read me dry

s oh 오예린 oh-yërin

friend 친구 chingoo

lover 애인 ëh-een


September 23, 2018

Let me tell you a secret

1 I was like you once

2 then I took two steps away

3 and found myself three miles far

4 “Found myself” haha! floating in the fourth dimension

3 I traveled through Trinity’s aurora and pushed through her womb Slime

Fresh Air Here Now

2 Two lives I’ve lived

1 Once I resurrected 


per·fec·tion /pərˈfekSH(ə)n/

October 17, 2018

A utopia that does not exist

Euphoria that sighs in bliss,


outside the hemisphere

Dwelling for the taking

inside the floating pollen you

inhale and sneeze Out

Do You Know the Muffin Man?

October 6, 2018

listen up, prick

i don’t know who you think you are

you think you are

i know who you think you are

i know who you are

i think you are

prick you are

Up Ahead

September 17, 2018

She’s looking up

Up ahead

Ready to catch life’s tears

sugar plum trinkets wrapped in splendor brighter

than Floyd’s crystal prism

up Up ahead

100% this 1000% that

April 12, 2018

I 오예린 was born in Seoul in palindromic 1991 with dual citizenship during

my parents’ Christmas vacation who resided in Texas, where I was raised.

Did you catch that? Me neither.

Scrub me down with an exfoliating hydro towel, mom, I missed a spot.

Scrub me, scrub my yellow skin, scrub it clean.

After twenty-two years of choosing to swim in a sea of white hegemony, I realized Korean culture is beautiful.

Seeking roots, I retraced my steps back to my “homeland” only to find “my home land” didn’t exist.

The Korea I know is through my mother’s native tongue and the Korean food she cooks for us on Texas soil.

I can neither claim heritage to Korea as an American nor can I pledge allegiance to America as a Korean, but they’re both mine.

I stand on uneven ground, grounded.

Hear me speak with a mouthful of dumplings, from here.


October 2017







mother 엄마 umma

brother 오빠 oppa

father 아빠 appa

grandma 할머니 halmuhnee

uncle 삼춘 samchoon

aunt 이모 emo


Galleria Mall. Dallas, Texas.

My widowed umma promised to take me shopping.

I was in middle school [caught between a false perception of who I was and lofty

aesthetics around who I wanted to be] enveloped in a feeling of disbelonging.

My emo was over, my oppa was out.

I can’t remember what we had for dinner that night– surely something Korean followed by the staple question,

“Should I cut some fruit?” and Korean pears.

The pop of juice flowing as I crunched down on granules, I remember.

We got in the car and I sat, unacknowledged, while my umma and emo’s

stream of Korean chatter never stopped to catch a breath.

We pulled into the cement 6 level parking garage, sandwiched between metal numbers and mundane colour.

Weaving through racks of clothing atop marble tiles, I trailed behind them as umma led the way to My destination.

My request for them to speak in English went unheard.

I tailgated and swerved off then finally (sur)passed them em barrassed and angered by

their incessant Korean amidst an otherwise sea of White noise.

I lost them and returned ready with shame and apology only to find, they never noticed I was gone.

First Class

October 2017

my mom showed you pictures of her kids

she said her daughter got a brand new report card

and all I got was a brand new sports car



O     O OO

mom cracked a joke, all the kids laughed

but i couldn’t hear her all the way in first class

bad enough that I showed up late

i had to leave before they even cut the cake

welCome to heartbreak

when do we live when do we remember

when do we breathe

and when do we swallow

two roads diverge at this crossroads

there are no more inches to inch

no more strawberry-flavored time to spread

mom cracked a joke, all the kids laughed

but i couldn’t hear her all the way in ‘first class’

artistic Process

October 2017






i’d like to find balance, one in which i can be true

i can love whomever

i can create whatever

without offending






while uplifting







i love you, but

i love pocha, also

i love liquid