steady hand steady heart

The cursor is blinking,

steady heartbeat on the screen

Last line is finished,

the ink is finally dry

No more nervousness in my chest,

just the hum of the AC

And the weight of the blazer I threw on the chair

I used to write to keep from drowning Now I’m just floating

on the surface

The silence in the room is no longer scary

It’s not a void anymore,

it’s a room I finally cleaned (ahhhh)

What do I write

when I’m no longer hurt?

What is the melody

of a heart that’s finally still?

No need to apologize or explain I’m not mining for gold in

the middle of a wreck

The next page is white,

wide, and open

A new song whose subject is me

Just breathing, just being,

just here (ooh)

By 6:00 AM, I-80 West is a different road today

The white lines aren’t counting the miles of my longing They’re just

guides leading me home to Glendale

In the boardroom earlier,

I spoke my proper English But my Taglish soul wasn’t hiding a

secret wound

The baon in my pocket isn’t a poem about a ghost

But the taste of coffee and the light of the morning I’m

driving not to escape,

but to arrive

(mmm) They say that happiness is boring But they don’t know the

rhythm of payapa It’s a heavy kind of grace,

a solid kind of gold It doesn’t have to be ruined to

be art The silence after the storm is a symphony,

too

I am building a house out of the quiet you left behind

And the foundation is stronger

than any heartbreak (oh)

What do I write when I’m no longer hurt?

What is the melody of a heart that’s finally still?

No need to apologize or explain

I’m not mining for gold in the middle of a wreck The

next page is white,

wide, and open A new song whose subject is me

Just breathing, just being,

just here (yeah) The pen still moves,

even in the stillness This is not the end,

but the beginning

Steady hand, steady heart

The next page

Quiet now

I am home (hummmm)