they say; as they force grandma to walk away.
and I down the aisle of wilted flowers
as far gone as my dreams, awaiting
a happy man who will dry tears -
only crocodile, the yellow has
nestled far too deep in my skin
for anyone to understand, but the
eyes show and they know - i am
too far gone beyond the sea wall.
in any case i dress in my shell
every morning in the bedroom
i share with my siblings, and they
quite like how it looks.

every day has a new sunrise,
father never says sorry but we go on anyway.
i crack open a durian and bleed in the kitchen,
it stains my fingernails so i have to carry it
around with me. not sure how much it weighs
and my mother cannot measure it on a
supermarket scale. i flip through papers
to broaden my horizons and yet when
the small child next to the bus window
tells me that he can see everything, i think so too.

the red is far too deafening -
shut palms around my ears
and yet the world is on screaming fire.
my finger joints crack in my eardrums
while the sunflowers roll in the mud.
firecracker red; fire engine red
took a nap in a sack,
the sun never goes away.

if i may i would turn to pray
to a man up in city hall
where the crowds prey,

i'm asking for a bellyache from hunger,
a shadow to leave my body -
not quite the youthful sunshine
with flaming ash in the air.

please be quiet - you're neither
the hysterical patient, nor
one who needs the normalising
medicine - you would not wish.
it is growing on me, much like
a generous parasite.

that was almost -

there is nothing that lasts forever
for as long as i can remember;
i never fail to immortalise you
like a Greek myth in a statue -

and you don't deserve it.
a ball of outer space gases and petals
are not dance partners,
but if poppies grew on Jupiter
perhaps i'd bide better.

or for as long as i know it
i'd be an aimless planet
waiting to be more than monochrome
and there's no one else there
other than the ball of fire i circle in trepidation,

there is no jubilation in conjunction
waiting for your flowers.

mother is a paradox;
sun rays and thunderstorms
please be far away.
you are no fun for the beasts
holding my head below the surface,
begging me to stop trying -
but i kick you in the shin
for as long as i can
until you turn immortal.

i can feel my heart beat in my chest -
you crafted it for me
but it murmurs with fault.

i am your bottomless pit
keep taking and taking
what you give and toss
and it looks like i never fill up.
lately i don't feel so good -
tell me that a human can't be a black hole -
then what have i been doing for you
absorbing to no end till i spill
over the edge of the horizon
i am not an unchanging sunny side up
on your breakfast plate on sunday mornings -
this is not symbiosis
but i am overwhelmed by your oceans;

please paint your colours lighter
i want to be better.

on the nights
where you hide in the bathroom
away from where the party lights blink
perhaps you'll understand why
you have to love yourself first
above all else
only you will speak in poetry
of what the mouth cannot say
sew a patchwork warmth to your heart
as you feel warm water pool beneath your feet;
all alone is a choice instead of a happening
i keep under the bright lights
until they turn off under my eyelids
and you return
but my heart is empty and heavy in my chest.
the finale should be grand but sometimes
it is just a show on a broken stage
i want you to be by my side
when perhaps i really shouldn't.

the flame fell to me
in the evenings of starless skies
sturdy as a pine
red as my blood
(you are unbreaking
quaking)
my mother whispered nothings
into my ear
and i was lulled asleep in a pool.
the air quivers around me
i am numb to a faint
a sparkle dances in the water
i am afraid of it -
but i will swim to shore.

the flame fell to me
and i hold it behind my eyes.
hail Amphitrite -
the flame fell to me,
charming in the seas
and i will not taste the salt,

i will drink the fire -
as if the sun fell in the sea one day.

i creep on pouring orange
tiptoes over the absence of light
this is what the death of the sun
calls for in her last waking moments;
no blood, no tears, no sweat
a most ceremonious twirl of shadow
vanishing into ashes that
form the dust in sunset

we all come and go

i too wish i could pirouette
on the flames of fire;
dive straight into an ocean
without knowing how to float;
shoot into space
and breathe my own oxygen

but purple flowers grow in my lungs
and i cannot stop the weeds that come with them
oh, it drains and it hurts -
the blue leaks out of me
like a nosebleed stream
and i swallow them back in past my lips.

then i face the corners of my walls
for forty-two days,
for forty-two days without a party
where the world still whirls in wavelike motion
and i stand in a pool of blue

almost like sorcery
after forty-two days
the pads of my feet tread blue
all up my capillaries, up my veins
into the arteries they go -
and back to the red flowers

they are purple again

it's about time i stopped
chasing after sunsets
for your last ray of sunshine
or the honey on your tongue
diamond in your eye
fire in your chest
anchor in your stride
song in your eardrums
for they slip from me far too fast

like light
to try to hold it in my hands

would be to push it away

Oh, mother
Don’t pretend this is how it always goes
Do you notice that conversation
Doesn’t flow between us anymore?
I don’t want to hear about my father
None of what you dislike about my sister
Sometimes your words are screaming monsters
Like those whose shadows children are afraid to see
On their bedroom walls

The daughter you know
Is the one who is eight years old
And I know you’ll never have the time
To know the daughter who’s fifteen
Oh mother, things
And people
Do change
But I’m not sure we can both agree on that

The tears come
When I’m with you
They only really go away
When those you think should matter less
Take them away
Blood is thicker than water, you say
But forgive me
If I’ve stopped believing the things you say
A long time ago

Trust me when I say
I hate that there’s a dull ache in my heart
When I speak about family
Because I don’t know how much of it
Is real
And lasts forever
Something that won’t disappoint
And bleed my heart dry
For I am exhausted of this game
Of playing pretend too


Oh, mother
I could go on
But it hurts to speak the truth
And if you knew about this
I know I’d be disgraced
For not listening to the things you tell me
For not valuing family
For not believing in you
For not being able to recognise you
As the same mother I loved when I was eight
I think you’ve left your old self behind
With your time for me
And now you carry my eight-year-old shell with you
Showcase it as if you know
What metamorphosis is
You don’t see me as a butterfly
Because you only know the caterpillar
Is it really that simple to you?
I used to know this home
It seems like a long time ago
Now when I visit it in my memories
It’s only bittersweet
And I never like to say that things and people
Can be broken beyond repair
But maybe we are
Not so much like pieces that form a kaleidoscope
More like ones that cause catastrophe
With explosions and tears
And broken hearts and minds
This is us, I guess
But oh, mother
I wish it didn’t have to be this way.

In the town up north
They hide the sons and daughters
Who seek refuge under the light of the setting sun
The children who hide
From sons of daughters pregnant with absinthe
Heavy with intoxication
And daughters of sons looming with angry fists
Guns fiery with magazines of threats

When they see no one’s home
Sons of daughters head west
They proclaim "we’re not needed here"
Daughters of sons head east
They cry "we’re not acknowledged here"
So when the children return
The house has moved down southward

When they leave for their own
Easts and wests on their foggy compasses
History trips them on the feet of new strangers
In a murky, yellowed sea of foul leftovers
They make unions on flimsy wooden boats
But when they return home as the sun disappears
Their children have been taken along with the light

SUBURBAN CACOPHONY
is a mother yelling over the sound of the dishwasher
hanging grapes that dry against the yolk-orange wall
the local boy with mud under his nails
and the girl that smells like new york city
loud sunlight upon the hush still river
brown rust eating up white paint
father's office suit in the back of his dusty Jeep
screeching tires that tear past red-light lines
blood red sprinkles on the roadside's white daisies
birthday cake swallowed in tears

don't let these worlds collide,
they say -
for it only brings chaos
suburban cacophony hurts your ears
with a truth ugly to the eyes
leaves an imprint
like a sharp pendant pressed to the chest

this is a city of pain
buried under sunrises and sunsets
but not forgotten in its heart

dawn casts a light on the cross across the rocks
while lady peace illuminates on her own in the night
bright yellow flowers lie at the foot of stones
and a peaceful shine graces the water surface

paint a dark red on the history book
but it continues on with its telling

My arms are tingling with nervous energy
There are too many words swimming in my head
WRITE THEM DOWN, my mind yells
But the water’s too murky
And the waves much too turbulent
I can’t find them
Where are they where where where
The thoughts are vehicles of reckless drivers
Speeding, screeching, crashing
Are you sane -
Maybe the medicine’s working -
It’s been 2 weeks, right -
Write it down -
The medicine should’ve kicked in -
You’ll feel emptier than before -
I knew since Year 1 -
Just a thought -
Are you okay -
Is mum still mad at me -
I don’t know -
Are you going to pass -
Is something wrong -
I like your art -
Would she appreciate my art -
Why is my head so full of noise -
Should it be this way though -
I don’t know -
Why don’t you know anything for sure -
I don’t know!
Leering, laughing, screaming
Thought the noise was from the hairdryer
So I flipped the switch off
But the noise didn’t go away
It’s all in your head, dummy
Looks like your medicine’s working
Shouldn’t have taken in that caffeine this morning
You’re always in my head
I can feel my heartbeat at my fingertips
Throbbing with frustration and fear
I bite my tongue
And this doesn’t feel good
But I don’t know what to do about it
And neither does anyone.

let loose, darling, they told me
so they sent me an angel
with blue flowers in his hair and
just a drop of devilish mischief

in the light of day we'd be
over the hills
where spring flourishes and dances
and flowers are akin to watercolour
splatters upon a green canvas;
or at the stream
watching the water run almost nervously
while fish slip through the waters
like the wind through my hair

in the dead of night we'd be
on the roof
discussing the constellations in the sky
how the stars intertwine --
and are they all friends with the moon?
he'd ask and I'll laugh at the question
because i didn't have the answer to it;
or in the attic by ourselves
where we shouldn't be, with our
lips interlocked, his hands on my jaw
and mine at the back of his head
pulling each other close at an ungodly hour
pretending nothing would go wrong
if they caught us in this unholy act

then the time came
when they said they'd take him
away from the hills, the stream,
the stars and from me -
and I wondered how I would do
without him, for would I be lonely
with the blue sunshine he'd leave behind
or would I be anything but that?

he was my sun in the day
and my moon in the night
and so i had an answer to his question:
he loved the stars dearly
and I knew the stars
would love him
so the moon would be friends
with the stars and all of the stars
would gladly be friends with the moon

the boy laughed at my answer
he kissed me on the cheek
and told me he'd be back
for the hills, the stream,
the stars, and for me

and so I had my blue sunshine to myself
for a long time after that
but I well knew that it wouldn't last
for as long as the moon
was still friends with the stars

brooklyn, new york
is not just a place

brooklyn, new york
is sunshine caught in sandy blonde hair
it is the light dusting of eyelashes
it is a pair of deep, hypnotising blue irises
it is a warm smile and a pair of strong arms

brooklyn, new york
is morning kisses across the cheek
it is the smell of sweet syrup on pancakes
it is the sound of 70s music in the background
it is the taste of vanilla ice cream from a tub
it is the feeling of a smooth bubble bath against your skin
it is the view of earthy undertones wherever you turn

brooklyn, new york
is my lover's embrace.