i am angry
at myself and her
for being cold and not understanding
for being superficial and not understanding

this is my soul
can you not understand
this is what i call home

have you not realised
there           is             no               one                    here      

anywhere but here

she is taking you
away from me
and this is all i have
please don't leave me

angry and resentful

appears to be my everyday
but you have crossed a line
crossed the line
the only one i thought you would respect
without me having to ask you to

please

let              me                breathe

i keep falling
in and out of love
with the ****** character

we were by the chimney.
i placed my hand on your leg and
whispered how everything would be okay.

we were by the toilet.
i hugged you
i would make it bearable.

trust me

all i did was run
all i did was give
all i got was a shoulder
all i got was free

             of charge

i understand that you can't
but it still hurts


"thank you"
honestly, how much do two words cost

they told me they could see the sky reflected in my eyes
but they forgot that i always carry a mirror for contemplation
and i could see it, clearly,

you can see the reflection in my eyes
but their words made me think of beautiful sunsets or shimmering dawn

in my eyes, the sky looked like sulfur

• to stop giving away the very things that i need

if my agonizing stomach is empty
i should be putting food in it
instead of baking cupcakes for      
                               everyone else.
i am hungry for something
i haven't witnessed anyone give away,
throw away,
erase my pain.

what if i told you
how i wear lipstick
the same colour as my sweater
so i can kiss myself
take my own clothes off
and revel in the beauty of my bare skin
because no one seems to be
up to the task
so i'll do it myself,
thank you very much

i am left astounded
in your unexplained absence.
in the holes in my face
left by your own eyes when they fade.
no more opening up to people
and no more giving everything away,
no more knocking down walls for
those who wouldn't even open a door anyway.

debating the pros/cons of the assets
of the divided warrior/fair maiden
between wondering about the benefits of solitary enlightenment
and
the chaos ensured by leftover fantasies
she stands proudly, holding imaginary boxer belts over her unkempt, overused head
solely wishing for "true love" to become inspiration instead

my break has officially broken me

i though i needed to spit it all out
to say everything
to satisfy the tiny man sitting on my shoulder

alas, i was wrong

the issue is: i must live to write.
it's imperative, imagination only does so much;
so now i'm here, where no one lives.
i am stuck
in this place no one gets to die
of their own exclusive free will.
i struggle and feel worthless
'cause i must live to write
but i must write to live, at least one last time

first; tie a knot,
for the ones you've cut,
the ones that fell down,
the ones that you've lost.

second; build a bridge,
skinny mistake,
burn them all down,
without feeling a thing.

third; circle the bridge
in a long piece of rope,
pray that it doesn't snap
on account of the smoke.

fourth; under the bridge and pull,
now tighten it up, it's easy to do,
now your noose is as tight
as your shoe.

fifth, at last, the final step; tuck your shoelaces into your shoe,
'cause tripping ain't fun
when you fall and break your arm
or maybe your heart, or one, or two.

daisies spring out of her skull
and **** away at the rippled
fountains under her eyes.

sheep collect just under his nostrils:
too many of them, obscuring
the field they graze upon.

little timeless mountains erupt
from the fiery magma that is
her face.

liquid gold drippity drips
onto his head,
but it doens't seem to bother him (it's not that hot).

condensed amber stares back at
you when she's listening, pure
wholesomness in a condensed mineral.

a single cornrow, divided, unites
two halves of a whole beautiful
art statement.

i have become passive

schoolgirl taking notes on other people's feelings
and claiming for the self
another person's soul worth

i am cold
entirely numb, aching by poetry
it's like not even the words that cut and bleed and scream and cry move me anymore


i will forever claim to be
someone i've only dreamt of

           and no more

i fear all my next poems will be
filled with despair
the quiet weight of a horse no longer to be shared
the clangs of falling down pans over
spilt (milk) diarrhea
the falling out of words meant for good intentions & affairs

spit out your clichés at me
and call me heartless,
devour my pessimism without an ounce of the regret that's engraved on my very bones,
chew on the crippling loneliness
that haunts my thoughts and dreams
and ***** out your stanzas of
"roses are red and violets are..."
yellow.
'cause they've never seen the sun,
they're paper thin and falling apart
so i'm focused on ignoring people telling me to look for "the one".

my selfless facade is cracking
under the pressure of the pillars that crumbled all around me
the puzzle pieces that don't fit anymore,
together forever, seems stupid now.

as i struggle to pull back the blanket
so i don't reveal the tricks up my sleeve,
i stumble and the whole charade ends.
it was pretty while it lasted,
but now i must write about something else.

screaming drills into your brain
leaving you frozen, it penetrates you.
but nothing you can actually do
will make you forget how you felt, yesterday night, paralyzed in the rain

but
who
comes
after
me?

i've chased everyone in an attempt to
tie together the red string that i believe we still share to this day

but no one came after me

not even today, day of unity
of family
kiss my ***

pause; and wonder
what a city girl would feel like
if she ended up liking a girl
who isn't even here

i hate being so far away from my mémoires. i hate not being able to remember how i felt that second, that fleeting moment. all i remember is the blurry anxiety of feeling like i need to enjoy every single bite or the food will be wasted. two weeks later, i've been diagnosed with alzheimer's disease and i have no idea who i really am.
maybe i talk about being emotionless because the present is always running past, barely bumping my shoulders  (and not apologising, how rude) on the way to the bus stop, i'm always late. the second the minute passes it is lost forever in a sea of murky brown, of jumbled up thoughts that i can't piece together. i've completely run out of cellotape, there is nothing left to stick together so i press undo, undo, undo, until i am barely recognisable.
"those who are emotionless once felt too much".

when has rage become me
as i have become her
as night becomes hope-light
as the sea became the doomed sailor
(ungodly mist)
so why is this redundant
and why is she stuck there
so why are you willing
to salvage and conquer

i started dismembering, not-remembering my dreams
when i started writing for runaway, chase-parfait, throw-away teens.
seems as if my whole life is the cycle
of giving and giving and never achieving,
or neverending begging and effortless forgiving.

so you'll spite me for using my words to express myself
for exaggerating in the name of beautiful poetry
that rhymes like wind chimes
and sounds like fresh mint to the human mind.

but honestly, honey,
i thought you knew me well enough by now
to know that my style and pen are overwhelmingly enthusiastic
in the pursuit of my daily pick of what human nature can gift me.




believe me, baby, it's what i do.
and i'm not sorry at all if that bothers you.

have you ever tasted words?
the only one hanging from my tongue
is exhaustion

i promised i'd speak up
you promised you would listen
he promised he wouldn't go away
she promised better times were to come my way
we promised we'd stay here forever
you promised all was fine
they promised we would remain intertwined

exhaustion, once again
i'm tired of fixing your grammar mistakes
i feel heavy with guilt unnamed
i feel empty 'cause i gave everything away

she
has shape-shifted
and switched sides many times,
kind of similar to the way water bursts
when placed into the tiniest of containers.
and she
has learned
because the ounces of liquid once lost
came back to haunt her.
still, she hears their voices in her nightmares:
"you're soon to evaporate,
water never really does change".
she
has shivered.
she has spent time in solitary, all those years
staring out to the world that laughed at her tears,
droplets of pure water mixed with ichor,
of blood mixed with sweet, sweet liquor.

but you
have started
to discover the wonders this world holds,
the secrets the water covered
(just like her, she always hid)
oh. please. no.
so you
must never give in
to the pull that turned me into water in the first place
you must remain strong,
a hurricane and a glass of lemonade
cannot compare to honey
mixed in with all of your thoughts.
because you
have been made
with the same razor edges your baby blanket was woven out of
and that is
surely
the most memorable thing about you.

solitude is like having a hole in your boat
no matter how much you repair it
the imprint of that stupid hole will be forever burnt onto your retinas;
forever stuck between giving up and chucking buckets of water over my shoulder,
i am
        meaningless.

it came unexpectedly,
it always does.


my father, head bowed in submission,
the heavy weight of survivor's guilt seemed to be ageing him;
pulling him towards the very end she was consumed by,
before my very eyes.

i could've sworn he looked like a black angel.
death himself would have stopped and recognised a fellow spirit,
specially when he bent down and kissed her on the forehead.

as his face flickered, all i felt was doubt.
one of his faces stared me down, challenging.
who is this man?
unrecognizable brethren, kin made out of corrosive copper.
double-faced, double-timed, double-edge razor sharp blade.

his wings parted slightly, metaphorically.
they couldn't fit in the room so they expanded until we were floating in the abyss:
him, her, me (a witness) plus dozens of mute worshippers.

in the end, we left her behind.
said our goodbyes, and visited her again but she was gone....
materialistic prices reduced to ashes, just like her.
nothing more than a memory.
nothing less for those of us who remember what her carnal facade held.


now we sit, because in reality we didn't even move in the first place.
i guess i should've seen it coming, the warnings were there...
my first funeral.


as we exited the church,
my hand hadn't even left the wooden wormhole when she whispered

                      "there will be another."

her huffs and puffs are reminiscent
of the effort i gave away;
not realizing i would need it,
not realizing i couldn't wait.

ice in hand
she suffers,
then flatlines,
then conquers it,
then vanishes.

she was not pretty like a flower
not like the moon, the stars,
the planets, burn candles
in fact, she was one of the ugliest people
i had ever looked in the eye
because she laid bare
and gave you this stare
that meant so much to someone so lonely
like me, i could see
every pattern engraved on her soul
she was no one;
but she was definitely someone
to be recognized, by the sheer force
and willpower in her demeanor
no, she was not pretty
she was strong, the way iron is
when it is still withstanding
the hardships of weather and time
beaten down but holding on
for dear life; she was so, so strong
oh, i thought she was beautiful
beyond the grown over eyebrows
and all those other trivial features
as i stared, she winked in my direction
and commenced her transformation
changing into the very epitome of who i want to be
determined, lovable, dependable, free

rumpelstilskin
has nothing on me

whilst he may be able to spin straw into gold,
i've been able to spin a web of deception
that has wrecked countless innocent souls

in a world of able bodies
are you able to perform me?
reaching into deepness & honey
the bass in our voice sounds lovely
but some treble is, quite frankly,
the one thing that we find lacking
in our mono-universal cell beats
in our silly English breakfast tea
reach into the tranquil divided personality
and pull out a couple vodkas & martinis
a long night awaits us out in the city
the elder travellers used to whisper quietly
but now they're just dust-

oh daddy, i just wish you could've seen
the look you wore on your reddened face.
maybe your glasses were unclean,
but you looked like you'd been hit by our celestial mace

my girl, my girl, who are you?
all rebelious and grown and so young?
when have you mastered
this strengh, this courage?
i completely forgot how it's done.

oh daddy, don't worry
i still believe in myself.
improved version, no doubt,
but at least i have found
the courage to scream
and run through the fields,
without ever letting out
as much as a mouse when it squeals.


my girl, my girl, how foolish of you.
to believe in this world,
to think love will be true
is to chase a dream, maybe one, maybe two.
i am baffled to hear
what your mother made so clear
coming out from
the insides of you.

oh daddy, my daddy, i've promised i will
countless times, countless rhymes,
there's no more ink in my quill.
but still, i wonder, how far i must go
to discover sweet land promised to us eons ago.

my girl, my girl, i know you must go
but i'm terrified, so terrified
of letting you go, so lonely
so young, i'm scared beyond words
and your mother will surely be hurt.
nevertheless, i know you must go
so i ask one last thing before you do so:
when things are going down,
when you feel like you're going to drown
always remember where this place is, home.

i resent that all i've written about
has your name
and i promised i wouldn't give
this part of me away

i was thinking about first times
when i came across you
riddle me this:
has this blood been maiden-approved?
or is it decaying 'cause you pricked your thumb blue?

if the hand outline has been emptied,
i'll say sorry in advance.
call the emergency mind-repair system
(please never ever call me back).
quiet down the thoughts now,
if seems your time has come:
to be cast into oblivion
with the rest of the mortal ones.

the numbing feeling of the bath water gone cold
is reaching my brain,
slowly but surely,
taking over my thoughts
preparing them for the holidays
and freezing them over with the pretext of pain.

i've spoken and i've lost them
the words that tied me together are fraying
i've been asked to stand up straight
to perform onstage
to forget my fears, even though these years
have been so tough,
i've always felt like i'm never enough
and you seem to urge me on so you can
badmouth me all night long

black ink spots
spread
across her face.
as she pries them off
they become blurry
and they take over
the very face
she was
trying to save.

i have yet to discover
if knowing that everything i do will surely be surpassed by others
reliefs me, in a way, like the ant finds comfort in its colony
or depresses me because i might never be good enough

i am stuck here,
stuck in a metal door.
my feelings are numb and have been for quite a long time;
but i can see hers in the unruliness of her curls.
the madness in her eyes shines a light on the darkness in her mind.
she recoils
into herself
a ball of self-pity,
self-hatred
and explosions
of current emotions.

i am stuck here,
stuck in a metal door.
my feelings are numb and have been for quite a long time;
but i can guess his because he boasts about them.
he is staring into the patient's padded cell and claiming that he sleeps in one, too.
his hair is short, so i can't tell if it's messy, if he's lying,
yet i know that someone looking from the outside in has already escaped, he's already flying.


unlike me,
i'm simply trapped in a metal door.

when have the weights on my shoulders
changed appearance, to humanoid forms
and why am i not able to pry them off
if they're only sinking me down
to spin me around

"kiss me hard before you go"
and leave your scent
dripping from my veins
as i stare at the unnamed door
you thought would fit your needs
talking about moral integrity
i'm reminded of the very entrance
you used as an exit
to leave me behind, shaking

golden slumber,
wait for me.

come back,
come home,
check in and see.

no one knows
if you're actually gold
'cause maybe you're done for,
outdated and old.

you might not be golden at all.
i'm sorry,
it's just that i feel the loneliest
every september, during the fall.

you look like you're trying to stare at yourself from afar
but from a broken mirror refracting dawn
or from a lover's embrace in your ungodly arms?