I can't sleep

No, not because of the demons that normally torment me.
Tonight is different.

I creep downstairs
Footsteps light, floorboards creaking slightly.
My father is playing Fleetwood Mac on the loudspeakers.

Over Stevie Nicks' smooth, crooning voice I tell him to turn it down, in barely a whisper;
"I'm tired, dad.
Let me sleep.
Play it tomorrow."

I walk into the kitchen and mother is there
Awake, still.
Working.
For the both of us.
Both of her useless children.

I take a glass of milk and sit beside her by the dining table,
Jewels strewn across a cloth,
And listen to her excitedly tell me about her designs
With my eyelids half mast

I finish my milk and walk away
A silent goodnight escapes my lips, barely open.
I leave her to her work.

I take a glance at my father; he's watching The View now.
I walk up the stairs again, silent as a mouse.

I can't sleep.

Is this all there is?
I wake up
I go to school
or maybe I'll have a bit of food before I go back to sleep again.

I brush my teeth
I take a ****
I look at myself in the mirror
I brush my hair

Every morning is almost the same
I text you, or you text me.
We talk for hours
sometimes even talking while I'm *******
and we're fine with that

In school, I listen
I look around
smile at people
I don't usually get a smile back, but I don't really care.

I get home in the afternoon
lie down on my bed
maybe cook
I guess I'm spontaneous that way.

I'm in love
I'm in pain
I'm lonely
I'm annoyed

I look at my skin and I feel like I could do better
but I just say "**** it" and move on

It's monotonous
It's repetitive

But if I could do it all with you

I'm fine with it.

You hear about the sleepless nights
The crying, the suicidal thoughts.
The cloudy days when it's sunny
And the thunderstorms in the cool breeze

You hear about the support groups
The suicide hotlines, the public outcry.
#westandwith__, #alwayskeepfighing,
The sad poems and the sad playlists.

But you never hear about the reality

The way depression looms over your head,
Not as a cloud, but as a faceless mass
Of pure darkness, that paints a smile on your face
So people don't notice you're hurting

It's the feeling of complete and utter nothingness,
When you sit in class and stare at the teacher
But don't hear a thing he's saying because you're too sad, too upset to move or think.

It's the paranoia that you feel
When your friends leave you for a split second
That feels like minutes, then feels like hours.
It's the loneliness that sets in
While numbers and friends are within arm's reach.

It's the messy room, the scraps of chocolate wrappers on the floor.
The piles of laundry you haven't touched in weeks.
The homework you've been putting off because you were too ******* sad to do it
The pain on your lover's face when he realised he can't do anything
And the pain on yours when you hate seeing him in pain
And the cycle goes on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on

...

It's the constant apologising.

The constant self-hatred.

The self-medication with good things and movies but nothing seems to work.





I just want to be okay.

Midnight
You drop the call
And I drop the phone.
I say goodnight
And try to sleep.

I search the long-abandoned rooms in my mind
For a song to put me to sleep
And I hear a familiar tune
Waft through a room that’s forever frozen
In a cloudy, but lovely day in the middle of September, 2016.
It’s a room I abandoned so long ago.

It’s been lingering for a while
I just haven’t noticed.
Listening to the old playlists does that to you, I guess.
But the memories flood back.

The messages, the voicemails, the questions-
What’s your favourite hat? What’s your favourite bean?
Questions I’ve asked you, my love.
And I’m sorry
But I’ve asked them before.
With different answers, from a very different man.

At first it was a trickle
Nothing major, just drops.
And then the tune played
Over and over

The floodgates opened, and memories poured down upon my brain
Knives and scraps of steel and alcohol mixed with the water
His name
Over and over
A name I’ve tried so hard to forget
And then tried so hard to bludgeon when I couldn’t.

It’s 3am.
And now I recall all the names.
Everyone I’ve lost, every single name that could break me.
Every single one.
Now I know what living with regret feels like
Now I know what it feels like to be broken
Now I know what it feels like to die,
Just a little bit inside, every day.

Now I know pain.
Now I know life.

It’s 2:38am in the morning
Why I can’t sleep, I don’t know.
I usually sleep earlier than you do.

I feel the poetry spill from my fingers
Onto the keyboard
And slip through the crevices in the keys
As I stare at the tiny, ever-spinning
Rainbow pinwheel of death

I’m grabbing at my nightgown
Because, in my boredom
I’ve set my hair into curlers.
I don’t exactly know what’s the point
But whatever man

Poetry.
Why do I write poetry?
It’s a pastime. A hobby.
Something to organise my thoughts when they’re as messy as my hair when we drive through the countryside and you roll down the windows to give me some fresh air
Away from the city

I’m tired, baby.
And I can’t sleep with the demons whispering sweet, lonely, empty nothings into my head.
Why won’t they let me sleep

I want you to talk to me.
not with dumb, one-line responses.
Give me effort.
Give me something to talk about.

I want you to talk to me.
Not with a "how u doin"
Give me a statement.
Give me a question to answer.

To he honest, I don't know why I'm asking for so much
when your poetry proves you can only give me little.

My heroes growing up
were golden-haired princes
and gun-toting superspies
that would crash through my bedrom windows
and whisk me away
to a world more beautiful than this one.

My heroes as a young, ***** teenager
were the scruffy rebels.
Sid Vicious. Joan Jett. Amy Lee.
Gerard Way. Brendon Urie.
who would scream their ways through my bleeding ears
and pierce my heart like needles,
And stir my pre-pubescent *** drive like a raunchy letter to a middle-aged, dissatisfied wife.

My heroes changed as I grew older
As my standards became lower for them.
because I thought i didn't deserve anything.

The man across the street who smiled at me.
The man who offered me a towel when I threw up on the bus.
The classmate who gave me directions once.

Then I met you, and you saved me.
Like the golden-haired prince
and gun-toting spy
from my dreams.

But today

One came in the form of a lady who bought a necklace from my mother.
And now we can afford two coffees instead of one.

Modern-day heroes.
****, I need to learn to save myself.

"I'm not a beggar!"
My mother laughs this line
at a lady trying to rip us off
a pure silver choker.

"I'm not a beggar!"
My mother half-jokes,
Wrapping the silver choker in a thick plastic ziploc
after she cut the price down to zero profit

"I'm not a beggar."
My mother's crying now.
Salty tears on her cotton nightgown
as we think of the life we lived before.
A whole life away from the rotting wooden table
we laid a cloth upon
to sell our old wares.

The glitz and glamour
the gala dinners
the pageants
and diamond-encrusted models.

It all came down because of me.

I wanted to go to an international school
I wanted to live on an island
I wanted a castle
I wanted a dog
I wanted everything.

It's my fault.
It's all my fault.
All my fault.

I'm sorry.
I am so, so sorry.

I told him the labour fee was for him alone.
he did it at home?
Who told him to take it home?
I've finished all my materials
30 thousand NT is all I'm giving
MY SALARY IS 10K
It's fair.
it's for my husband
Exactly, they'll help you make the rest!
It's not my cash
WHAT IF YOU GAVE IT TO THE WRONG PERSON?
Everyone thinks differently.
I'm sorry.

It's a hot day.
in mid-december.
What the **** is this.

I expected cold
That's what I came to Taiwan for.
i guess the world had other plans.
******* hell.

What am i doing?

I'm watching the old ladies run about
with the old men
Strings of coral and jade
around their frail wrists
And pocketfuls of money
i will probably never see

There's another old lady
carrying boxes of food
selling lunch to the loud jewellery sellers.
she's seen better days,
But she looks happy.
at least i hope she is.

The chestnut girl isn't here today.
i hope she is, though.
she's cheery all the time.
i need a bit of cheer in my life.

My parents have left me alone.
how the hell do i run this booth
i hope nobody comes to ask me for anything
even if i should hope they do.
we haven't made anything in weeks.

The jade market is loud
and the smell of sandalwood incense and rotting nails lingers
like when i accidentally cook too much pork
with an inadequate amount of onions and salt
and the smell assaults my apartment.

I wish you were here.
you would love the chaos.

It's eerily quiet.
No breathing, no distant engines,
Not even the drone of the aircon.

Nothing.

Nothing but the slow strumming of my guitar.

Its quiet now.

Can't wait to see how much more it can get at 2am.

They just don't understand, do they?
They don't see it.
The grace in your profession.

How you slide up the pole like a snake,
And come down like a ballerina on pointe,
And finish with a flourish,
Legs apart, arms wide, and wings brandished.

I watched you dance for flustered men who begged at your feet,
I watched you tease,
I watched you play with their fantasies,
And rip them apart like paper.

It may have been for a split second,
A fraction of a split second,

But I salute you.

Why?

Because of all the memories I had in Thailand,
You're the one I remember most vividly.

You've accomplished, in a fraction of a fraction of a second,
Something I have been trying to accomplish
Year after year,
School after school,
Lover after lover.

To be remembered.

You accomplished, in a fraction of a fraction of a second,
What I couldn't accomplish in 18 years.

I salute you.
I salute you.
I salute you.

Four hours
Before I have to leave.
I remember your lips,
Planting kiss after parting kiss
On mine.

Two hours
Before I have to leave.
I remember your hands
Holding mine, but slowly letting go
As I pass through the boarding gate.

Thirty minutes
Before I have to leave.
I remember every single moment,
Every laugh, every "I love you",
Turning into a fading, yet fresh
Wisp of memory.

Thirty seconds
Before I have to leave.
I remember you  

Don't worry, my love.
I'll let you know when I'm on the other side.
I love you.

I can't sleep

And maybe it's the movie I watched a while ago

Maybe it's the back pain

Maybe it's the cold

But mostly I think it's just me

Missing you

I went to a flea market today
And between the stalls peddling jade
Antique swords
And old Japanese plastic toys,
I found a box of photographs
Forgotten by time

I picked up the photographs one by one
And in each of them I saw countless stories.
1940's Taiwan.
1920's Japan.
A couple.
A group of men.
A rice field.

I watched the smiling faces and the wide, vacant grins and wondered,
'Who are they?
'Where did they go?
'Who did they go home to?
'Where are they now?'

I looked at the photographs and saw us.
Happy. Content.
Unfettered by the passage of time.
Unaware that one day, we'll be nothing, or everything.
Uncaring about how short and how eternally slow life can be.

I look at us and wonder,
'Will anyone remember us, fifty years from now?
'Will anyone care what happened to us?
'Will we simply be, sixty years from now, old photographs in box in a ***** flea market?'
I found no answers to my questions.
I doubt I ever will.



I went to a flea market today.
But that's all in the past now.




I put the photographs back in the box.

White princess,
Up in your diamond and ivory
Chanel and Louis tower.
Above all of us-
Simple folk

White princess,
Walking on pink rose petals
Spilled at your feet
By your family,
Who are just like us-
Simple folk

White princess,
Hands untouched by labour,
Soft as silk and water.
Skin unburnt by sunlight,
And unscarred.
Unlike us-
Simple folk

White princess,
Who will never know hardship
Pain, or suffering.
Walk all over us in your
Black and red Louboutins.
All of us-
Simple folk.

No amount of poems
No amount of words
Lyrics, songs, verses, or novels
Can adequately express how much you inspire me.

No amount of grains of sand,
Droplets of water,
Leaves on trees or feathers on birds
Can enumerate my absolute adoration for you.

No amount of days
No amount of hours
Months, years, decades, or millennia
Can appropriately describe how ardently I want you in my life.

And no amount of time
No amount of dark or light matter in this universe
And no stretch of imagination
Can comprehensively express
How much I love you.

I love you more than words can say

and more than actions can express

and I love you even more

When your hands slide up my dress

I want to hold your hands
And tell you everything I see
When I'm with you.

Every single sunrise I see in your smile
Every single ray of moonlight
I feel on my body
When you look at me

Every single sliver of ice I feel
Tracing down my back
When you kiss me
And caress my face

Every single burn
That singes my skin and my cheeks
When you touch me
And tell me I'm beautiful

I want you to see
What I see

Feel
What I feel

Because maybe if you did

You'd finally know the sheer magnitude of how much I truly love you.
And how much you affect me

I counted to raindrops on my window
While crossing off days on the calendar
On my wall

I count off every day I'm alone
Lonely
Without you

But every second I'm with you
I count it off
As another birthday
Another Halloween
Another new year
Another moment where I'm allowed to be happy

And I'm grateful.

You ruined my perception
Of lights on the highway,
Drinks alone,
And steak dinners.

You ruined the smell
Of expensive Italian cologne,
New cars,
And escargot.

You ruined the sensation
Of fingers entwined in mine,
Car makeouts,
Opulence, and luxury.

You ruined everything,
From roads to white Subarus,
Black Chevies,
And radio music.

But I thank my lucky stars
That he restored everything
You destroyed
And I am complete again.

Lorenzo

The name spills from my lips,
Like wine-
And stains my hands.

LoRENzo

A brand on my chest.
A tattoo on my neck-
Where his tongue traced constellations.

Lo-ren-zo

The name lingers in my blood
Like a narcotic
And in the air
Like ***.

I'm hooked.

Addicted.

Lorenzo.

Lorenzo.

Lorenzo.