The head losing itself
A rainforest
Lake in the heart

Hundred tombstones
Named Narcissus
They Echo

Icy, bluish lungs
Pallid violet nails
Lips still yet loving

Salty bamboos
Necrophilic whistles
Siren's footsteps

Illegal loggers
Burying selves alive
Love, love that is

xvi. where do you go when your house isn't home?

i ******* crawl out of my body, swim infinite miles of the ocean, stretch my neck to the skies, replace my head with the moon. i ******* yearn for your presence, try to break the mirror with my weak stare, can't go further, fitting room doesn't fit whatsoever, all the buttons escape from my ***** and hair falls like tiny dandelions in a rainstorm.
i grow potatoes in my mouth, when i speak i smell of my root, when i am on my period i talk about stomachache at dinner table, when i search for space my tummy is the balloons at pingkan's 8th birthday party which i couldn't bring home. blow the candles i forgot to make a wish for a moment the fate seems seamless, bright red lipstick, brown mascara, outfits i can't ever wear to school, or to be honest, not anywhere because when i try to walk, every step is a ******* hysterical cry, when i use my toes every cell in my body violently shakes.
my house isn't home. my house isn't home. my house isn't home. my house isn't home. my house isn't home how do you know that? how did you barge into my clichés? how dare you claim something that even i won't bring myself to think about?
i ******* crawl out of my body, not as soon as possible, i do it right now, right ******* now so i know the years i've spent trying to nourish the flesh i don't really own are worthless, the years i've devoted myself to my worldly lover are the ones that have been consuming my tiny soul, if you ask me now of course no one is satisfied, no one is satisfied until i don't want to call you mine anymore.
i ******* crawl out of my body.
in a desperate attempt to make the hideous pleasing to watch, i sell blindfolds on the street, i light the matches in the rain, i dream of dead grandmother and christmas feast. i turn into a cold statue, i left the tenderness for stupid microorganisms, my divorced bones blame me for everything i did not do. i used to do the right things now i just do nothing, it's ******* useless anyway, i can blink five thousand times and still believe that time is what the clocks and calendars say. (my grandmother was a buddhist.)
i ******* crawl out of my body. i don't want to experience this anymore, i am not into this kind of thing, i long for your presence, all i've got from this building is an infinite count of absences. my body is a building, it has no level, no room, no door, no window, no furniture. my body a giant concrete boring box, i do not even live there anymore, nobody lives there anymore, they are all gone to a poppy field in the middle of nowhere (actually somewhere, only that i am not invited). i ******* crawl out of my body, did that answer your question?
i ******* crawl. out. of. it.

And after that I am still a hollow where the
fairies hide from darkness and poisons. I
am still growing flowers out of my womb
and that is why they stink like *******.

And after that your disbelief kills all my
sparky pixies and after that I cannot be
anything more than a hollow hollow. But
yeah I am still growing flowers out of my
wound and that is why I scream and cry
when you touch them.

And after that the stillness of the air inside
me and the remnant echo of morning songs
attract the darkness to come. And after that
I think she may feel lonely so I invite
poisons to also come along.

And after that I am still growing flowers
out of the wound on my womb. They still
stink like ******* and after that
vomitting feels like womanhood thing. And
after that my flowers are still immortal and
that is why sometimes you see blood clot
floating around the moon.

Sweaty face bright purple and greasy
I used to hide my body between the pages
But he told me to not read any more

Itchy head heated enough to make tea
My eyes are now how the trees say my name
My eyes are now the leeches I put in empty tampons

Sweaty neck I only want some traces of lips
Sweaty palms I only want some other fingers
Sweaty thighs I only want to walk well

******* sad wrapped in plastic
Cranky child trapped in old wrinkling skin
It may well be irrational excuses

Womb nervous and not worthy
Cerebral excuses, hormonal excuses
Highly sensitive person excuses

Delayed maturity excuses
Premenstrual syndrome excuses
Premature menopause excuses

Abusive motherhood at 5
Traumatic childhood at 18
What happens in between stays in between

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

I want crazy, I want cranky
Let me be that old woman who gets mad easily
Let this misogynistic society grow so great it will never be over oh no
Crush me, objectify me
Romanticize the way I dehumanize myself
Discriminate me
I am the stigmas, don't free them from me
I will drink your *** and be happy
Break me, let me crumble
I am a lump of inedible meat
Make a bet on my rushing blood
Don't lose, don't lose oh you will win for sure
Just say it and ***** on my mouth
Don't let me have worth without you
I am lesser than a slave, don't let me stare at your eyes
Play with my broken bones, cut my veins as you please
Make me beg, step on me
I am watermarked and it says your name
And yes this heart beats for you to stop
It can start again if you say so
You are the God, just do everything you want, just do everything you want
I can't not take it
I am inanimate
I am inanimate
I am inanimate

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

the dispenser is out of water & i'm
going to die of dehydration

no kidding. i've really thought about it
and considered it as a way out,
but the pain is unnecessary

so i decided to cross it out.
that's an ancient game already
i've forgotten all the rules.

There will never come a day:
1.
I stuck my head out of the window in rain
Without looking for your presence in between
2.
I drink coffee, any kind of coffee
Without pretending it's you I am drinking
3.
I see lines of poetries
Without reading it in your handwriting
4.
I blow a candle
Without imagining it's her in your heart


(I tried to read a boring book as if
it were your letters ----
But you've never sent me one)

I cannot eat
you from here, please,
come closer.

You are a flower
blooming in the
wrong season, no,
this isn't always about
you. So when
I sing to you I
sing to wind and
it was you who raised
my voice, so
high only
bats can hear.

Ruby or blood,
I am gonna have them both.
You don't worry
anyway because it
is my growth.

It's not ******* anymore.
And nothing to
do with pregnancy. The
stomachache is
genuine -- so pure and poor,
melodious chemical reactions of leftovers.

when it rains today
i will save some drops
and tomorrow and every day it falls
i will keep the raindrops
so carefully, so dearly
give my heart, all my life
keep them pure and liquid
for the sake of the raindrops
for the sake of the raindrops, that's it
yet
i still can't claim this
as true love

I found a lamp, a broken lamp,
keeps shining despite broken.
A magic lamp from a magic land,
Genie's home, o, sweet home.
Three wishes won't ever do,
three wishes crawling from
you;
Seems broken, o, yeah, it's
a broken lamp, a broken lamp from a broken land,
keeps shining despite broken.

Say your three wishes already,
says Genie.
I am writing a poetry, I whisper quietly.
What do you wish it would be? asks Genie, gently.
Ssshhh, you are bothering me, Genie.
Genie was bothering me
so I leave, I leave like the autumn leaves
drift by the window.
I leave like a sunset on a rainy day ---

Never say goodbye
to a broken lamp, a broken lamp from a broken land,
keeps shining despite broken.

You have no idea
of how poetic it is
to eat a great load of junk food
while thinking about life.
---

I once tried to
keep a healthy lifestyle ---
eat an apple a day
avoid junk food
wake up early
shower two times a day
know my limit of caffeine
go out with friends
listen to popular music
live as a teen
and other ******* ---
in case I live long.

1/
I once had hands like ******* and
when i touched your cheeks you became
bathroom floor.
I didn't tell father i am keeping the

bathroom *****, but i wouldn't let anyone
clean it.
My roommate is sleeping like a pig; i think
i, too, am becoming a higher being.

2/
Back to where it started
It started in somewhere like this;
the very beginning of despair
and all the dark agony
clouding your entire soul ---
it appears on your
skin so do not hide!
Do not hide
for you are so clear yet the world
is too blind

When I talk God I mean:
You

My hand smells of apple and
Iron in my blood begins to revolt.
A shadow puppet smirks, pulling blanket
Wrapped over the 14 year old little girl's thighs;
It's morning already, I've got to **** you,
I've got to **** you.

We found our bodies drowned at
The colorless side of the bottom of Gangga;
As if wars would soon start again
Like when we were older and you sang me
A farewell with such an emotionless voice --
The tuberoses had let you sing the sonnet alone

And since then you could not
Escape the karmic silence;
You began to replace Shiva with the ticking clock which battery's drained;
You ate the mercury, the mercury.
You began to carry your charger everywhere yet I kept
Failing to taste your tongue even for once;
For once I saw the clouds and they're blue
Like eyes of the blonde girl with plastic daisies tucked
On her hair and
Dried forget-me-nots grew on your wet heart;

The Mindanao helped me to get through
But such tight seaweed had tied my feet to you (to get me back to you, to get me back to you);
An island of fears, your homeland; mine; traditional songs and dances I refuse to learn;
City of fire was only your lies.


(I am sorry I got your name misspelled, carved on my soul.)

I become afraid
of the sun -- I just wanted
love -- she burned me twice.

My legs will soon rot
before i've time to bury
them in the backyard

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

didn't i tell you?
we cannot escape darkness
while avoiding light

I went missing; there's a
Forest in my head
Wandering through
River, sand, mountain
I see you once in a while

a body was where i used to live
knees bruised colors of prayers
kind purple warm green blood flow
dear crimson my old friend


unsex me
an empty shell

If I ever talk to the cloud again
and ask where my kite went ---

But the cloud would not speak
for it has no tongue nor teeth

Maybe my kite heard the wind singing
Or the sweet, sweet voice of Siren luring

Sun floats still
Couldn't run away

Sun stole, stole
Stole my kite away

If I ever talk to Ra again ---
I had no time explaining

Such sensitive teeth my kite has
Don't let it bite the Siren's voice

Sweet, sweet haze
Blinding

Sun floats still
Earth on routine

What did my kite say
when it reached your core?

It reached your core,
didn't it? It reached your core,
didn't it? It reached y--

Tell me what my kite said,
would you?

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

Genie wanders
Another lamp breaks
Then another
Then another

Genie wants dark
Genie longs pitch black
The street widens
No one sees walls

Genie smiles
Kills the clock
Genie's time's grave
Genie smiles

Genie doesn't blink
Genie doesn't breathe
Genie is a cat
Dies and dies and dies

And dies and dies
And dies and dies and dies;
Genie saves the best
For last

Another carrot on the plate
Mommy's going to be
Mad!
But Genie is a cat

Genie only eats meat
Genie can't be fooled
Genie is smart
Genie breaks another lamp

why does it touch you deeper
when i say what i write
is based on a true story?

here and now i use no capitalized word
here and now it's him i remember
for it's him who said:
"small letters are more humble"
you know, this is based on a true story;
i met him but not really
my longhands reached him
far, far away from here
surpassed lands and seas
o, how large is my country --
his equals plus one to my gmt
here foods are sweet and there are spicy
he hated and still hates the food here;
it reminds him of the tyrant
who'd only cared about
the west but not that west
and made the east poor and slaved --
he was one of those who
yelled reformation when i was
only nearly two

i am seventeen and so was he --
when i was born.
i love how thirteen connects
our birthdates;
mine is twelve and his fourteen
and i said to him thirteen was my
favorite number
and purple was my favorite color
for his was blue but
i thought of him as red --
red not of the lust but
red of the color of tomatoes --
his mother was a tomato seller
and since i had known that,
tomatoes began to taste sweeter
sweeter than ever

when i said i liked purple
i didn't know it was the color of
the rain,
his first love ever --
when he was just a kid
he wanted to marry her
but then he learnt at school
the rain is not a girl at all
not even alive
he couldn't marry her but
he still loves the rain
so i do too

you know,
i once was an anti-coffee
i used to drink only and only tea but
he loves coffee
so i do too
i once sent him
my favorite coffee along with
a ta-ta-for-now letter
and he replied to me electronically
with a stabbing sad emoticon
:(
it still stabs
but then he said
the coffee was good
and i smiled
but he didn't know it

do you know
what's better
than a cup of coffee in the morning?
"it's two cups of coffee"
he'd say something like that
so this morning i decided to
have a super sweet tea,
sugar so much it
almost tasted like soda --
every gulp was
painful
to my soul.
i almost found the
god in me if i had drank the second cup but
i made coffee instead
no sugar like i always had
not because i like bitterness
it's because every drop of coffee is him
and he is sweet enough already --
but i broke the rule of two
this morning i had
three cups of coffee
three cups of him
and it wrenched me --
la douleur exquise
-- the heart wrenching pain
of wanting someone you can't have

i don't even have a single autograph
of him
i hoped that he would write me letters
with that pretty handwriting of his
but at the same time
i was afraid that he wouldn't
so i sent him bunch
without an address to reply to --
you know, this is based on a true story;
he is a writer
but he doesn't really like
to be called a writer
because a writer will be jealous
of another great writer so
he calls himself a reader instead
and he embraces his thirst of great books
he is a librarian
he lives around the books
he lives for and from the books
he has three cats
and seems like he will
have more cats and more
like his mother,
his mother loves cats too
it's prophet muhammad's favorite pet
or so he said
on the radio

he is a poet
a broadcaster on a local radio
every friday and saturday
and at the end of the broadcast
he will read poems
sent by emails
even you can send your poem
but not all poems can be read
there are so many, you know
here we really love writing poetry
but few like reading it
like me
i read his poems
not because i loved reading poetry
it was because
it's his, it's him

but now
he has done what he should do
he has completed his role
he has made me believe in poetry
he saved me from the disbelief of poetry
he taught me that poetry
could heal
he said that writing poetry
is hugging
and reading it
is returning the
hug
he would read a lot of poems
when he is sick
and now
that's what i do too

he was the one who kept
my feet on the ground
every time i felt down
i sang silently a7x's m.i.a.
lend me your courage to stand up and fight
so he lent me his courage
so i could stand up and fight
and every time this life
felt so wrong, lacked meaning
i remembered his name
and a promise i promised
to him
on my own mind
"don't die before we meet"
yeah, i wouldn't die
i would never die

there was no other way for us
than being yinyang
and that's why i decided to
hate what he loves
he loves coffee
but i couldn't hate it
he loves poetry
but i couldn't hate it
he loves rain
but i couldn't hate it
he loves sylvia plath
but i couldn't hate sylvia
i can't ever hate sylvia
i can't stay away from his sylvia
i love her
and she loves me back
sylvia is my earth
and that's how i realize
he and i can't ever be --

you know, this is based on a true story;
because i say so.

The lilies bloomed in your chest,
Destroying the pure & dark
With unnecessary beauty.
Your ribs pale & hurt,
Hanging strong, hiding truth.
Such a mother I never would.

You could grow potatoes out of your skin
& feed the entire world yourself.
You could be a forest
& give your lungs for the Earth.
You could cry & clean the ocean.
You could die & still have lives.

But the lilies bloomed in your chest!
Your eyes curious like a child
& they sink to see
Your chest now all wet & *****,
They weep, & you wish you'd died.
O you, could die & still have lives.

xii.

big hips; small hips and long, skinny legs
people and the worlds inside them
pointing at the screen
which movie should we watch?

the last time i watched movie alone
was divergent
it was an insane ride
and my parents picked me up
knowing i had lost a thing
but they didn't ask
and i didn't tell
i was ***** by poetry

-- i am holy
just like lilith, eve, and mary --

watch out i am trying to heal
so what if i am romanticizing
illness! i am not ill
enough
to lose

my eyes see clear
anabelle, tickets sold out
the people; in hijab, in short skirt
in high heels and slippers
their faces
i see them clear

it looks the same like that friday
just feels different
it has been months
a relatively insane ride
so cathartic

my land may well be a big cathedral
or some sweet mosque
with all the gods
praying to each other
with cold soup in their tongue
and stale milk they offer

to the homeless like us, you know
home isn't really the walls and roof
that keep you from rain and sundust
home is the rain and dust and your sunburned hands and the acnes on your face and
the wounds on your knees
you got when you were learning
to bike

Lost Lost Children's song
Lost at 3:20
in the morning where clock ticks
struggling to blend
Slime-smoo-thie, slime-smoo-thie drink
Slime-smoo-thie, slime-smoo-thie drink
Oh Sia has never been wrong
Bullets brain, bargained
Ballet shoes, never worn out
Stay as clear as tears
Stay as clear as tears
Just burn the witches
where clock ticks
struggling to fade
Oh not even could light a cigarette
Lost Lost Children's song
Lost at 3:20
Found it
Stuck in your baby pink lungs

No smoking, sweetheart
Smoking kills
Lost Lost Children
Do not grow up so fast
Just come back home to Mama
Heal your scratched knee,
never
Do not learn to bike anymore
Just stay home with Mama
Mama has a song too
Mama sings only for you
Just come back home to Mama

Downfall like baobab's
How dare you grow so fast
Downfall like baobab kid
I hope you find your sheep

Lost Lost Children's song
Lost at 3:20
Lost at wrong perception
Do not find Mama is fine

Before 6 a.m.
I cannot fall asleep
It's like a spell
Keeping my eyes open wide

Seeing nothing
Mind thinking of houses flooded
Hands dull and worried
Hands sick and dry

Painted on my sides
And there are also legs
But not mine
Not anymore

\

Did you know?
Wide thighs are the cause of heart attacks
So they plant some skyscrapers on there
Yet put some medicines in between

\

*Legs all grown and boring
They only talk when they drink
Legs all hurt and scarred
They only walk in the brink

I got a smile from a guillotine.
It tasted a bit sour but mostly sweet;
A lemon flavored cotton candy ---

Should I say hi or go away?

Cute guillotine at a cute play park;
Why do I have to meet you at this time?
You call it moment, my dear, a destiny ---

So let's go to another vehicle or
let's kiss and become another spectacle or
let's just keep romanticizing each other ----

*O, my dove, my lovely rose;
My dear guillotine! This neck is waiting.

God died right after had given her
The power of creation

Who is she to talk Friedrich
Like her blue premature infant?

I liked the color blue but it is
The color of forget-me-nots

Who am I to talk flower
Like my growing hair down under?

"What are humans?
Why am I different?"

Who is God to ask?
The talking doll now is God

No, no different than
The sky nor the ocean

God is a rolling title
Like a dough, like eyeballs

Who is it to talk breadcrumbs?
The birds aren't like that anymore

I sat on the table
Flipped

No, no different than a shared diary --- Then
Lou Gehrig should be happy

I am adding more and more poems
No matter what they are supposed to be called
No matter what numbers would define them
This is a life; not yet mine, but
I am building a home
A place where I can feel safe
A place where I can feel ugly
without being ashamed of it
Here is a life; not yet mine, but
I am still fighting
I am fighting
And I am planning to win.

there is nothing real
your nostrils are one wormhole
and the pores on your face
are small hidden volcanoes
they can errupt any time
though they are just bunch of inactive ones
there is nothing real
not even your fears
that keep you awake for seven years
under the stars who let you burn
in the cold nights when
owls decide to sleep
------
yes i do
i love you too
------
there is nothing real
the bats, the crows
the knife, the bubbles
instead of pearls
flowers are growing out of tears
it makes me happy
like smiling never felt this easy
paint my face pink and orange
dunk my head in stale milk
i am growing peacock feathers
and claws of a phanter's
falling out of a window
there is nothing real

how dare you not have mint chocolate chip available on my birthday, do you know how many years i and my mother
wait
to have the mint chocolate chip ice cream of our life? answer me, baskin robbins

although i know her eating such sweet flavor is only a figment
i can't wish on my birthday candle
the only birthday candle i got
was from a sushi joint
mother, i didn't get a single present
not even now, not even tomorrow
i'm going to
the future with my boyfriend
he's called dean, also god, also gpa

all i want is to die
my boyfriend's real name is diploma
i wonder
if i'd ever want to date a boy
all i want is to die

answer me, baskin robbins
do you also want me to die? you've known me
for all my life
i don't remember
i don't remember
the joy of being born
mother, did i laugh when i escaped your womb? did i even smile?
you must've been aware of that
right
i want to go to a baskin robbins outlet where they have mint chocolate chip

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

I was lost
And not found

I wish I had screamed
Before you'd put your earphones on
But I, I
Couldn't scream the music
Your ears needed to hear

I was a parasite
In a womb of an 11 year old lady
Whose father called an exorcist
Instead of hugged her and said it would be okay

I remember what she said when she was my age:
Nothing, my child, nothing would be okay

It was a volcano
Who gave her a flower crown
Made of frangipanis and carnations
Stolen from a cemetery --her mother's
And every death will always mean strength
For the earth

My heart beats in staccato
But, you don't care anything about music, do you?
It was my favorite song
Played over and over and over
And over
Like what you'd said about the duration of love

It's over, my dear

And I wish I had screamed before you'd put your earphones on

this little girl
has grown, you know.

not in a cute way, though.
she has grown
like a gross building, soon
abandoned, but never to be haunted.

this girl carries no mystery,
even with her eyes
she stares blankly like a puddle.

she still dreams about the sea sometimes.

this little girl
is still a little girl, only now
her body is inflated and
the pure thing is a bit spoiled.

this little girl has never been
fine anyway.

Beware when they look fine
Because that's when the tremble leaves their hand

I'm ashamed; posting
these awkward poems; expecting
you'd read this and smile.

This is a strange heat of cloudy day in october where bathroom stalls are the only place they spread the love.

She wants rain. She covers her school bag with plastic so her books will not be soaked. She believes, soon, it will rain.

She becomes a boy when something inside her bleeds. It is a battle wound. It is what makes her beautiful. It is what makes her want to insert her fingers very slowly into your eyes.

She dies monthly; that is why we celebrate easter every month. The eggs also die, only not in a way you can understand. They cry in trash bin, right before a stray dog comes and carries them with its lovely teeth.

"I only want to kiss you like *******. Let's hold hand and be a cramp. We can hug like contraction or the way a womb would."

It will not rain. She begins to open her umbrellas. She has twenty seven in twelve different patterns.

"I think the dog loves me too."

She gives up. She says she will stay. This is the very bottom of her current lowest. Her eyelids are heavy as iron. They only become heavier and heavier.

"I think i can sing amazing grace."

But she never opens her mouth ever again. She cannot even brush her teeth. And when her jeans are stained with blood, she cries like a baby whose lips are sewn together with rose's thorns.

Her eyelids are now corroded. Glad she has counted all the sheeps. She is going to sleep. A long nap. A sweet, sweet dream. *A sweet, sweet dream.

ii.

I have heard Sia's voice
First was on Titanium's music video
Which I clicked out of bore
Second was-- There was no second time
(Maybe there will be)
I cannot remember how Sia sings
All I want is to hear
Holly covering songs
(Somehow Holly reminds me of Zac)
Holly's voice is not the kind of sound
You would fall for in a second
It is true love you will feel --
How John said it is just perfect;
Like falling asleep
Slowly, slowly, then all at once
(I don't know how many times
This has been mentioned on hellopoetry)
I didn't really read romance
But M said (not to me),
If you want to write romance,
Write it like John did TFIOS
(Not that I want to write romance
Or write anything worth reading)
And this would appear as boring
And random, but no:
I remember, M said that
Usually the sentence that begins with
'Honestly'
Doesn't really contain that much honesty
So
Honestly,
Those above (and below) aren't really the things
I wanted to talk about
(It's confusing, if you think about it more)
I don't know anymore
How many times this Sia's Chandelier
(Holly's cover, of course)
Has been repeated
(Over and over again)
I remember, my favorite before this was
Marina and the Diamonds' Teen Idle
I remember Holly cut some part of the lyrics
It reminded me of Zac
Or was it Gwen?
I really like mixing up things-
Really
I like being here
The locked door of the bathroom
Makes me feel safe
And the toilet seat
Has known me
Better than myself
It is like a mother, or an other self
Who just accepts me for who I am
It knows the most of me
How I move, cry, and smile and laugh
How I sing, how I scream
Even how I grow, how I fall and die
How I tried to ******* and gave it up
How I became me, how I am me
And not only hows but also the tiring whys
It knows
It accepts
But I will leave
Soon
And this bed and this messy room
And the hidings and the accidental leakings
And the family's warmth and their love
I will leave
Soon
Sorry not sorry
That I am happy
To leave
Soon

iii.

There is no place to hide
So **** false identity
I will soon be forgotten
So **** shame, **** filter
They say people are people
Because of their secrets
Because they are mysteries --
It's my wish to be nothing
I want to let go
I want to let go

It's hard to be a human
I am too complex to be none
I once thought
I wanted to be an amoeba
And I think I still want it
It is a lot better than to have these organs
Especially this brain
I don't like this brain
It manipulates me
It controls me
It thinks for me and without it I am stupid
When would I be free?
I want the freedom to think
Brain, don't control me
Let go of me
Let go of me

All I want is honesty
I want truth
Live in truth, breathe in truth
Know only how to
Say only the truth
**** fears
I am afraid
To be nothing
To tell anything
To know anything
When I made this account
I forgot to rehumanize
People other than me
(Not that I did rehumanize myself)
I didn't expect you all
To be so human
**** fears
I am afraid

It begins when a
butterfly dies. My stomach
is an insect grave.

My belly screams
like a chili,
its tear tidy,

Shower seems so teenage-like
as if I have another acne on
my chin,

Eyes open, wide, blinking
is illegal yet everyone claims
to be suicidal,

My baby bear, Goldilocks
actually had black hair,
long, in a braid like Rapunzel,

Please climb the tower
and meet me, meet
my paint, my paint,

Typos are what make
us human, the chest
has found its old self,

Aching in joy of paint,
once upon a time there was a fan
of hurt lived in a canned rainforest.

Really? Thanks for being there
even when I
cannot cling to you, even when I
am nowhere,
alone while having stomachaches
and trying to claim a heart
attack.

The thought of a cutter
making a hole
on my throat
is better
than you kissing me on the lips.

I tried to binge eat and forget
what you told
me to forget,
because I cannot
cut, I cannot lose any
more blood; I
don't think I
have enough.

Really? I kept you awake;
I keep you awake,
or asleep with tons of nightmares,
every single night even
when I
am gone, completely
gone.

You were loved
It was a burden
You thought it would be unfair
To not return the love
So you let the deafening silence
Fill the room where your voice
Should have been

I know
You were afraid to love
And now
So am I
If it is not
You

You saw me and you knew i was just a little bit sleepy but why did you burn the incense and cried in front of me?

[I wasn't dead... yet]

You begged and begged so i would make it easier for you but you did not know i am god and immortal and i know everything right and wrong, so

what if i chose the latter?

----

[I didn't, though.]

iii.

it doesn't matter
how i wear my body
anymore.
if i can't give you
a pleasant sight,
i can also eat
your eyes out for you.

The eye was hurt plenty of times before.
In a hollow filled with nice things,
they overflowed, no one was a baby to a right hand.
In the other hand, field of moms trying so desperately to avoid babies,
moms setting all toilets and fingers as contraception,
moms anxious about boys and suspicious about girls.
Boys apparently had those pregnancy machines and girls were the neutral side,
boys just had to plant smarty seed to see what number would show in girls' innocent tummy.
Boys grow as engineers and the engines often roar like crazy,
though it is now different from what I was taught about girls.
-----------
-----------
Skin was just some other walls,
but, really, skin is marshmallow
even the softest tongue can destroy.
You know, tummy
isn't that really innocent either.
Tummy was a determined sister in a dim church,
tummy was mother mary and holy spirit,
tummy was not an apetite for what wasn't in the tabernacle.
Tummy now has cracked her shell, so I see inside,
apparently tummy has some other things beside a fertile empty land.
The gases and the blood are in different tunnels, though
there is something else about miss tummy womb.
She isn't at all neutral, she isn't at all an item of the season.
She softens every time it rains, she makes
her own weather in her own territory.
I now know, neutral was only the word stuck between scared parents' teeth,
neutral was only the gift we didn't know was a troll,
neutral was only a paradox in the most destructive way possible.
-----------
-----------
Careful with essentially hurtful words, we
sweat, with perfect heat,
as the skins melt into one giant chewy lump.
What I didn't know about skin was
that girls had skin too,
girls just were not in their element back then;
I think girls with metallic things were sinners just a little bit too checkmate,
I think girls were housewives just a little bit too godlike.