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fish-sama Mar 26
Conquest.
Soldiers need release.
80 years ago, I,
young lady, Chinese,
would've been a slave—
thrusted deep in the front lines
rotting bodies,         disease, and knives
inside me.             I am
the evidence they must hide.

Lucky me. I watch Japanese TV
and music and teens. I love
Japanese novels and Japanese comics
and Japanese history. Lucky me,
two-thousand-twenty-five,
age fifteen, Chinese.
Comfort women, most commonly from Korea, China, and Southeast Asia, were forced into s_xual slavery to "comfort" Japanese soldiers during the war. They were often sent to the front lines, treated incredibly harshly, and massacred at the end of the war to hide the evidence. I'm not supporting hate towards Japan. The government has already apologized and paid reparation to the comfort women hurt during World War II. This shows humility and is a good example of how atrocities during war should be dealt with. This poem was just a thought I had while studying history and visiting World War II museums.
fish-sama Mar 20
Your pupils shrink,
then expand,
Boundless void at the brink of consuming
crystals of storm. I withdraw my hand
From above the cyclone: the void disappears,
the sunbeams refract, my
cerebral processes falling
short.
For my best friend, shroomlin shroomster
fish-sama Mar 17
Peanut butter, window shutters flutter.
Yellow sunbeams, dusty TV, and
apathy. I lick the sweet
labor—blistered hands and twelve-hour
shifts—and I swallow, add some jam and
strawberries. Far away, exploited kids
and I don't give a ****.
I want peanut butter, pleasure, and
suffering plantations salty with
sweat and skinny families. I want
viscous apathy, yellow tragedy:
a burnt PB and J offering.
My friend told me to write about peanut butter
fish-sama Mar 4
One, two three four, five six..
Come, take a step, Christine.
My everything transfixed.
Stay, forever we'll spin.

Eight, eleven, thirteen
Wine, gunpowder, mirrors.
Love, my darling, remain!
Stay, don't leave me, stay I beg you, my light my rose my brightest everything...

Six, five four three, two one.
Pined perpetually
this monster, only
one.
Forever.
Inspired by phantom of the opera (the novel) and my personal experiences with loneliness
fish-sama Feb 19
Barrage, a wired mirage
Draped across your visage,
An accusing look haunts
An eroding heart.

Return, fail to learn
An expected curse:
Another one hurt
Another deserted.

Bunker in, boys, hide in
The trenches of wretches.
File in, girls, euphoric
Isolation, historic eternity.

What? What is wrong with us?
How? How did we gain trust?
Why must they see us?
When will they leave us?
Where did I hurt them?
?
Pushing people away is a pretty annoying thing I have to get used to.
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