Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Jing Xi Lau Jan 5
The walls of my throat are scratched,
By all the fishbones I've swallowed,
Forced down by gulps of rice and vinegar.

But sometimes,
The bones refuse to move.
Sometimes,
They remain stuck.
Jing Xi Lau Jan 3
I sang to you while you lay asleep,
As tears rolled down your cheeks,
I whispered, "Don't you weep,"
"Nightmares end when daylight breaks."

And when you woke,
I had already gone,
Along with moonlight and bad dreams.
I bottled them up and took them with me,
Sprinkled stardust on your forehead,
So you might dream of me,
Instead.
Jing Xi Lau Aug 2020
Different eyes see different things,
You see a rose,
I see her thorns,
You see a garden,
I see her secrets.
Jing Xi Lau Dec 2019
The old terrace house,
My childhood home.
I still dream of its beige concrete walls,
The cornflower tiles that lined the kitchen floor,
The tall bronze gate,
With its red wrought iron flowers.
Two cars parked by the front door,
One was mom's,
The other was yours.

In that house,
You always sat in the living room,
With the TV playing in the background,
The morning newspaper in hand.
You would buy us our favorite snacks,
While mom nagged about our calorie intake.
You loved taking us to the movies,
While mom always stayed home.

The city center condo,
The one I never dream of.
Its sleek gray walls,
Cold blank windows,
Offering a view of other monotonous condos,
Lights blinking with a sense of urgency,
Like a fatalistic warning.

In this house,
Well...
You were never really here.
Even when you were,
You sat in the living room,
With the TV playing in the background,
Your eyes glued to your pocket-sized screen.

Months later,
I left for a faraway land,
And you left for the warmth of someone else's bed.

When I came home,
You were no longer here.
But your clothes still hung in the closet,
Your deodorant sat by the dresser,
Your belongings untouched,
Collecting dust,
Waiting to be reclaimed.

But you never returned for them,
Instead,
You had them replaced.

New shirts,
Made from Chinese silk and linen,
New musk cologne,
Reeking of toxic masculinity,
And not to mention,
A new wife who cooks and cleans,
And excels in the bedroom.  
A new home,
With clean white walls,
And quiet empty rooms.

So I bought you a housewarming gift,
Something I know you would like,
A coir doormat that says,
"Welcome Home."
Jing Xi Lau Dec 2019
Sometimes,
I'd rather drown,
Than swim tirelessly,
In search of an uncharted land.
A land we could never find on our map.

Why hold on to something,
That will eventually slip through,
The spaces between our fingers?
Like the sands of time.
Pointless.
Futile.
Jing Xi Lau Nov 2019
Silence cuts like a slow knife,
Its blade,
Ice cold,
Ruptures my bowel,
Eats up my yearning,
Swallows my defiant screams.

I'd rather rage,
I'd rather have a storm,
Than cruel silence.
I'd choose a song of thunder,
Over a minute of soundlessness.

I'd rather slam doors,
Smash our dinner plates,
Hurl books from their shelves,
I'd rather break things,
Than have the silence break me.

Can I have a moment of silence?
No.

Why can't we just talk it out?
No.

You need to calm down.
No!
Jing Xi Lau Sep 2019
My father disapproves of him,
Because of his color.

If he were the color yellow
Like the mid-summer sun,
Or the shade of December snow,
If he were only as tan,
As Santa Monica sand,
My father's stubbornness,
Might've waned.

He is neither sunshine,
Nor snowflake.
He is the solemn night sky,
The dark side of the moon,
Too vast to be contained,
To be ignored,
To be understood.

You see,
People who don't understand the night,
Fear it.
They fear what it holds,
What it hides.

But I am a creature of the night,
I hang myself,
Like a moon,
Over the canvas of his body.
I spread myself,
Like a blanket of stars,
Across the nakedness,
Of the night.

My father disapproves of him,
Because of his color.
He thinks I'll change my mind,
But wait till he reads this poem.
Next page