if i didn't linger as such
behind every word
trying to fight the wink of sleep
so furiously
i'd sleep with no such dreams, maybe
they would say
as they take a deep breath
and don't feel the tightness in their chest
and i'd be able to join in unanimously
but as it is,
i am yet to breathe
the stone has stayed,
lodged in my throat as we speak
and i don't bother turning on the lights
uncaring in the depths of night
for the shadows behind me
what is there to fear
when i walk aimless?
i could still be smiling
with you right behind me
i want to get through your skin
and pull you by the bones
pull aside your ribs,
grab at your heart,
feel it in my hands
and i want to feel
the way it beats at our closeness
i want to see your pupils dilate
hear the hitch in your breath
when you sense i am awake
most of all,
i want to hear you say it
say it like you mean it
there are no better words
than "i adore you"
i want to stay awake
4d ago
May 30, 2026 at 6:28 PM UTC
i can't write every night
sometimes i wish i could
embarrassingly wanting to recount the thoughts
from the misinterprets to the jokes
sometimes i wish i could
what we carry has become quite the solace
if i don't look almost,
even then the ideas bring me awake
in dreams, it happens
like it happened this morning
and in the mere moments
when i come across a keepsake
if i talk about it once,
i'd have to name the ache
being a stubborn elm,
as the name said
i put it all to a burial
underground,
or maybe at a height it can't reach me
or pull me from the break
i gather crafts and cut-out sparks
it's a thing,
if the star isn't perfect,
i crush it in my hands and put it away
right there,
sitting,
staring,
almost judgmental
and if i hear just long enough,
it feels like it too blames
why are the others perfect
when they were shaped by the same hands?
it's my mistake
slightly more pressure,
or anxious qualms
if i am too meek,
i'd hold no one close
and as it turns out,
i don't
a quiet discussion from yesterday
from habits
to the ones that are bad for anyone alive
and i told them to stay away
it isn't more or less the fear
sometimes just the default bringing up
what would be better left to grey
strayed-away figures
in the land of nowhere
and a door at the end,
an entrance leading somewhere
at least i hope
and yearn
and even discern with no shame
what is there to shame
when i can count the times
as the ones i've felt it light?
they are there,
bookmarked,
little anecdotes,
moments spent studying together in midnights
i don't write about them all
to write feels like setting on a curse
i wouldn't write about her,
my little one
but she's there
notes unknown,
never to be read
can't jinx,
can't hold
but i think about this one time
and so many more
watching the sunrise,
so many times,
even if it wasn't ours,
but on a faraway call
we studied together
and there was music
mapped out lists
of what we wanted to achieve
with threads of ideas and hopes
and some nights i went to sleep earlier
other times,
i'd watch the chat flicker
but somehow,
the sunrise would always be in front of us
and the track in the background,
unnamed,
a little smile and token of the day
awkward luncheons,
knowing neither had people
who knew about being afraid
similar dreams,
to almost the same pathways
and no calls whatsoever
no goodbyes,
or talk laters
somehow the chats continued,
paused somewhere
i remembered this week
i think it was because of the prompts
remembered the bittersweet
how i could never hate,
but only speak soft
an older version of me,
i saw
someone to protect,
someone to hold close
and for a while,
i did
from sharing the fears,
to the nights,
to building little check-in journals
and even signing up
for the same puzzles
we did everything together
and i think somewhere,
we still do
i know his favorite characters
he knew the ones
whose music i loved through
i had the both of them in posters
called him the boy,
got called back the girl
an i and an o exchanged in both
and ever, no pictures
i still open up the same livestream sometimes
watching the same sunrise happen in real life
it isn't anywhere near
not even in the country
we planned to stay over
i do not even live in that memory
but here i keep the texts saved,
and the list of goals open
i think we'll get it
i hope we do
both of us.
5d ago
May 30, 2026 at 4:43 PM UTC
the icing is buttercream
the movie is yet again the same
i have another notebook filled with lines
the ones that couldn't be mended together
kind of ashamed to call myself the poet
when i too am beginning stutter with words like they're new
what all can i name?
the ice cream melts in my hands
i believe this once the pick was cookies 'n cream
the right sweet
the right crunch
and it's falling on my shirt
down on my lap
leaving behind a sticky mess
i might be inviting ants directly to myself instead
i sleep the same way
with the ice cream touching my lips
it's close
i can taste it
and i give into the arms of a slumber
a performative nature by those guarding over
yet
something about this feels surreal
could be the bowl of litchis
or the way i can pick up their scent even as i disgrace the offending man
but there's a lot to be cleaned up
myself!
this sticky mess on my shirt for starters
but the rain left behind signs on my laundry
even as i watched the thunder strike the hand closest to me
and i have to unpack
to put up the posters on my walls again
i have to end the book i picked up a long while ago
and dropped in the name of reading the others in between
and i have to repeat
the same tale that i bookmarked
the quotes which held me
maybe it's just the night
or the new lamp's light
or even just the sugar in my bloodstream
think i won't let the syringe come any closer this time
think i will just let this
let this have no name until tomorrow
maybe the same time?
7d ago
May 28, 2026 at 4:47 PM UTC
there is somewhere a bug in my mouth
and it is trying to tear through my throat on its way out
i feel it grappling with the amount of times i hold back
but knowing the unknowing, i can’t help it
even when i want to rip my skin apart at that
May 27
May 27, 2026 at 3:33 PM UTC
the likes of me are owned by a hungry bloodhound
i have to pay the witch in blood and wealth
that’s the only way out
until then, the tower is made of glass
it is a house that resembles warmth
the likes of me are stretched too thin,
painfully so, i exist only as long as the witch thinks
there’s no way but hurting me out
there’s no way but leaving me about
May 27
May 27, 2026 at 3:19 PM UTC
not just when i leave paper stars everywhere in your stuff
or when i wrap my sweaty palms around your neck
even when i press my cold feet against yours
not when i steal popcorn from your bowl
or press my tasted lollies to the tip of your lips
all that while i steal yours
it's with a smile you take
and when i am practicing my routine
you stand there by the door
helping me gain a breath when i lose myself to the steps
dancing with the hymn, guiding the force in your arms to my waist
this is for when you and i sing
stay for a while
and i can hear you practically smile
for your voice is one thing
making me lose my focus
and the lyrics are another
i think i liked it when we were a lot less older
on days when all i want is to be close to you
to climb in your ribs and live right there
hear your heartbeat
and count it down until i make a mistake
but you never once minded
i think i could get used to you
May 26
May 26, 2026 at 5:26 PM UTC
what would we call the song that is ours and the one that will speak for me?
there's a cup in my hands,
that one mug that has been my go-to for ages
or maybe not that long
but it is overflowing
the white of the milk is beyond fading out
no matter how many times i seem to fill it up and throw it out
the cloudiness exists
and it will
for a long time
and i don't want to hand it over
i don't want anyone cleaning it up
no matter how many times they seem to think that i'd offer them my cup
that they'd take a sip
but i don't want them to
i can't let you take one too
not when it is filled with the venom that i feed myself
multiple times a day, whether it be in my tea, in my milk, in my soup, or in my hot chocolate
my thoughts are much less about me
more about hurting who i am
and you wouldn't know
because i won't let my words say it out loud to anyone but them
i remember that one doctor
how he'd said there was no cure
said it was, but a damaged breakdown
the difference between me and someone dead
that i had chosen to suffer and stay
they still haven't figured out what is wrong with me to this day
i think i know now
the prescription said i'd suppressed so far i could never undo
lengths i'd gone pretending it could be, but all untrue
and it is hopeless, perhaps
to think about it this way
to sit nights wondering if i'd ever be the same again
when was i ever me anyway?
the movies make it look so easy
the music even more so
such simple words as if they were drafted right out my head
and yet it cant seem to be enough
i am left bitter
but all i ever wanted was so-
my hands catch the edge of something
a can of memories, the metal picked at enough
i've thrown it against the wall
more times than i could count
the paint is chipped
the seal broken, halfway through splitting
and i am tired of wanting to keep things
of holding onto the bad to present it in a court
but they said the trial would never happen
that my proof isn't enough
that i am but to sit here
slowly gathering dust
watch every single thing i want slip away through my fingers
but who am i without this persistent ache?
when it rose from nothing in particular to everything i held within
like strings, like a puppet,
staying in places i should have long since let go
i can't chase parties
i can't do the rhyming
the kind of writing that makes everyone think about me
i can't enter rooms to grab attention
much less keep enough of it
i cower, i try to hide
my sole aim is to read what feels like it brings my pieces to the light
i can't hold vessels built in love when my own bear cracks
i can't play the good when i feel so worst, most days, to the end
i can't be the sweet when my mouth tastes so sour
i can only smile so long before it takes a turn to one that they fear
i see the way they look
tears pouring down my face and i force myself to hook up my lips
can't be the cure, can't find one either
my life in albums exists only so much
living between; you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love
to the, daughter from hell
so close to what? i wonder, and then i go sit by the preacher's daughter
while biting my tongue
and listening to an only child
letting it take me offshore
oh no/liahr, a big one
i can only live so long hiding
as if it isn't wearing me down
can only term it too cliche,
when drowning is all i can think about
i hate my words when they are just too plain
when they don't carry the sense of mess to them
it feels like i have lost my aim
if i could sing,
i would maybe
the kind that would call for silence
but i'd end up crying
and if i could act
as the real me
i'd be at the centre of the stage
right there, invisible, hurting
and i'd let go of all the safety clues
fall to the bottom, to bleed
and make it look as real as my feelings.
interlude;
if it were my place,
there wouldn't be a ceiling too close
the windows would be one-sided glass
and they wouldn't be able to see the insides at all
the kitchen would be quiet
the kind of colors that would blossom in a garden
the real one would hold plenty of flowers
and weeds, because i will have grown too attached
the drawers with no pills, but with filled journals
the recorder would play lover girl and the jazz
there would be tea on the porch
cookies and cakes by the bedside
and movies on the walls
and there would be a bunny, snoring
a cat, curled up on the pillow
a puppy, trying to catch the butterfly
and the glimmer of light breaking into a thousand different hues
as the sunset would fall upon
the nights would have the rooftop,
lamps glimmering in candlelight,
i'd sit, staring at the stars
writing letters to the moon
and i'd hear my phone ring
it'd be my own lyric
and maybe you'll sing some of them for me too.
your call has been forwarded to voicemail,
leave a message at the beep.
May 26
May 26, 2026 at 5:22 PM UTC
would you love for reason or in the absence of it
the plate of peels piles higher than the fruit's seeds, and yet
i take time with each
i don't remember the wish from last time
i can think of so many things and yet they fall back
but i remember
once we were us
and now we are just
the ones who used to be
the ones who wished for love
and maybe the happily ever after trick
i never did
she says the sun needs the shadow to shine
perhaps we're like that
except they can't get any closer
and i might despise the way it brightens
but the sun isn't something i could grow to hate
and i am glad it isn't lonely
for i, the shadow, have always stayed here
there isn't a replacement, really
more like i do not know what to do
now that i know how your back looks
because you were ever only beside
i will live the way you wanted to
if you couldn't, i will tie the strings the way you would
and even though we didn't share the face
we had our own
different faces for different lives
think i love in absence and then grow to find the reason in it
May 26
May 26, 2026 at 9:24 AM UTC
i have theories and dreams and fantasies
and all of them involve the bitter kind of endings
there's a few of them holding enchantments
most are filled with curses
a few have tattered wings, melting skin, and well,
a dead body
May 23
May 23, 2026 at 6:51 AM UTC
the tapestry hung there for as long as i can remember
it was pretty, the kind that made you do a double take
i put it to wash, every time it seemed like it gathered more than a few specks of dust
and every time it returned, bright, the threads woven in such a manner
conditioned, taken care of, i tied the loose ends,
and watched it fester
for years, it seemed honestly
less like those fake ones, or the ones hand-painted
even those wrung out, even the ones that were too fancy
it was mine, for the longest time it reminded them of i
and then it began to grow dull
i can't remember if it happened over a night or over the course of weather
but now, the threads are loose
broken chipped ends, the curls of it, they're tangled so bad
and i can't sort through them. they won't retain the softness they once had
the tapestry is caving away
folding in on itself, like skin with the side effects of prolonged water,
like the souring of milk when it's kept out in summer
i do not know whether it's of age, of condition, of temperament, or of relentless attacks by the bugs
i just know it still is there
but no one looks at it the same way
there's the ******** thing
as if the colors are melting
as if the hooks it hung from are stretching it too far
but nothing changed
or maybe a lot did?
no one seems to remember how it once was
they just see it in the now and claim it's too old, too dull, too shallow
and that it should be thrown away
but these things can't be recycled
once they end up in the bin, they're only overlooked and somehow they find themselves in the garbage islands
there, i wonder if it'll live by itself
if it'll remember i was there
even though i won't give it up
i ponder
if i somehow can ever get used to not having it the same way again
May 23
May 23, 2026 at 6:45 AM UTC