented.

The post Spring Cleaning appeared first on The New Absurdist.

Then:
you looked at me with gentle want
and I knew you never saw me enough to notice
those were questions you would never ask
my skin had never been real enough to frighten you
and the child inside me
only ever terrorized the child inside you.

Visual Interpretation

The post Haha, Sorry I Forgot appeared first on The New Absurdist.

If I peered into
my cup
I’m afraid my
Soul might spill
It
Gaping
It is a pond
For any fish
The moon
Reflecting
Against
The clear
Waters
You are not afraid
For your soul
Never speaks
You drink
From the cup
Leaving nothing behind

Figure Skate

You figure skated with your eyes closed
False confidence
For only a mirror of selfishness
No care for the world
That surrounded you
Your eyes
Never met another
No saint
No angel
A thousand eyes
Forbidden
Snowflake wings
The crows have gathered
A wreath of life
Yet your eyes
closed
Figure skating
Alone

I wanted to the angels and the burning sun

I wanted to see the angels and the
Burning sun
With you
You told me
Angels had
No bodies
So when you left
I could only think
Of the
Burning sun
The sky aflame
The way you spoke
When you got too
Close
I wanted to see
The angels
The burning sun
and
The body you
Left
empty

Forever

His car was my favorite place
The smooth leather seats
The windows rolled down
Hed join me in the back
His eyes meeting mine
Dark pools
I wondered what was behind
His gaze
My legs bare and folded
Against my chest
As he cradled me
We were only awake when
The sun had set
Away from our families
We were ourselves
I felt his chin
Slowly rest on my shoulders
Baby
You’d call me
It was happiness
I didn’t believe in
You’d hold me
A little longer
Each time
This wasn’t forever

Honey Skin

You of honey skin
Wrapped coaxing
Your golden eyes
Peering at the darkness
That you had awakened to
You of honey glass
Hear the way the buzz
And whir of the static air

Summer Nights

In you I saw summer nights
In you I saw summer nights where the clouds drifted
With the breeze
The moon on our faces
Glow
In this Illumination
You were most vivid
I would let you kiss my cheeks
Your warmth never fading
In you I saw the oceanswed travel
The stars wed connect
In you heaven I saw
Was real
Real
Real
I swear.
Moonlit faces
Your face wet from my tears
In you I saw angels
Every last one
Heaven praise earth
For you
Made life
Godly
Divine

Sunshine

I love you like the
Color of sunshine
Bathe you in light
I cannot forget
the way your eyes
looked as you
kissed me for
the first time
I wish to dye
my hair the
color of your love
And live
In your heart
sweetness
until
Night!

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