xviii.       i   grow like a pimple

only that i       stay

permanent stain, perhaps


concealer

I take it for granted
Your brittle teeth
My hammer tongue
Jittery throat
Don't try to speak
You don't want me to listen
My ears are waxed with distortion

Hands off
You don't want to touch me
My skin is smeared on poison
Don't even gaze into my eyes
You won't find truth
In the eyes of a Gorgon

there shall be no sleep/today is irregular/heartbeats glide and choke//

i'm so tired
of being

both mentally and
physically

i'm so tired of having
to
be present
to  be in a place i can't
recognize
to be in  a time i can't
relate to

i suppose my body hurts more than my tolerance

just since when did exist
ing
become so  painful
ly  heavy?

my body falls
even    deeper
my body stinks
even stronger

i swear i
loved                           life
i swear i   lived          life

a life that
is not mine
a life in a      body     i do not
own

my head is compact of lavender clouds
near an ocean of calm planets
harmony, cosmos

blinking your stellar dreary eyes
waltzing with vanished gods
resurrecting banned faith

they build a temple on our tomb
smash the headstone to make charms
meteorite, how you cast at me

who made them worship?
who told them gospel?
we sing psalms, electric

dethrone the crossbearer
inferno is our home
impaired, thunder

pull me quite, don't be polite
rest me on your palms, deathbed,
a plate that is also a mouth
your tongue my waterslide
i want to melt into your core

on the death's face
i speak nothing of you
throughout my memories
i let you slip away
hide, hide, sweetheart
i'd pretend you never mattered
your voice i cannot hear
frequency out of range i cannot translate
row, row the boat i won't let you fall
this morbid course
you have nothing to do with

Sparkle, sparkle, little sparks around your body. You are
an angel. You are beaming and floating in the air.
Aren't you tired, not living but also not dying? You
have no flesh, skeleton is not your thing.
What is your favorite meal
for breakfast? How do you like your  morning coffee?
Do you play chess? What is your favorite TV show? What do you do when
it's the commercial break?
You don't even get to taste
your own tongue. You are doing
all the chores while
God has all  the
fun. Come to the ground. Come, come here.
Come down here. I can give you
the world. I can give you
my tongue.
I can give up this flesh.

Before i know it i got scared of the dark
which is a bit shameful, for all my life
i've been hanging at the sky
bathing the path of lost souls with my light

My mother said i was the moon
My father said moonface was only a side effect
but my face stays true to its moon nature
although now it has lost its sun

Before i know it i came back to the past
where the only taste i know is of medicine
and i keep stumbling in hospital halls
trying to silence my own feet

Is it even possible to time travel backwards
to a time that has never happened?
I keep remembering the things i've never known
I keep hiding the secrets i've never had

my little poppy danced in a white space
circle, circle, she pirouetted on my crown
giving me headache as she always would
so beautiful she was, and i was so absorbed in awe
i stayed still, my hand was paralyzed
i stayed still, she pulled me out of my fear
she fingered my heart and shook my soul
all the poison was coming out
i gulped my tongue, i let it pour
clear yet twisted, like motherly love
we danced and danced
i should never forget last night
we danced until were drenched in deep red
sore is my body from all the hype she made

Mum and dad look, i have a poem
It is a poem I've written and kept and hidden
It is a poem I'll get mad about if you take a peek
Mum and dad look. I have a poem
I honestly hate to mention you in my poem
I don't want any of you be in any of my poem
Mum and dad look. I have a poem
This poem is not for you, mum and dad
This poem is not about you, mum and dad
Why would you think i would sacrifice a poem for you. Mum and dad?
Why would you think i would keep you safely in the blanket of my fluffy words. Mum and dad?

Mum and dad look. I have a poem
I wrote my first poem at 4 and it wasn't about you so you were sad but you did not want to admit it so you made fun of me, right?
Mum and dad look, i have a poem
Mum and dad look. It is not only one poem
I have hundreds and hundreds poems. Mum and dad
Mum and dad look
Those are what I've written all these years
Those are what I've kept from you all these years
Those are what I've hidden from your eyes and mother tongues
Please
Just misunderstand me. It's enough
My english is irrelevant. Leave it alone
Mum and dad. Look i have a poem
Mum and dad look i have a poem
I have a
Mum and dad will you read my poems?
Mum and dad will you misunderstand them again and again just like what you do to me?

Mum and dad. Look i have
Mum and dad look i have
Mum and dad look i have

a poem

Maybe poetry blog is more than just words and poetry and crafts and feelings. Maybe poetry blog doesn't even ever exist in this world. I struggle to write without typos and they keep coming back, coming back, coming back even though I've erased them to correct them. Everyone knows I do it out of love, so tremendeous yet tender and warm. The only thing we should never mention to public is that actually love is a bit slimy and disgusting and sometimes it reeks of three months old ocean water kept in a pink vacuum seal container.
I think I haven't really talk so much to forget the purpose why we are here. Why I try so hard to write this **** and why you soften your own heart just so you can survive reading trash in the face of words, trampled ideas, smashed soul it is actually pearl necklace and the beads are scattered completely gone just two left but I shall use it for my eyeballs. Or do you want? I can give it to you for free if you want these two beads of pearl inside your eye. It's not gonna be painful but you'll just learn about how to see without looking. If you're not satisfied, I can open your third eye, but only if you have it that is.
Hey, aren't you forgetting the reason we are all here? I think most of us now have forgotten about pretty much everything else, so, let me guess what we're going to do after this. Maybe we can go to somewhere without electricity and light bunch of candles. Some of us can read the bible aloud, dramatic, however they want. Some of us can play rope or ******* or such thing. Some of us can just wake up the sleeping world. There should not be sleep today. Sleeping is irrelevant nowadays. It's banned from now on. It's ok if you've gulped your sleeping pills, because it's always either not enough or too much. Either way the result isn't actually sleep. Once again, sleeping is banned from now on. This is where you choose, earthling. The fate is yours and all yours.

}stop me from dying
}only you  are able to
}I  beg you, o death

that sweet husky voice of yours
while i come undone on the sheets
washing machine, detergent
i'm all gone

three notes
suffocate me to death
white curtains and windows
the sound is coming in
wind blowing as if pigeon post
drive me nuts
there is nothing
between the lines

heart thumping like heavy machinery
over and over and over and over and ov

my fingers are your eyelashes
they long to dance, yearn for the fall
you bat them, i follow
how attachment kills the most
insanitary are the fingernails i grow

ssshh
listen
there is something pouring
to the rhythm
what's that liquid doing between
mirage and insanity

Today I look at you
& I know it was real
You were there
Now here, unchanged

& my heart is relieved
That you wear the same name
I used to keep safe in my mouth
The same hands
You used to collect my strands of fallen hair

Still
I dare not to touch you
Even for just one more time

No
Not today

Today I look at you
With eyes as innocent
As a curious child
& hold myself back
Like a dog beaten a hundred times

& I remember
& I know it was real

I keep coming back again
my home is pain
my lover is suffering
a lonely glance, who would have the heart?
you have no idea how many times
I've been brought back to life
each and every time I die
so I live anyway

Cold hands are yours
Nurture a dying thing called body

I haven't yet seen my lover
the mother who brings my skin to sunshine
cradles me to sleep in soft blanket
pass me down her appetite from her mouth

Is true love a myth? I might never know
if my fingernails stay trimmed
Nothing matters, there are probably a bunch of girls
exactly just like you

Sharp, milky, and crescent-like
who wears her hands like dull box cutter
and illnesses like the remaining
forests after fire

I've always been sad about the bathroom. The pink and black, hair and blood, tears and out of tune singing, thick and transparent. Whenever I step on the tiles I become afraid of the shower, that silver thing with wet holes, with cold stream and mindless embrace. But here I don't have the fear, only disgust, because the ground is all black and peeling and it sticks to my feet, and the coldness isn't clean, the coldness is only there because I've left it for just too long.





I keep coming back although I hate it, although each drop of water feels like a punishment and the soap bubbles are mocking my greasy everything. I keep coming back although it tortures me, because at the street I can hear the gazes pointed toward me, how the eyes shift when I try to catch, what is not said in front of me I know them all it rings so loud in my ears, I can hear them all. I keep coming back because even in the world of cruelty I still got to have a place to come home, to have something familiar, so I will feel less lonely and as if I had a purpose. It's a familiar pain, the kind of a hit that feels like a kiss. It's always like this, I keep coming back to the bathroom I do not own, I keep coming back and calling it my home. I've always been sad about it, the bathroom, home, I've always been

Half of me
breathe
the other half
effort to

Something
mess up
brain
chemicals

Too quiet
prohibit
voices
breath

Dying
universal
back of a person's head
wish, faster

vi.

my catharsis, my beacon in the dark
when i walk with you
all my worries
are meaningless

no longer lost
no more aimless wandering
i know what i want to reach,
i'm very sure of what i'd like to keep

you
felt so much like home, maybe you will
always be the home where i
can feel ugly, yet have never felt so safe

I drew a tree
but had no heart
to draw  its root
Only          pointy  leaves
disconnected from
its branches & I       started
*          *crying

The world is an earthquake today
Sways and swings, gently
With care and pleasant touch
Tosses its children like noodles
Children are the assets. They can't be
Killed just yet. Let's wait
Until the skin wrinkles, until the bones
And the loss of tissues are lovers
The world is an earthquake today
Shakes and thrusts, lightly. Softens
As it reaches the ground, as it leaves the
Focus that is in its children's hearts

my knees
swell. my kidneys
fail. i used to
brush my
hair find
tangles, now i just
let them
break. i let them
break
if only my father
is here he will say
no. he won't say
anything i
can imagine. i can't
be
i can't
be.
i don't know how to
talk. the
ability has left
my vocal fold, it has
gone to somewhere better
not here. it has gone
to the place
it's recognized where
it's heard
not here.
not here. my knees
swell i am oversized
in a small present
box for
pranks. pranks. pranks.
i get bored
bored bored boring.

v.

what i feel about you is
not divine; no more
than heat, sparks, or
skin to skin contact.

what i feel about you is
pink, is flesh, is the blood rush --
just
some girl stuffs.

thank god i am full
and i stuff my mouth over
and over again

out of breath
the organs are
dislocated
nose so flat everything's
restricted
chlorophylls cheer, are proud
of my lungs, these poor
balloons
careful not to bump into
my ribs, unseen
because of
fat

my body
is a cry for
help
with hands
as full as
weekly plans
with eyes like
waterfall
in a summer
with mouth as
hopeful as
sunrise
in the rain
empty the
eye sockets
pour the
world into
them - the lover
of surfaces,
masks - the hiding
place

worthless beautiful night sky
full of stars, red and blue
perfect lemon moon
so close

pink attire, purple face
optimistic words, dry tongue and pale lips
shadow in the dark
heavy

floral fabrics
ribbons for causes
statistics
heart, heart, heart

hollow

my fingers are innocent
my palms radical
you, take my hand
like the best of teachers

i've forgotten
what bitter tastes
like. every *******
thing
is sweet, is fresh, is
a fuji apple
with the skin peeled,
the flesh quick-soaked
in saltwater, the seeds taken
as softly as
the milk teeth.

i waited & waited
until i
can feel my teeth
again

my teeth against
fried salmon skin
my teeth in emphasis:
fish oil, omega-3 fatty acid

my teeth babysit
tongue, throat, body:
conjoined triplet & i
waited & waited

until i
can
feel my stomach

again:
it isn't cold
warm even

gentle air, so soft
every move makes
a mark, hidden

from the sight
rare darkness
silence-enveloped

house, a distinction
sound, each wave
is moon-pulled

You'll look at me as
If you've seen a ghost
And I'll stare at you just
Like the same as ever

This body demands
More than the soul can provide
All is descending

the volcano in my abdomen
erupts every time you are away
it keeps bursting, flowing
the liquid is warm, I feel cold
my chronic emptiness keeps being filled
with more void, more vacuum
I feel huge

Hair falls out like the
Lady down the haiku stairs
Scattered on the ground

Epilogue


you
only live
within my letters

hundreds
handwritten
unreplied

i
only live
when you say my name

blue
pseudonyms
reminds you of another

this
is no present
meaningless words

kept us alive
in each other's houses
no address

left
only a grave
two, i guess

xvii.

my dear neurosurgeon
failed to find my eyes,
he only looked
at my mouth, my
left jaw,
whine a little,
and gave me analgesic - i f

orgot what's the na
me - that replaced my f
ace with the mo
on. it's moon face. still

present until this very moment
just because my body wants to
remember. i
maintain my diet like there's
no tomorrow but actually there is &
boy did it
grace my stomach with a

crying gift, an angel's tears,
an angel lives near the volcano
everything turns sour.

i wasn't hurting at that time.

now i am. turning not only
my face to the moon, my whole body
is the moon, even my
fingers are the moon
but they are the crater part so
when i touch a boy he

disappears - when i
touch a girl i disappear.
i've never wanted to be a boy,

only some nights
i am so fragile i become masculine.
it's not that i've never felt
feminine, i do, every time

i am catcalled i do, every
time my father kisses me like a jewel
i do, every time my brother
treats me like a marionette
i do, every time i'm seen as angry i swear i do.

my mother is angry all the time but
that doesn't do anything about
her womanhood - her husband
still sees her as a good, and yes, the eyes
of a man
are like the sun, nothing at all
like mine.
my eyes are the only part of me
that is not the moon, that is pluto.

i've been to so many doctors
i am very sure it's not
the minds nor the medicines.

it's funny
that

my dear neurosurgeon
didn't even graze my skin -
the only time a knife
tore my epidermis open

it was a slim box cutter.

i've been to so many doctors,
i am very sure.

in the middle of july
i dream of red poppies
it comes out from my baby hole
it's not forming a line
anymore
like one day in april 2015
23:13 i drew a bridge
swamped with lil red poppies
not long enough to reach
the wrist
of my left hand

if
i'm beautiful
enough

maybe i
'd be forgiven

for being
such a weird
creature

maybe
my mind won't
matter anymore

or
the way i

stutter
would be

cute
or may-

be it will be
okay
to joke in

every ways no
one (in the

room) could
get
maybe

it won't matter
if i'm
not smart

enough
maybe i

can have more
scars and
still

be called
beautiful

look at my back
watch me as i try to walk
notice how i hardly move

how i have to painfully drag my feet
share the ground the blisters as a secret


look at my back
how i carry my bones
how i silent the creaks

the breaking sounds, the irony smells
now i let them out


look at my back
watch me as i leave the room
listen as i slam the door

unhear the voices
unsmell the scents


look at my back
for the first, the last time
watch me as i hope for the best

my back soon glued inside
an open casket

1 a.m.
"sylvia plath aesthetics" on google search
overwhelmed by the pages excerpts
click a link
close the tabs
tosca curtains
tv sound
smoking brothers
polka dot pajamas matching the face
wonder if the mirror would break today
religious villa
wide glass windows not high enough
useless hills
some are sleeping
shy ghosts
panic attacks
catch breath like solar cells
sunless
penniless
nostalgic sourness
hydrogen chloride solution in water
stomachache
period 4 days late
muscle spasms
skeletal recreation
fireworks
involuntary flow of old stale traumas
haven the escapee
banana diet and menopause
blank tombstone: a perfect biography

you, again
my name on the sand
my name, my life, just the same

you, again, the ocean
you be the beach i gave myself to
you be the tides that erase me quite

you, again, my earth-shaker
my alphabets remain nothing
my story crumbled by the wind

Endless attempt
Seeking revenge
On no one

Passing the pain
Through passages
A final deed

Complete the read
Humdrum questions
At twenty I-

hi, an illusion, a nightmare
shrunken ribs, heart a limp rebel
lungs the stagnant parents

moths in the gut, immortal
womb the failed garden
humiliation in étalage

******* the sacristy daughters
true worshipers of tedious
traditional values

hi, temple of the holy spirit
gaze into the weary stones
of the five senses, multiplied

ears buzzing bees, eyes the hive
nose a haunted house
dorsum a wildfire

kindling wood, spreading
villagers of freethinking
mind the silver shoes

wherever but
head, the great and powerful
wizard of oz

I am in this giant cocoon again
Waiting for my fingernails to grow
Longer, sharper than any glimmering redness can handle
Don't want to make new scar
've got enough already

If only i could
Clip the playbacks, throw them away
Clip 'em again when they grow on my demons
Throw them away
Again, like these transparent milky crescents

So my beautiful ruby would not cry
So my shining rosy cheeks would not be shy
Am i lacking something?
Sadly,
I am

In this giant cocoon again
Funny how it fits perfectly
Wrapping tight around me
Almost too tight i might lose my mind before i
Metamorphose

Into a giant fly
Ready to **** on your clean hands
Gotta wash it again?
You can't even look me in the eyes
There are so many