To be a gentleman in a Chatroom,
One must always introduce themselves as a number.
As an age.
To inform the fine maidens of the Chatroom that,
'Yes! I am legal.'
So that way they feel obliged to tell you:
'Why, I am too!'

You must also accompany such a number with your gender.
Just so that they won't get confused,
And know that you are a
masculine
manly man
of manliness.

It is of the Gentleman's Etiquette to note your existence afterwards.
A simple 'Here' would suit.
Or spice it up with a
'You?'
Afterwards.

Make sure you always ask how your possible future **** partner is feeling, it's only polite. If they say
'I'm feeling wonderful, how about you?'
or
'My day's been ghastly. How about yours?'
- No matter what the answer, make sure to reply with a steady:
'Nothing much', or if you're feeling impatient, 'nm'
Just to show that no, you don't really care
and want to get straight into business.

- Which shows that you are a man with a clear goal in mind, and as we all know, women adore men with confidence!

The next step is the bargain.
You need to sell yourself to the feline with flair,
Ferocity,
Wit, style, charisma.

'Wanna ****?'

And if they reject your courteous advances, all you can do is tip your hat and carry on to the next lady in waiting.

i think i'm in love
with a man drunk on the moon
i think he's a wolf

free spirit bound tightly.

the equivalent
of keeping a wild tiger
as a house kitty.

you may gag my mouth
you may bind my wrists
you may stimulate
you may penetrate

you may humiliate

but though i am your slave
I am still my own master.

An insect.
That crawls upon my body, except I can't quickly swat it away
Without causing attention to myself
and everyone noticing that my
white ******* are pulled
all the way down
to my ankles.

My lips are dry so I bite them.
Knuckles whitening while I hold onto the grip-strap
And I hear his heavy breathing against my neck.
I look at the tunnels, quickly passing by.
'Maybe this will end fast too?'

Naive of me to think so.

Sliding into my flower
Like a toxic, little aphid.
Stuck on my sticky leaves
As petals are parted and

I pour out of the open doors in Shinjuku station,
And run out, wiping a tear on my sleeve.
I tug up my decency
While I run to the ticket booth.
Angry foreigner was yelling at the old man who sits within.
The clock above strikes eight.
I decide that it's not worth it.
I won't tell anyone.
It doesn't matter.
Could be worse.
It's okay.
I'm okay.







I wasn't okay.

Be not the Clown,
But the Joker.
Don't wear the pendant,
Wear the choker.

Please, take your time,
But only if you hurry.
However, do not stress,
Unless I tell you to worry.

**** yourself,
But **** me first.
Believe in fortune,
Believe you're cursed.

Look good in white,
Look great in black.
Come here tomorrow,
and never come back.

Vote one way and please vote the other.
Hate your rival, yet love their mother.
Take down notes and burn them all away,
Collect the ashes and do your chores for the day.

You gotta be smarter,
But you better be dumb.
Play the violin,
But bang the drum.

And the most important thing of all
Is to never take anyone's advice EVER.
- Because everyone on God's green Earth
Think they're so **** clever.

I watched as my heart was wrenched out of my body.
I watched as the blade twisted into my chest,
And punctured my lungs so I couldn’t breathe.

As the sword withdrew,
My heart spilled out and lay beating on the floor,
And she didn’t even carry a look that indicated the words:

“I’m sorry.”

I don't know much about you,
Handsome stranger,
And I shouldn't want to know you at all.

I love my lover, dear stranger.
You harbor no thought of me. And if such lust blooms,
I'm forced to wilt in guilt.

Adieu.

The mist that leaves the vapour in the morn
Crafts fragile drops of aqua,
Gently glides down the windows
Of an empty classroom.

Crisp cold enters from rough winter winds,
The doors would shut themselves,
As a gentle shower of rain would burst from the big grey blanket
That carpeted the skies.

Rain would fall.
Pitter
Patter,
Pitter,
Patter,
Upon the tin roof.

As I watched more of those soft, small orbs of water stream down the chilled glass.

Our genesis,
The foundations of us,
Was architecturally unsound.
A mistake.
A footprint left in wet cement,
Once dried, it's for all to see.
To point at. To laugh at.

Our genesis; A mistake.
We were the two girls
That shouldn't have held hands so liberally
During the school culture festival.
Two girls.
Who know a broken heart,
Tried to tie our halves together in a twisted knot,
All to get over our previous loves, previous lives,
And try to move on with something fresh on our fragile minds
And immortal, frail, hearts.

You stitched my heart back together within a few days,
So I'm sorry that I wasn't enough to stitch yours within years.

i'm sorry.
the leftover pizza
hidden in the back of the fridge,
just looked so tasty.

- the smell of pepperoni still lingers on my shirt.

The low cloud above the hill
Would cling to the top of the tallest tree,
And yet no memory of us
Would cling to me the way nature illustrates.

Not forgetfulness, my love.
Not out of spite, my dear.
Just a watercolor of the way we were.
And don't lie, we weren't happy.

Those days where we sat in front of a konbini,
Long after-school after-noons,
Ended far too soon.
Ended far too quiet.

You would stare, stare, stare a storm.
A tempest that I could not see despite examining you for a lifetime.
They said we looked perfect together.
But you never looked at me the way you would the distance.

So instead the distance stood in between me and you,
Kota.
I was so ready to love you.
But we bit off more than we could chew.

That girl.
Lone, on the bays,
So beautiful
That she draws the tide
To near her
Just so the ocean
Could know her
Grace.

I wanna eat something
but it won't fill me up
only drag me down.

There is a stillness preserved for sturdy buildings.

They contrast the nature that swings:
The shake of a tree,
The leaves that wiggle
And
t
  w
    i
  r
     l
off their twigs in the prettiest of ways.

- Yes, a concrete jungle is still a jungle
But there's no flutter, no movement, no beauty.

Spider in my room.
Tucked away in the corner.
I know you are there.

Aki for Autumn,
Haru for Spring.
I hate karaoke,
Because I can't sing.

Late night Macca-run,
Busted up hand-me-down car
Rattling along the rocky road
With his warm hoodie draped around me
Like a toga with a Supreme sticker.

AC's turned off in traffic
As the night breeze is all we need
To enjoy this comfortable night
In his car, together.

I order a hot chocolate.
He orders a cheeseburger.
And we share the fries,
And I drain his pepsi
Until all there is
Is a pile of melted ice
And the soft pallet of knock-off cola
- in which both of us refuse to drink the leftover contents.

The cup is still warm in my hands,
And the car smells of fried food and cocoa powder.
His eyes are focused on the road,
While mine are focused elsewhere.

Soon,
He drops me home,
and ditches the trash.
And that was the end of our quiet late-night dinner-date.

"i can't do anything right"
she says to me

"You can do plenty."
I say to her.

"not really"
she says to me

"Well, you can be here with me."
I say to her.

"anyone can do that"
she says to me

"No. Only you."
I say to her.

I don't mind when white people wear

cat ears.
seifuku.
kimono.
kanji slapped on shirts.
(even if they don't know what it means)

Culture can be an aesthetic.
Just as long as they appreciate it,
We're friends.

The ones with blurred faces
Knocked down my door last night
And tugged at my limbs with such desperation
- A rigorous exercise.

Their hands, rattling in a sharp neon glow
Stole away many things as they held me down
And shone the bright lights into my eyes,
Turning my pupils into hollowed colour:

Trust.
Potential.
Innocence.
Friendship.

All gone.
All taken.
All dead.
During the break-in.

i just want a kiss.
one movie scene kiss
something electric
something delicious
tongues intertwined
twisting in a wicked tango
arms wrapped around your neck -
like a koala on a tree
fingers running through my hair -
like a cheetah in wild plains

i just want a kiss.
explore my mouth,
you don't need a map -
don't hesitate -
just kiss me
make it work -
make it happen -

make me yours.

The warmth of the sun
Vanishes prematurely.
Light on pale skin fades to shadows

But they hold my hand,
Like a toddler to a teddy,
And never vanish, nor envelop.

No pain, but not numb.
Cold, but not freezing.
It's night. And this is fine.

I look up to the moon late at night.
My long legs dangle off a park bench,
Hands gripping onto the edge of the table.

I'm happy there's no old gum stuck underneath.

Erena plays a song from her iphone,
It blared from her speakers like wildfire
Never the less, it suited the mood.

I ask her, what are you playing?
"なんでもない"- "It's nothing."
I shrugged.

We noticed how big the moon was that night.
Big, bright, boisterous.
Showing off its curves,
Spots, blemishes, imperfections.
I wish I was that confident.

Moon,
I see you.
How does it feel to be watched by so many insecure, lonely people?

Moon,
Please answer,
Are you as confident as you seem, so high above?

Or,
Maybe,
You're just like us.

I bathe in my past mistakes to remind myself that they are there.
    
            - The wine is hard to wash off my skin.

Mist may hide mountains,
But nothing covers my smile
When my eyes grasp you.

shoreline littered

broken shells,

bits of seagrapes,

parts of a dead crab,

and footprints.

My pursuit of happiness is caught in a cab,
and hell is my driver.

I made this skirt from
Pierre Cardin's spring collection
Where a thief stole a pound, and I paid a nickle.

I made this shirt from
A pretty curtain
That I ripped out of a groovy bungalow

I made this bracelet from
Beads drifting down river Arakawa
A child's beads, probably thrown in a tantrum.

I made this pendant from
A glass marble from a goldfish bowl
In the small classroom of an elementary school

I found my socks in a dumpster.
I found my shoes in a runaway train.
I found my coat on the shoulders of a model.

And so I plead not guilty.

Exam room.
Air as still as dead,
Then I hear it:
Pencil.
R o l l i n g off the edg
e -
But the person catches it just in time.

I sigh in relief.

You are my life support.
And I am plagued by the past.

Call me beautiful like it's the only thing
Keeping me breathing.

Kiss me like you mean it,
Your love is my medicine.

You are my life support.
Be forever bound to me.

Seven spotted ladybird,
Dancing in my mind.

Its shade a deep burgundy,
with a slight shine that sparkled
under the soft rays of the sun.

It wobbled its way across the hood of car.
And I poked it gently,
Making it clumsily fall on its back in the driveway.

I cupped the tiny thing in my hands,
And eventually, it flew away.

i sit here in this classroom,

detached.

away from the others
while the tutor's voice blends into the walls
and i fail to melt into it with others' ears.

Tired eyes carried the bags that sank
Descending on ones features,
All heavy and rounded,
Two moons once full became born
Anew.

the night air is cold on my back; naked
white, glistening in moon's light
the glint of her silver combs my hair
caresses the cheek of all who dare gaze beyond
her lustrous face.

dotted by pearl freckles that pale her complexion,
brings beauty to nightfall.

o blissful treasure,
take me in my ascent
to your humble home
of crag and dust.

my celestial shore rests on the lunar frontier;
tucked in the embrace of space.

I ****** the stage with silence so the audience anticipates the articulation of words that soon spill out of my mouth.

The show lights blind my eyes so all I can see are headless ghosts sitting in rows, neatly compact in a spiritual communion.

My mind stutters, body shudders, yet the line is plain to see as it was painted on my lips - ready to perform, ready to be spoken.

Narration courses through my lungs to produce cornered speech, creating an introductory-zone for the others to encroach behind me

And there we were, separated into our own character beams while I stood with shallow confidence at the forefront.

Though I'm not a main lead,
or a side character,
or a set piece,
I am the narrator.
I carry the weight of the story,
And I carry the ears of those who listen.

I can own
seven wonderful tiny old rectangular turquoise Sri Lankan Jaguars.

But I cannot own
seven Sri Lankan wonderful rectangular old tiny turquoise Jaguars.

No.
That makes me sound crazy.

Sweetie,

I'm sorry that I keep staring at the other boys.
And keep thinking of the other girls,

But if I'm being honest,

If you ever left me
Love would be a forgotten feeling
That I never want to reclaim.

I may crave the skin of others,
But my beating heart is in your hands.

I felt like I shot myself that night,
When I blamed life for all of my problems.
I felt like I hung myself with the tough rope that dawn,
When I blamed the other for making me feel such strong emotions.
I felt like I choked myself on water,
Filling my lungs with it that day
I stared at Death in the eyes and he could only muster a raw cackle.
I do this to myself.

When the smallest thing happens to me, I think:

"take my life away
just do it
i don't wanna be here anymore
like seriously,what the ****
kms."

I bet that man,
he with his white cap,
smashed my box against the wall
as he so carelessly
dumped
my package on the doorstep.

DON.
ka
DON DON.
ka
Repetitive rhythms,
Palms burning red.
All in unison, we bang the center -
And hit the drum's edge,

The audience
below
can feel the rumble
in their hearts:

Taiko.

The leaf latched onto the thin branch near the brook.
But even leaves, as simple as they are, know when to let go and trust the wind to take them.

sand sticks onto my legs
as i crawl out of the water.

stench of salt in my hair,
as i walk the shoreline.

french fry in gull's beak,
as i toss my food away.

god i love the beach.

will someone please **** my tired body
until i fall into a million pieces
and you pick me up and put
me together again just so
you can add another
line to the tally of
girls you ****?
you *******.
i hate you.

Grey days are when the clouds puff a tantrum,
Smoking the sky out of its cozy, azure, play-space
With a big fuzzy blanket that covers the high plains,
And no holes for the blue to poke through.

Occasionally, they spout out their tears
And pelt the poor people below
With a loaded water pistol.

And such people sprout out umbrellas,
Or search for storm's shelter,

Yet one person always prefers to drown in clouds' melancholy.

I am the slither of fur in the night,
Glint of moonlight which captures the sleek
silver
of a cat's back
And the ghostly glow
of a cat's eyes.

I paint the picture with pastel colors.
Dotting the sky in pink clouds
While the horizon lay in an amber slumber.
A single pine tree slanted towards the crystal lake;
I draw another for companionship.
And it soon blooms into a forest
With shrubs and blackberry bushes and ferns,
Then I make a ripple in the lake
With leaves that drift along the gentle current
To the farther edges of the tender loch.

I envisioned the clear waters of the wetlands
As I cleaned my pallet and washed away the paint,
Like how painting landscapes washed away my worries.

**** the deadline.
****** the word limit.
maul the teacher.
tight sentences,
so concise,
stabs my heart
wasn't worth it at all.

The phone is ringing
but I don't want to get out of bed.

I'm a caterpillar stuck in a cocoon.
It's not my time to flourish -
no one else is home.

So I guess I have no choice but to be the butterfly
Then crawl back into my casing once more.