Sunlight crept in through the
slits in your blinds,
two bodies intertwined
at 11:30am accompanied by
two glasses of red wine
(quarter full) on your bedside
table, above which your picture
perfectly hangs and aligns with
the painting you finished last night.
Last night. Sigh
I was yours and you mine,
traced my finger along your hairline
while your head rested between my thighs.
These moments only last forever in my mind.
Feb 16, 2021
Feb 16, 2021 at 3:37 PM UTC
drawn to your emerald greens,
like you are drawn to the sea,
i fell into you blissfully.
your soft-spoken speeches echoes
inside your art-covered walls,
green. it's where breaths have slowed
and quickened into pleasurable moans...
"hey can you please open the window?"
it is funny the way i've grown in fondness
of the colour green, almost like a promise
of our love - an everlasting fluoresce.
yet i still want to loudly profess
all over again,
no motive, just simply me:
i am so in love with you,
with everything i have.
always will be,
always yours.
Feb 14, 2021
Feb 14, 2021 at 7:19 PM UTC
5? 6? 7?
(can’t be certain when exactly)
14.
17.
18.
He told me that it was okay.
Some will flinch at the touch.
Some will go into a daze.
Some - I - will crave the touch of strangers, and many at that,
to replace those days.
He told me that I was special.
I became careless and reckless
with love on accommodation sheets.
While I mistaken their meticulously placed words
for love that I thought was finally peace.
He told me that it wouldn’t hurt.
It’s 2:52am and my timeline is flooded
with girls and trials and underwears passed around in court
as if it mattered for the verdict.
The bags around my eyes are flooded
with tears of anger and hatred
as if to beg for some kind of justice.
They told me that I should be flattered.
But the thing is we haven’t been okay since.
It did hurt but we still needed ******* evidence.
We were already special before they took away our innocence.
And now all we can do is get angry and hurt and wince
at the stories like ours that social media has evinced.
We hope to god our daughters will never have a jury to convince.
Dec 7, 2020
Dec 7, 2020 at 9:19 PM UTC
You are a bullet,
harmless, fascinating, daunting -
when unprovoked and on your own.
Except maybe a choking hazard.
Nice to touch and feel on my skin, but cold.
Give you power,
or a gun,
your aim is never accurate but
deadly all the same.
I can replay it - you charging
at the TV with incredible speed -
in slow motion.
The sound that followed was deafening.
It was an ear ringing, catastrophic explosion.
It was your fist meeting the screen,
us screaming and me crying,
on my cut up and bruised knees,
begging for you not to leave.
I had a tendency to chase after bullets
and a desire to fix the mess they would create.
I didn’t realise that I was the one being chased.
And that I was my mess I had to clean up.
I’ve stopped going after bullets.
(But now I play with fire.)
Nov 14, 2020
Nov 14, 2020 at 10:30 AM UTC
He watered the flowers in my chest and they blossomed.
I showed him all of the colours on my tongue and he stayed.
He’s like a breath of fresh air,
clearing my mind but filling my lungs.
It’s different and warm. It’s hopeful.
This feels so easy. It’s serene.
There is something remarkable in the way he speaks,
the way he laughs and whispers and sings.
It will remind you of knowledge infused innocence.
Until we’re ********** each other in the kitchen.
We kiss and it’s like I’ve tasted everything sweet,
while my body is being set on fire and
the butterflies’ wings still flutter with desire.
I lay my ear flat against his chest, as I try to
memorise the rhythm of his heartbeat.
We’re driving on an empty highway past borrowed land.
“Paris” is playing at volume thirty five.
I look over and you take my hand.
The rear view mirror is reflected in your green eyes
while the corners of your mouth turns up into a smile,
almost in slow motion. Now I can feel my own grow.
We stay silent but I know and you know:
this is the most profound feeling in life.
Oct 24, 2020
Oct 24, 2020 at 6:53 PM UTC
you’re great at storytelling and
i could fall asleep to the sound
of your voice as it recounts a memory.
but i don’t want to be a part of your story.
i'm not one to be religious but i do hope to
god that i don't become one of them as
you remember the ghosts of us out loud
on the phone at 3am to another like me.
don’t let me be just your character development.
bring me on your entire journey and
let me remain the one you call at 3am
when you're dying to tell all the stories that you’ll have to tell in our future.
i don't want to be a part of your story.
i want to be your reality.
Sep 5, 2020
Sep 5, 2020 at 10:43 AM UTC
The world never melted away at my feet before.
That is until you whispered my name,
and made me feel:
like the word finally has some meaning personal to me,
like all of the stars across the galaxy are exploding in supernovas for me,
like I can finally assign a definition to the feeling I’ve been searching for for 20 years,
like every hurt, every tear shed, every heartache has led me to this point -
the moment when you’d whisper my name for the first time.
It’s a phenomenon.
Sep 4, 2020
Sep 4, 2020 at 5:50 AM UTC
taking the blame has never been easy for anyone.
it's a shame that it took hundreds of days,
plus months of isolation where
some terrible truths have been confronted,
for me to admit not only
have I been hurt,
so badly to the point my bones ache for me,
my eyes forced to take the weight of simply surviving,
and my feet won't stand at the thought of you;
I also broke some others just as bad.
I should go back in time and apologise
for reflecting my hurt onto something
so wholesome and pure but
"I’m sorry"s sound like such empty promises now and
I should know because
I've been on the receiving end.
Sep 3, 2020
Sep 3, 2020 at 6:46 PM UTC
I’d like to believe in fairytales.
But where’s the one where the princess
hurls her body over the toilet
in order to rid the knot that’s in her stomach.
The one where she argues with the voice in her head,
then disappears for weeks on end,
having to lie to her friends
“I’m fine.”
The one where she finds her “person” charming
time again and again and again
in several different bodies.
And time again and again and again,
they leave her disappointed and wondering
if her happily ever after resides in the strangers
who take up her bed in the morning.
Charming.
But this happy ending doesn’t end with a prince charming,
a broken curse or a “happily ever after”.
This one does not even have “The End” in joint italics in the credits.
This will be a happy ending
with the battle with herself as the final chapter,
neither winning or losing, but drawing.
and her credits will roll in joint italics “The Beginning”.
I’d like to believe in that fairytale.
Jul 17, 2020
Jul 17, 2020 at 7:06 AM UTC
I feel everything
that isn't there.
I think everything
that isn't true.
I try everything
that isn't me.
And my head and heart
both pound as one:
it's the rhythm
to my daily anthem,
accompanied by my feet
dancing - no,
creating tsunamis of bones
trying to keep still,
with my fingers tingling
a sort of white dust
that create a layer
of pure emptiness
all 'round me,
separating me from
all of reality.
I wish you knew
how scared I am
when you try
to save the me
who isn't here.
Aug 31, 2017
Aug 31, 2017 at 4:27 PM UTC