Poems: Kristin Chang

Justin Bieber collage.

Sad examples

Do you remember? Do you remember? Do you remember? Do you remember?

I love being famous. It’s kinda
like a film. It’s not the real
thing, but that’s what you think at the time.
Watch. You said this was a
film? Let me teach you something. About
aspects. All the aspects. Hundreds, thousands
of aspects. Firing and hiring. Firing and hiring. I
could have a child right now,
in the manly way. I ride with
bulletproof glass for my
baby. Finishing fourth grade
created a real human being
you’re spanking now. You can’t always see me
with my little bit of mass, fed on a
lot of sad examples. I mean, I’ve
never ordered a happy meal. I will always
want to be a time traveler. Damn. I wish
I was watching Cops right now. Well no one can stop me
but that sense of purity I can’t lose
my new puppy named Esther.
Her name is Esther and she
tells me I will end up broken. That I have
a sixth sense
            for breaking. So I let her change me,
take my picture, and sorry but I don’t like it
when you take pictures of my puppy Esther
pulling something out of you,
making another heart
happy. I didn’t want to see that.
I want Esther
to create a lot of brokenness in you, something new
for a change. But I will not end up broken. I will not end up
superreal. I will do the little things, firing and hiring
                                                            firing and hiring
I just got lost
I just got lost
doing the little things, firing and hiring, firing
and hiring, bouncing off Vegas, my swagger coach
shows me I’m in the perfect position to pray
but I say I want my world to be fun, I don’t have a prescription
or parents but I want my world
inspired. I’m being courted by
a kind of control. Control, not the same as a good
planned heartbreak. Control, as in jetting to the happiest
place I’ve ever been where I’m not
already potty-trained. Where everyone is
a chance to object. I object. I object –
                        I have this scar tissue on my neck, not all burns and love
                        bites. What? Is it? Literally,
                        it’s all memories. I guess, I learned the hard way So
I know about turning off people
with my neck. I purple and say This is my life
Thank you. This is my life


Prayer (in haiku)


I have a real
connection with people who
make me regret me.


I have no Xanax.
I have to lie about the
having a soul part.


I’m actually part
Indian. Inuit or
something. See me now?


I don’t recall if
I get disciplined. No one
is my son, is me.


I don’t think it’s fair.
Do you understand? I don’t
know how to be meat


Securing me is
important, my substances
crave your silent proof.


I’m not used to this.
I cannot be repeated
but you will still try.
Kristin Chang lives in Cupertino, CA. Her work has been published in or is forthcoming in BOAAT, Dead Ink, Wu-Wei Fashion Mag, and elsewhere.

Note: Everything in these poems has been spliced together from an included list of Justin Bieber’s various interviews from 2006 to the present, as well as his deposition.
















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