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chichee Sep 2021
So we both know how this ends.
When I close my eyes I can hear it
thrum, can march to the very beat of it
And yes, I know you don’t love me. Treat me like a piece of real estate
Cracking my head open like an egg
And seeing putried yellow spill out from the inside.

But bodies are boring now, I want to see that heart everyone fusses about.

Go on Charlie, show me another side, what’s hiding
Under all that skin and leather.
I'm back.
Dec 2020 · 150
chichee Dec 2020
He's too earnest to lie to me,
the same way that dogs kept in kennels
                                don't leave after the latch has been unlocked,

When he tells me I'm a kind person,
the shame of it
almost cripples me.
Old poem.
Nov 2020 · 221
chichee Nov 2020
In a call center:
Hunched over the monitor,
he puts his fist in his mouth and
Aug 2020 · 73
chichee Aug 2020
Before, I would have jumped into the ring for you. I would have swallowed tar. Fistfight, bad nights. This fleshy body, these calloused hands-
Apology has become a defense mechanism,
because a mouth sounds stupid when it asks
for reassurance.
All I've ever asked for is one ******* Tuesday night
where you gave a ****.
whatever, whatever.
And I-
I am scared,
of your silence.
After indie games and bad films,
my credit card, your bills
The absence of answer
an answer in of itself.
fatalistic as ****.
Aug 2020 · 984
chichee Aug 2020
In the backseat of your Audi, the three o clock shadow
slants across your face like a threat, makes you look
dangerous. Makes you look
So what do you do?
I tell you
I write.
What does that mean?
It means walking into a crowd and getting lost in your head. It means finding loose change in your heart.  Means the world is your dysfunctional, perpetually disappointed, ailing mother. Means this isn't going to last.

But all you see is a silver smile.
Jul 2020 · 66
3 razors, check.
chichee Jul 2020
in the east, they tell you
that beauty is something you
work for.
lactic acid, hydroquinine
my fickle beauty time machine-
I stand naked before him
wondering how can I ever be anything
but a body.
cleaning out the drafts again
Jun 2020 · 72
Pool boy.
chichee Jun 2020
His mouth against my lips
turns my philosophy into nonsense
puts his hands on my hips and makes me
feel like I'm just a girl,
makes me feel
to be just that.

Loving him is so easy it scares me because
I've never known
                                          easy love.

He's not perfect, like you were.

But he's ******* real;
                    and when he laughs in the glint of the pool light-
I don't think I've wanted anything more.
an old one I never knew how to finish
Apr 2020 · 80
Garbage #3
chichee Apr 2020
My brother takes me bowling.
I'm upset again, another
exam, or a breakup or some other
stupid ****.
But he goads me-
You're just scared you'll lose
I beat him 67 to 25.
I did win, he grins later.
You're smiling.
Apr 2020 · 364
Garbage #2
chichee Apr 2020
He liked my smile but
not my laugh.
He liked my sarcasm
but hated my scars.
Between hello and we need to talk
I wanted the world and all he could give me were
three idiot words.
Again, what's on the tin. I should probably stop procrastinating.
chichee Mar 2020
The traffic lights
blur your reflection in
a puddle on 6th street-
               You're stalling, saying something like
                                                The world is quiet here
             grocery stores and
                           train stations with
                                   names like liverpool, kingston
                       lundmouth, maurist

You broke my heart here years ago, Mari
saying all those pretty words.
I get by just fine without you these days. I make
tea for one,
           dress up for none,
I can walk every street in this ******* city
but this one.

                   Mari, it's just us now.
I'm all out of love.
I'm all out of everything.

                               There are no cameras rolling now darling,
                                                                ­                   So just say it.
Feb 2020 · 140
chichee Feb 2020
i met you when i was nineteen,
you like to tell different versions of this story:
we were in a parking lot, i found you at the subway, no, no it was during the last performance at a festival, we locked eyes and-
all i remembered were your shoelaces
how you laced the string through all the wrong holes
and the funny way how
we never look for
our vices till we're in
too deep.

"out there," i once said over the phone "must be a god for all the sad and willing *******-"

i was your favourite passenger when
you were drunk
at the steering wheel.
it was worth it for how
you always sped a little too fast
talked a little too loud
finally opened up that stubborn, lonely
the lane we're on doesn't have a name
look- how the lamplights
lurch forward;
up the alleyway, down the steps-
where are we going darling?
where are we going?

neither of us are doing okay.
you're running hard and fast and with those
loose laces,
i'm nineteen again and can't let go of
a bad thing, ****-
Hold my hand.
so it's sunlight. so it's suicide.
till the very end,
don't let go. don't let go.
cleaning out the drafts again.
Jan 2020 · 109
chichee Jan 2020
Call a ***** a *****.
We're ******* in the double mattress with a city view of the skyline.
I'm sleeping with a man that only kisses me
when he's sorry.
Being okay doesn't necessarily mean you're fine,
but who's asking anyway?
Movies always make you think there's an end goal to everything
I'm just a breakfast in an eternal pilot episode.
There's a question he whispers to me
in the early hours, in Paris, in bed when he thinks I'm still fast asleep-
But you don't know what you're
asking for.

My heart clambered out of my chest years ago,
sick of all the ways
I beat it into the shapes I wanted.
I couldn't give it to you if I tried.
Jan 2020 · 229
chichee Jan 2020
Four years ago,

I never tell you about the stick of concealer I apply in public restrooms every time before we met up
Cheap lipgloss,
                    swallowed back.

When you tell me, no offense, but-
I laugh hard, like a punchline I should have seen coming
I know, I know, I know
                                   but sometimes it's nice to pretend.

The first time he tells me I am beautiful,
I smile with all teeth 
                                              and say I've got better things to offer.
Dec 2019 · 132
in another life
chichee Dec 2019
He doesn't say I love you, but i hear it all the same
between smudged weekends and the insufferable "what if's"
The reason we dress eachother up in pretty adjectives;
Love, we call her. Utilitarian goddess, I have no desire to be subdivided.
Halves. Quarters. Call me in the dark by someone else's name.

He kisses me on a friday evening at 6pm in an uptown restaurant, the way they do it in the movies. I wipe off the residue when he skims the menu. The speech is very long. The ring is very pretty. When I tell him no, you can see his world shatter. But there's always a ******* casualty isn't there? Him or you. Him or you.

You love me baby, I know
But that wasn't what I asked for.
An old one sitting in the drafts for a while.
Dec 2019 · 164
Vagus Nerve
chichee Dec 2019
In anatomy class our last experiment on motor neurons had two hearts joined in saline solution. They showed us how
if you shocked the vagus nerve of one with an electric probe,
                                                               the other heart beats too.
When I tell him this over the phone, he laughs,
Christ, that's morbid-
                                   I don't tell him I secretly find it romantic:
two hearts linked by physics, by nature, by law;
                                                      pumpin­g side by side
           when they're not even
                    in bodies anymore.
A year of Human Science has got to count for something.
Oct 2019 · 210
chichee Oct 2019
June's so gorgeous but you're all
summer lines,
Waking up
Intolerably happy.
The sidewalks keep closing in on us but
pay them no mind darling.
Waffle mornings, the honey gets mixed in with
the butter
how the birds outside sound like
staircases to somewhere else.
The pebble in my heart won't stop
making that clicking noise
The doilies on the dining table. The picket fence.
I love you darling, you know I do.
Just don't look outside.
Two in a day, I'm on a roll.
Oct 2019 · 267
chichee Oct 2019
So we're doing this scene again.
You're doing that voice, the one where it sounds like
                               you're about to cry, right before you do-
telling me
just this once, you must feel so bad, I don't want to hurt you.
That glassy gaze you get when you're
trying to let me down gently
looks so fucken stupid baby.
The director's got his megaphone, he's screaming out the lines I'm
     meant to say
It's fine, the blood looks worse than it is. I don't mind it at all.
                                                         But I'm just a bit tired of it all now.
You've got a new girl everytime,
                            with torsos like
                                                       coat hangers
               I bet she feels like one too.
Don't I spread my legs enough for you? My heart is just a brothel, isn't it?
I take it down my throat.
I take it on my knees.
                Baby, I don't **** with your promises anymore.

People walk into contracts all the time
                                                            ­hands tied,
      you wouldn't treat anyone but your lovers like this.

        Burn the script, gas the car-
                              **** the Manhattan sky and every bleeding heart
                                                                ­                   under it.
the camera man is screaming and the whole world is holding
it's breath.
           Let's do this show some justice shall we?
                                     Fear is a better look on you than pity ever was.
              I'm sick of taking, it's my turn now, baby-
To dish it out and watch you
I'm still alive.
Aug 2019 · 651
chichee Aug 2019
On the park swings, He told me:
I would never hit you, not like the others. Trust me.
Trust me.
I only smiled and tipped my head back
But I could tell you where it hurts.
The things we don't say.
What the title says.
Jul 2019 · 1.6k
Small Gods
chichee Jul 2019
They keep asking us where we were
last night and we
Could tell the truth
but where's the fun in that?
The world wants answers and we've only
got big dreams and
empty stomachs.
So what do you want to be when you grow up?
Your smile is all teeth.
Getting high,
Getting loved,
Getting glamorous on
thrift shop discounts.
Getting plastered.
You'll write your confessions
in the fog on windows,
and worship
deaf gods.

With quicksilver tongues and
eyes like mercury,
We can't wind
the years back
we sure as hell can try.
For Fix.
Jul 2019 · 496
chichee Jul 2019
At the bakery, they wink at me
How fast the little ones grow up, eh?
Almond Dacquoise
Shiny laughs.
I tip generously because I can't think of
anything to say.
We strain under the weight of
our smiles.

At home,
I climb into my closet
and eat the whole thing by
shivering forkful.
happy birthday to me. sorry it's been a while, a short one to warm up again.
May 2019 · 585
the sky is breaking.
chichee May 2019
in another life, maybe i could have laced
your fingers in mine
chasing starlight down the line
and finding out we'd
never have enough time.

when summer ends, when hearts bloom-
you'll look at her,
i'll look at you.
trying out the lowercase aesthetic. oh, and unrequited pining of course.
May 2019 · 352
Playing God
chichee May 2019
I took out my lighter to
burn another bridge today.
We keep buying things to stay alive-
She tells me I'm full of ****,
but she's always been my favourite skeptic.
It's not that I feel empty, I'm just waiting for something
to hit me, I explained to the train tracks.
In the end, we're all just passing by.

I wonder if God
feels lonely.
Muddying the water.
May 2019 · 493
chichee May 2019
I over-salt the cannelloni
again, you laugh and swallow
my tongue
It's an apple sky, crisp and sweet and something
to sink our teeth into-
the radio plays
something in four-beat
ba-dump ba-dump
Living room hearts.
Hope it made you smile
Mar 2019 · 278
chichee Mar 2019
Your smile is an animal that
still haunts me on
Rainy Tuesday nights.
When I'm feeling more fifteen than I ever did
at fifteen.
When my deadbolt ribs
slide loose.
"So that's what you're really like."
******* too.

Some people are just
too weird to love
and I'm done looking
for kisses.
Self-indulgence at its most pretentious.
Mar 2019 · 1.8k
It's Complicated.
chichee Mar 2019
You'll always be my favorite kind of film. The sitcom without the laugh tracks or a romance without the actors. The kind of irony that could make me laugh till it hurt. The way I went from pining for you to vivisecting you against the metal of a surgical table, because maybe if I cracked open that soft, stupid flesh I'd finally be able to understand why. How you unspool me, all these years between us but you're still the only boy that's ever made me cry without hitting me first. Mum says she liked me better before I got off the pills. Honestly, I only cut them up once they're dead mother, we all have our hobbies.  I used to rewrite scene after scene of the woulda-coulda-shoulda's of our script and hide them from you. I used to be a lot of things. Don't we all miss me on pills.
It's been a while.
Feb 2019 · 652
chichee Feb 2019
This is how we meet:
It's a cocktail party, ****
big baby blue eyes and
the smell of your skin
lingering in every corner.
Out on the country lawn, we all
give whiskey kisses
and blanket smiles.
Tonight I'm lined with teeth and
you're bored out of your mind.
On the radio, a song plays
I just wanna feel something
A little doodle.
Feb 2019 · 1.0k
chichee Feb 2019
I once wrote an essay about falling in love as
Biology’s grandest trick
The truth is I've always wanted to meet someone I'd fling myself off buildings for.

I just didn't think I could survive the crash landing.
Bit generic, trying to post more often but uni's finally kicking in.
Jan 2019 · 2.4k
chichee Jan 2019
You said you needed an extra pair of hands
                                    so I took mine off and
gave them to you.
The sun set in my glass,            darling-
                                   can't you hear that?
         coo-ee, coo-ee
                    oh the cockatoos
are jabbering philosophy again.
I want to push my fingers into your mouth,
                                  swirl it in all the      honey in there.
                                                          ­    My hands on the clock
pointing at quarter past five,
                         birds swing up into the air like
                    the half-beat of a pendulum
                                                        ­      lungs filling up with water-
we're all romantic fools here.
                     Sometimes I think of time         as fluid
tick tock tick tock
                my glass dripping into
                                                          ­We're all running dry,
quickly, before the night ends-
                                 ask me to         dive off
the edge of the world                
                                           ­        with you.
Took me ages to title this. Not as sad as what I usually go for.
Jan 2019 · 2.8k
chichee Jan 2019
I'm reading a step-by-step manual on
how to love yourself again.
'Cause although fundamentals may be philosophy,
Rewiring is all physics baby.
We all need a reason to escape gravity
and plunge ourselves out of orbit.
Self-sacrifice isn't worth ****
if you're wired for it.
To stand on the edge of a tall building and
think of jumping.
Inertia and hysteria.
The magnetic pull of your body to the ground.
To return back to dust.
Loving myself is
a little bit like that.
Schrodinger's cat lives, Schrodinger's cat dies, but you never know unless you open the lid.
Jan 2019 · 2.8k
chichee Jan 2019
If you're a writer your main trade is hating yourself and
finding ways to be clever about it.
Smoke cigar and coffee-stained typewriters,
bachelor in the sixties, suicide in the seventies.
I'm just a cliché, raining cats and dogs, beating dead horses and singing
a little song about death
a little song about love
there is nothing new under the sun.
Dylan doesn't understand what you do is better than
accounting, your trade is people
like stock markets-
string them up and watch them fall
I play with hearts, you say like
a girl showing off her somersaults in the backyard.
But no one is listening.

So you burn your eyes out with hot wax in the living room
and swear
your name is Icarus
throw your diploma into the laundry and watch it turn into tissue paper,
taking moonlight walks down the beach and
straight into the bottom
of the ocean.

(you thought she would hit you
when you told her you wanted to write
but she only laughed...
and you were surprised
how much
it hurt.)

Your father's pride, a phone full of contacts,
seeing straight in the ******* morning and the heart
of a girl that was once foolish
enough to love nitroglycerine,
sold for
a bottle of ink and a scrap of paper
and your name in the

Tell yourself it was worth it.
Sometimes I think writers like me might be why no one reads anymore.
Jan 2019 · 1.3k
Bourbon Skies
chichee Jan 2019
Every morning I die
a little death.
Bourbon-shot skies and
whiskey lies,
better stop making those
bedroom eyes,
'cause I might just take you
up on it darlin'.
I'm a little bit of pretty nonsense.
Rhyme and dine,
turn down the lights,
break our bodies into bread
and say our daily prayer
and ****** hope there's a god
for sinners.
Fire brings out the worst of us
and we're fucken gasoline.
You keep spittin' out that
serious talk saying
Everything has a price,
Well then kiss me now
and let's bleed for it later,
the whole world's only
a cocktail darling.
Watched the sunrise today and thought of this- something impulsive.
Jan 2019 · 2.7k
Flash Point
chichee Jan 2019
Seventeen and burning down
I am a machine gun mouth,
A stomach without a heart,
Red dahlias growing with the weeds in your backyard,
I am a stick of dynamite
waiting for an excuse.
You are bored enough to hand me a match.

(I was always your favourite kind of shitshow)
I wrote this in a mood. not my best work, but it's good to come out of break.
Dec 2018 · 1.5k
chichee Dec 2018
I'm writing a love letter to all the stars I've never seen. Blowing sweet nothings into your windmill hearts. A sickness in the bones with the way some of you make me work for it.  Rustic Blues in my toes. I want to be a list of further crossroads, because we're all chasing something glorious.You're no glowsticks or fireflies but the headlights of a speeding train and all I know is I am nothing without you.

I'll stand on the edge of the platform, and call you starlight.  

The writer's paradox: We only exist when we are read and I think I've found my mobius strip. Twinkle me stupid, New Year feels like I could do this all over again.
To all the people who have supported me- Matt and CE Green, Merry Christmas to you all.
Dec 2018 · 801
Burn Down
chichee Dec 2018
Sometimes when I
light a cigarette,
I dream of the embers
burning down the line.
My fingers,
my whole body,
going up in smoke too.
The image hit me like a hurricane at night. Something short.
Dec 2018 · 760
chichee Dec 2018
Look, I know you're angry
I forgot to buy the milk for the
third time this month
and sometimes I
don't do enough, baby, I know.
I'm a curveball, but you're
sick of being blindsided.

We're going to end up breaking up or marrying, you know that?
I don't want to break up.
Then do you want to marry?
I don't want to marry either.
Then what are we doing? What are we-

Sometimes when
You kiss me in a thunderstorm,
like a prayer
like a sunrise
like the feeling of falling before
you're actually falling
like how we used to
I almost forget that we're
different people now.

No baby, it's not just pillowtalk,
I swear.

In this dream, my arms are
stretched like birds
my heart in your hands and
your name in my mouth-
God, will you just listen?
It's fine. Whatever. Go back to your phone.
It was just another
stupid metaphor for us

Loving you is a
dead end street
but I don't care about
In our backyard,
vines wrangle a sycamore tree
so tightly, you couldn't
sever one
the other.
More of a different strain of the same kinda style. Conversational. Not happy with this one.
Dec 2018 · 1.6k
Bits and Pieces
chichee Dec 2018
The morning light shines a lifeline-
escape is what I need.
but tell me if I run away,
How long will I bleed?
I'll give you my best side
tell you my best lies.
Go on and light a cigarette
Set a fire in my head tonight.

Ever thought of calling when
You've had a few?
Spitting out this talk 'cause all I want
is you saying
Come over here and sit next to me
I'll run to you till I
Can’t stand on my own anymore.
Hoping, praying,
Wasting borrowed time-

I'm first in the water,
Too close to the bottom,
With eight seconds
left in overtime-
It’s not love,
but it’s better than
All lines are lyrics from my favourite songs: Fumes- Eden, Grave Digger-Matt Maeson, Trouble- Halsey, Cross My Heart- Marianas Trench, Capsize- Frenship, Over My Head- The Fray, Honey-Johnny Balik, Do I Wanna Know-Arctic Monkeys, Homemade Dynamite-Lorde, Sit Next to Me- Foster and The People
Dec 2018 · 6.5k
Like Real People Do
chichee Dec 2018
In a sermon, the preacher says:
"The Lord created us in his image,
all who desecrate themselves
too destroy a part of God."

I've murdered pets and
alphabetised people by
sense and style and laughs like
a rack of dresses.
I've kissed girls just because
they said they could never like me
like that
as if their lips were some
sacred maiden's blush and not
a pair of fleshy rims.
As if I couldn't read their
***** little lesbian fantasies
underneath those
angel faces.

Susan from accounting thinks I need
to see a therapist. I think she needs to see
a mirror. We don't really get along, but ****-
maybe if drink enough
these clocks
these blue collars
these billboards with the pearly white teeth
won't look like straightjackets anymore.

I have this thing where
sometimes I'm just so tired
of being a body.
The world's a ******* advertisement,
Everyone with their scripted
good mornings and
chemical feelings
down to the last **** t.

My skin is a cage
and I'll strip it off like
a *****.
Why be happy when you
could be interesting?

Love like a bluejay,
Fists in our stomachs-
The headlights of a car coming
at 80 miles an hour straight at you,
pummeling in a stream of light.
The taste of a cigarette after
it's been on someone else's lips.

Don't you dare tell me you understand.

When I tell her this
my therapist only smiles,
Darling it's only purgatory.

Allen knew. Nietzsche knew. Woolf knew.
In all our hearts-
We've already killed God.
Experimenting with voices, Richard Siken, Frank Bidart, Allen Ginsberg. Title taken from a Hozier song under the same name.
Dec 2018 · 5.0k
chichee Dec 2018
Other girls get
Fistfuls of tulip and
But my love knows me
Painted across skin are
All my favourite colours
I always get the
Prettiest blooms.
Thought of this in the bathroom brushing my teeth, thinking about the goodness in bad things.
Dec 2018 · 1.6k
chichee Dec 2018
Lovely unpretentious silhouette
all bruised under dusklight.
You've got a laugh like
spilling into
cracks in the pavement
I could walk you back
to the station.

Don't rush this, fool
Box this ((something)) up in it's

Keep those
Five centimetres between our fingers.
Inevitable distance.
I'll worship you behind
bulletproof glass.
Not yet, not yet

We love in fractions,
dripping into our hearts until it
spills over.
An Ode to the Early Days, when anything seems possible.
Inspiration from Station by Låpsley
Dec 2018 · 320
Alpha Dog
chichee Dec 2018
Those barking boys
that just
keep on digging,
Making holes
where there were
once hearts.
To watch the people around you fall in love then fall apart.
Nov 2018 · 1.8k
chichee Nov 2018
We used to take turns tearing down
each other's defences
like the last Christmas present or
an exit in a building fire
And when there was nothing
useful about our bodies except how
they fit against each other.

There are soldiers that don't deteriorate facing
bombshells and fire-grenades but
birthday parties and Saturday nights by the telly.
We could be two of them

Remember how you got when you
just needed something to
I was your push-pin doll.
Like how children
gouge the button-eyes and rip
the stuffing out of their teddy bears
(but still fall asleep holding them closer than
their absentee parents)

The truth is once,
I would have worn your bruises like
a necklace.

These days, I offer my heart up
on a platter and you don't even want
to spit on it.

All I can do now is will
my fingers to write poetry,
too cowardly
to even pick up the
Some people love better falling apart.
Nov 2018 · 5.2k
Love in Three Acts
chichee Nov 2018
Baby let's go
               Skinny dipping in
         disco lights.
    Drunken mouth in
            you call my body             Jerusalem
till I'm        
spluttering up
                             pool water.

    The ceiling spins
                                 a salsa,
the fridge exhales something
                               obscene when it opens
and the furniture
          I'm jealous of the
                                   love story
                    in my home.

We roll around in
     I slurp the      happy
            out of
                     your mouth.
                                     Saucy smirks.
Oh keeper of my heart,
                             I chain myself to
your smile and
                              swallow the
Something whimsical to pass the time
Nov 2018 · 936
You, Me and Morphine
chichee Nov 2018
When people ask, I tell them:
I noticed him because of those
beautiful eyes, all
backlit melodrama and mysteries
waiting to be

The truth is
they were soulless and empty and
hungry for something you
couldn't name.
You're not mine
You said.
No, I agreed.
But I could be.

Razzle-dazzle **** me
fast and ***** into the faux leather
of your backseats.
Darling, we're not in Paris anymore.
You want something fascinating
but I want something real.
We make do.

You say:
I know you're a *******
and I still want you.

with the way it wraps around my heart
you'd think it was a
love confession.

Your teeth marks divide across
my skin like train tracks
You say my name like how
an addict says
morphine, nicotine.
I wonder how long till we crash.

I say:
I hate it when you call me

and with the way you laughed
I almost thought
I paid a compliment

This could be whatever you want it to be
Even if it's not love.
More terrible poetry.
Nov 2018 · 1.7k
Send My Love
chichee Nov 2018
Oh my petite,
You're a five-course dinner with the works
and a lovesick tantrum.
Your affection
like a hummingbird,
with how it pecks and pecks and
Lips faster than one-sixtieth of a second
when you say
You don't love me anymore

But darling, I've got a
letterbox heart
Iron locks and
Silver casts
Filled with postcards
to no address.
Open me up and find
your name scrawled inside
over and
(Oh Love, I still do.)
Nov 2018 · 756
Working Class Angels
chichee Nov 2018
The city knows
I'm no angel.

Please, darling,
I say to the skyscrapers,
If you don't like who I am, you'll like who I could be

I carved a map of Manhattan into my shoulder blades.
Unhinge my jaw into a smile
(oh my what big teeth you have)

The truth is I'm terrible at this.

All these
Working Class Angels, their
rabbity pulse beneath their skins
(I wonder if they taste like it too)

Cruel hungry city,
I feel your streets closing in,
your lamplights lurch forwards
waiting for a ******.
Not really proud of this one but it needed to get out of my system.
Oct 2018 · 859
Time Machine
chichee Oct 2018
Two years later and
I'm still writing poems about what it would feel like to
strangle you in your sleep,
Just so you'd know how it feels.

I still wake up some nights,
on that time you said
if you could be anyone you'd crawl into my skin
and live in it,
if only so you could call me crazy
and know you were right.

(Only in my dreams do I tell you
that was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to me)

Sometimes I forget my bed is a time machine,
turning scar to scab and scab to blood.
I'm a magic trick, I'm a razor blade,
turn me sideways and watch them
To the people who only talk to me in my memories.
chichee Oct 2018
Once upon a time, Oh but that’s such a boring way to start-
                                                          ­                       Once upon a time.
I was little red riding hood that knowingly stepped
                              onto the wrong side of the path,
Hoping that a monster in the woods
                                              would come and get me, but you-
A hurricane,
           car crashes in slow motion,
                              personified heartbreak-
                                                     ­                    Too much.
Too much applesauce madam? The waiter asked, clean-shaven face bathed
            In the New York skyline, ignorant to the gunfire explosions
                          inside me as I waited for you.
                                                            ­                No thank you, sir.

     “Meet me at the station”,
                                scrawled in messy, love- stained letters
In between the railway roars and the clatters of foreign accent, you've flaked again, like the struck chord of a bass
                        Signifying disappointment like a punch line
                                    Reverberating through my skull.
             Okay, repeat the mantra, one-two-steady-
                                                 ­                                     Okay. It's Okay.

Four weeks later
                                   I had your body pushed up flush against bricks and-
No shut up you don’t get to say anything after you go and shatter me like that
You’re sick do you know that? Lips snarling, heart breaking.  

You’re sick.
So maybe I was the big bad wolf after all.
                   Stairwell bricks glinted off iridescence and
                                                       your mouth in that sad, sad laugh
Studying me like a dream brought
                                                         ­                  to the ground,
Puffy lipped and eyes blown wide like I was on some psychedelic high-
            And you said
                               “You’re still a child with fanciful ideas of love, and the way you cling onto them-
                            Quite frankly, it’s terrifying.”

                                                   ­  Please darling, let me redefine myself
Skip the pleasantries and small talk,
                     scrap the story of little red riding hood-

Once upon a time, I was apology and you were forgiveness
I can imagine inside you, of alarm bells and sunken souls
                 as you listen to the static white noise of
                                                              ­            A dying heart
Hello darling, are you there? Can you hear me? Is this mic working?
          I hate to sound like those magazine cut outs-
                                                           ­         I hate to sound like,
Just another lover, just another cliché-
                                       But you were the matchstick to my dynamite
                                                                ­            and nothing feels better
Than my own self- destruction, so won’t you please
                     Another chance? No?
                                Even Lucifer sometimes longs to be let
                                                      Into the gates of heaven again
I’ve cooked some apology,
          I saved a plate for you

So for the love of god come inside and have some before it goes cold.
A remix of Richard Siken's "Litany In Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out", it's a really beautiful poem.
Oct 2018 · 4.7k
chichee Oct 2018
Children only grow up
when adults
aren't watching.
Father dear-
(I learnt how to ride a bike without your hands keeping me steady.
I’ll learn how to live without your name on my conscience when I’m given away at graduations, at award ceremonies, at marriage.)

-it's far too late to
want me back now.
I've grown too big to ever be your little girl again.
Oct 2018 · 3.3k
Litany in Early Mornings
chichee Oct 2018
In the searing airless midsummer-
Clockwork morning rewinds
cobalt into a bleeding orange yolk dripping across
the canvas of the world.

Sky, turn the colour of dreams. Heart, turn the colour of love-
I’m posed over a skyscraper
Because I wanted to touch the stars. Because I wanted to touch you.
There’s a beauty found in the smallest spaces
Gaps in your heartbeat, getting your toothbrush mixed with mine
Honey-lemon on my tongue

So maybe you loved me, but not in a way I comprehended
I’m thinking of your lips, your eyes
and the way you said goodbye-
The word wrapped around your tongue like a prayer.
Pink bleeds into violet and it looks like the 5 a.m. Berlin skyline
might tear itself apart, like a heart bursting or a car crash.

So it’s dawn. So I’m inconsolable.
And if the angel sun sets,
then so be it.
A prayer for the healing.

— The End —