words unsung
and stories
unread,
but this silly little child
fears to leave her
bed.

we've got the ground below us when all we do is look up and wish we were one with the stars

*but don't we realize we already are?

you're not perfection
(and never could be)
but darling
(though you see everyone that way indefinitely)
no one ever is
*(or ever could be)

they s h o u t

and it feels like a million splinters
hit me in the chest, where it isn't
supposed to hurt.

they s t a r e

into thin air and the silence
is deafening and all I can
do is add to it.

they t a l k

but never to each other.
they're just like strangers;
two ghosts moving around
in one house.

they b r e a k

but I'm the only one broken, and
everyone smiles and tells me it's
just another fight.

they l i e*

and say that they're fine, and tell
me it's okay, and tell me it's stupid
that I don't believe that they love
each other

anymore.

i'm not sure how-
how to break this cycle
the constant pounding in my head
the incessant whispers
the persistent hurt
the frustrating reiteration
each one more needless

fall after fall after f
                                   a
                                       l
                                          l

i can no longer distinguish pain from pleasure;
abuse from affection; contusions from caresses.
embraces could be delivered in tightly-clenched fists;
words of affirmation in abasement; trust in forced hands.
i can't tell the difference between love and hurt;
dark bruises and soft kisses; belittlement and support.

all i am familiar with now is the aftermath -
the tears, the marks, the aches;
hot showers soothing stinging skin, shaky knees and trembling hands;
the nauseating guilt; encapsulating, overwhelming fear

and the sickening inability to just walk away.

Only a wee child.
A tiny little girl.
Oblivious to the world
And its swarm of monstrosities.

She yawned
And he glanced over,
Realising that it was time for her nap.
Her parents had gone out
And she was under his care
Under his wing
Trusting him
A little too much.
He tucked her into bed.
And snuggled in next to her.
She tossed and turned,
Trying to sleep.

But dreamland
Was a little more out of reach than it usually was.
"Want to try something?"
He asked, voice all regular.
Her eyes stared up at him
Sleepy yet curious.

He told her not to look underneath the blanket.
There was movement.
She trusted him,
she trusted him.
Then she felt her belly touch the blanket.
And her bottom exposed
As her ******* was pulled down.

What came next was a shock.
She did not know
Did not understand.
She was a child!
It was there.
Rubbing
Cold
Different
Eerie
She shivered in
What was it, delight?
7 years later she hoped it wasn't.

Snapping back to reality;
Pushing the questions to the back of her mind,
She glanced under the covers
And got a rough pull.
He scolded her.
She was scared.
She did not cry.
She needed to ***.
What was going on?

She could not sleep.
She was curious.
She was scared.
Everything changed.
She wanted more.
She did not comprehend.

7 years later,
She found out.
She understood.
And it was painful.
It was traumatic.
And it left such a deep scar
That could never
Ever,
Be healed.

She was 5 years old;
He was 14.

It's 11 years later and it still haunts her.
**Why me?

You painted onto her eyes
The sweet poetic words of your cold embrace
Letting the punctuation marks run down her cheeks
In the form of saturated tears and soiled mascara
Every alphabet you left behind
Ever tear you refused to wipe away with your thumbs,
She used to form words of love and remorse-
Statements of a battle lost and a broken heart.

I sit here with tear stained cheeks
and a pale face,
typing with shaking fingers in the dark night,
straining a mind consumed with pain to think
of words that no longer sound too foolish
or too youthful.
my heart pounds hard in my chest,
but I no longer feel it
knowing it will only beat for a while more.
my shallow breaths prepare for my final exhalation,
and the warmth in my physique diminishes
to winter once again.

What can I write about a dying girl
who had perished so many years ago?
nothing, honestly.
I sit here, lamenting the loss of someone
I used to know.
the reflection that I saw in the mirror every morning,
the face I used to paste a smile on every day,
the very skin I used to rip apart.
she had died somewhere,
in the midst of all that suffering.
and no one knew I was merely the walking embodiment of her.

And that is why
with icicles for fingers
and a hollow chest where my heart was
I write an elegy
for someone I used to love,
yet could never bring back.
as I am dying
just as she once was.

I'd like to establish a relationship with an online poet so we can write away the time difference with words of uncertainty.*

and then maybe, after years of being hidden away behind screens and across borders and oceans we meet over a cup of hot beverage, shivering in the cold (preferably) and laugh about horrid lines we came up with and the confusion would be blown away by Jack Frost.

we'd be our raw vivid selves, poet to poet, human to human, friend to friend. maybe we won't even speak of poetry but of people we love, hate, bad things that happened, are happening, will happen. ordinary, extraordinary things.

and then perhaps; we might fall in love under the twinkling of eyes and sharing a love of words both complex and simple. perhaps.

she is haunted by a beautiful sweet sadness that won't
                                                                                                 go
                                                                                                     away.

I wonder why it's made
Why there ever was such thing
To signify-
All signs of pain,
Hopelessness and hurt,
Torture and abuse.
The thick redness of the complicated liquid
Litter eery vessel in our bodies
Giving life
Yet symbolising death.
The very look or feel or texture of it
Almost aches the heart:
The very source of all
Good, pain and mystery.
Emotions run through our blood
In a continuous stream
Of laughter, tears and uncertainty.
That is why,
We're made.
Why: we possess
The things we are meant to have.
To live.
The way we do, now.

i'm breathing
with my breath caught in my throat
because your fingers are wrapped around my neck
but so are your lips
my heart is ready to break
and so are my bones
but we are trapped in a peripheral moment
and if i may i'd like to utter one last word with our dying breaths:

*"if"

tell me again why the wind kissed the sea
remind me again why it wasn't the sky-
the sky's so pretty and perfect and calm,
but the choppy sea? please tell me why.

tell me again how the stars found the river;
there was no map written or drawn.
yet they drowned in her depths
leaving no stars left, and all I remember was the empty dawn.

tell me again which chapters she read
of the book he barely wrote-
what i don't get is how all these things
were said, when he never even spoke.

I spoke to Scarlet this afternoon.
I hadn't seen her in such a long time.
funny thing is,
this is the first time I've ever spoken to her.
I've always liked to pretend she wasn't real,
was never there, and only a figment of my imagination.
but now I've finally found out
what she thinks of me.
what I've always thought of myself.
that, she whispers
was always the truth.

t   r   u   t   h.
what is that anymore?*

"whatever you can imagine is real."

well now I know.

I'm not sure
how much longer I can hold on
pretending everything was okay
or is okay
or will be okay
when in reality,
nothing is.
why do I keep trying to survive,
and continue telling myself I can
when I really, definitely, truly
cannot?
well now
I'll begin admitting.
they say that acceptance is the first step to recovery.
but who cares what they say anymore?
what if the only recovery left
for me
is death?
(the only escape)
well
if this doesn't serve as a suicide note,
I'm not sure anything else could be.

she whispered the words of hope
her breath thick
her words slurred together
as they danced from her tongue
loveliness surrounding the air around her.

she beamed the smile of happiness
her face lit up
like christmas lights on a traditional tree
and she shone brighter than any sun
allowing them warmth and laughter.

she sang words of life
and each sentence proved a lesson,
she taught and they listened
and they believed
in the slight glimmer of a dream that had once faded.

and finally
she loved with emotion and desire
with a strong passion
that could not be found in just anyone.
she was special
a beautiful young daisy
barely blossoming
yet letting the sun shine brighter
and gracing the dirt with her beauty.

despite it all
she never seemed to see
all the beauty she was and could be.
perhaps we should try
to be the good in our hearts
that she could perceive.
let the world smile with
Esther,
once again.

i would want to live a fairytale
where you were the prince
and i the damsel in distress
awaiting the feel of your lips against mine

but this is reality
and i am no damsel
and you are no prince
and the touch of your lips
(and lovely fingertips)
has already brought me to
a happily ever after
with you.

can you safely say
that you have lived and laughed enough
can you confidently smile
without having to tuck in the deep convictions of your mind?
will you whisper to me the stories of your past
will you enchant me with the tears in your eyes?

your fragile heart will not be broken
the secrets of your mind unspoken
let me cradle your vulnerability to my wounded chest
so that we may mend each other in the process

you are every midnight shot I should not have threw down my throat,
every syllable I should not have stammered out beneath
shy gazes and lowered eyelashes and chewed bottom lips.
you are every (in)coherent verse I could not keep
my shaky grip from messily scrawling across any blank page;
you are in every frustrated sigh,
every agitated run of fingers through messy hair,
every tear at 2am.

they tell me not to believe in hell
or fear it, even
because "all good souls go to heaven"
but I never told them how wicked my soul is
and that hell was already in my head.

I am

f  
     a
            l
                 l
                     i
                        n
                            g

and there is no one to catch me.

it's becoming more and more apparent to me that the marks you left behind will forever remain
but I can choose to forget they are there in the first place.
I will pull down my sleeves and turn up my collar even if there is no wind
but only to shield the ever sharp eyes of mine reflecting back in the mirror;


*I will hide myself from                                                   me.

I tore open the soft skin on my arm again*
soft skin? oh not anymore, actually.
more like scarred skin.
the healing scabs and emergency cells attempting to cover up old mistakes of the past.
seal them, heal them; leave them be.
what do I do now in this mess of blood and tears?
I sit here, undressed, a shivering mess-
afraid of nothing yet fearful of everything.
I am lost, confused,
hurting just to feel,
to feel alive again.
I'm afraid so please hold me
yet leave me alone because I am not sure what I want
what I should do
why I am still breathing.
**** me. leave me.
I think it is my time.

who knew toxic fumes were so comforting?
we're humans who,
confide in pain and whisper secrets to the forgotten
why is it that
the flirtatious wisps of hurt
circle our minds and get in between our hair
and soothes every nerve in the body
when it isn't supposed to?

you're breathing again oh sweet lady

and that in itself is fear
who are we,
to take comfort in death?

I unravelled my thoughts on a public page.

I type this, sitting in my living room,
thousands of miles from where I was born,
in the middle of a work day,
avoiding responsibilities.

I suppose not much has changed.

And yet

There's a dreaming dog at my feet.
The table is decorated with dried flowers,
and under it, a tablecloth I spent too much on.
A tablecloth we spent too much on.

Happiness in the mundane -- is this what that is?

hair bleached, blonde, orange, ginger
(it's funny cos i'm not quite sure)
she brightens the rooms' darkest corners with just a mere twitch of her lips and her bright blue eyes and her giggle
it's perplexing how she doesn't see
(then again none of us do)
that she's as beautiful as the girl down the street
in fact even more
with every inch of skin and scar
it makes her prettier than anyone else
but the best part that no one else had
was the heart she held within herself.

tucked away and hidden,
like her arms always were under those huge school jumpers
she kept her soul and eyes away
from the nosy ones and lovely ones alike
despite them caring or not.
she always thought she'd never matter
to anyone else or even herself
but she failed to see the hearts and arms opening up to her
because she refused letting anyone in
(why katy why?)

so no more scars my lovely girl
put the blade away
don't even store it for those bleak rainy days.
because you're better than that all of this
because eventhough something in life may be amiss
there's always a gorgeous yellow sun to shine down on you
to light up your freckly face and your fluffy golden hair
and the scars are enough
so even though times are rough
your skin just needs a break
and so does your heart
though it may break apart
it will eventually come to its senses and piece back together.
you're oh so strong and one day a guy will come along
and you'd probably punch him in the face
but I hope that day would come soon
so I could see you giggle and swoon
over some white boy
(you better have good taste)

this pretty little flower
is such a blessing to me
and i'll never forget the trip we're going to plan
and i hope when we meet for tea perhaps
we'd still gush and laugh and rant
about things that mean too much about nothing
and we'd still be somewhat best friends

stressed and depressed but well-dressed is what they say
but i've only always seen her in ripped black tights and a short black skirt
*is it weird that we've never met but i feel like i've known her for years?

The rise and fall of his chest
As the breath of life flows through his body.
I watch, silently
Barely awake from last night's slumber that had taken me to its *****.
Barely moving
Barely making a sound
I wouldn't wanna wake him
As my thoughts swim around;
My mind starts to tumble
All about with love and wonder
Someone who fell in love with me
Though I'm such a blunder.
Something presses on at the back of my head
Calling me, alerting me
I only ignore it
Nothing is more precious than this moment.
He finally moves a little
Enough to put his left arm around my smaller frame
Beside him
Holding me down
Securing me in his embrace.
Then I begin to wonder as I settle my eyes shut again
How I ever got so lucky
How he makes me ever so happy
And how much it hurts
To realise..

I wake up
Everything is gone
He is gone
His arms are gone
The security I once felt is gone

I am alone.
Surrounded by darkness and the creatures of the night once more.
Haunted by the past, the present and what is to come.
The many boulders of life in front of me
Coming closer
And all I can do is
Wrap myself in the only arms I've ever relied on
As it begins to rain down my face once more
The tears I always regret crying
The pain I always despise feeling
And pray to fall back asleep into a restless
Yet more comforting
Parallel reality
Where nothing is real
Yet everything is.

I want to die;
no, actually- I want to live.
but, I want to escape
from the time that traps me
that holds me down
and suspends me underneath
the lack of ticking from the minute hand;
as the clock stares me down
not understanding what goes on in my head.
I want time to move so fast
despite my fear of the future.
I want it to pass by quick
so I wouldn't have moments that would pause completely
and the pain would linger on and on and
it would hurts so much continuously
and I'm frozen in this moment
and time isn't moving
and I can't go on
and my legs won't twitch and my heart won't beat
and I'm just stuck in this moment of complete terror and hurt and
i           don't            know          what         to                      
                                                                                do

the love I have for you
is a love untameable.
as wild as the wind
on a winter's night,
is as wild as my heart
beats for you.
your sweet voice drips like
tempting honey,
where I would be the only bee to taste it.
your heart contains joy
that I hope I have instilled,
and holds blood which
pumps for me alone.
the laughter which lights up your face,
illuminates my heart
and I love you even more
than the day before.

I am mad, so mad to the point that my seething anger can be seen and felt by the red in my cheeks. I feel like I am about to burst, because my heart is pounding, continuously increasing it's pace. There is a mild throbbing at the back of my head and I feel it ever quicken and deepen as my rage becomes painfully noticeable. I wince, and that calms me down a little. The feeling of physical pain caused by an emotion as simple as anger can lead to an immediate calming effect. But I can no longer be calm because I am mad again. The rage I have in me is so strong that I am unable to let out a single word.
Not even a shout or scream or squeal of frustration. My chest feels like it may give up on me and explode, causing my heart to break apart my ribcage and skin and fall out into the open.
The smallest trickle of tears fall down my cheeks and my loathe for sadness only escalates my wrath. But as the tears continue to fall, I give in to it-
Becoming the vulnerable, sad little girl that had tried to be angry and was ready to burst, only to be consumed by misery and guilt once more.
I collapse into a heap onto the ground and turn my head so it faces the floor, wetting the surface with my tears and heavy gasps of hopelessness.

maybe, like writing in sand-
our feelings may wash away in
intermittent rain and satiated tide
filled with rough seashell and friendly fish.
maybe, in the nights
where the moon is hidden-
we simply close our eyes to the light
and lie to our incoherent minds
that we were deserted,
and no longer loved
merely to gain some sort of
melancholic self pity.
maybe, our senses
are blind to the most obvious,
to the situations which love us
and people who leave us.

The monster inside,
She fights and she bites
Yet I don't feel a thing.

I can hear her screams of pure hatred,
Which almost seems like sweet nothings in my head.
Slowly, I breathe in; and so does she.
Despite being a beast in my head,
She acts like a regular person instead.
But I can't see her, no not yet,
I feel her breath next to mine.
Almost the same tempo;
So synchronised in time.
I inhale the sickly sweet scent
Of her smile.
The wind in her hair;
The drost in her soul.

I begin to smell,
The contempt in her eyes.
The evil, oh so bold.
And as all these senses
Merge into one-
She disappears.
Like a shadow fades into the light
Or a mighty devil scorned.

It almost feels like I'm free
Just for a moment.
Slowly, and gradually,
But it feels like it was in a split second.
The pain rushes back.
The realisation doesn't.
My senses resurrect from their numbness;
Ever so ploddingly
And I see
I see,
Her.
Looking right back at me,
As if she had been there for days, weeks, months,
An eternity.
Just, watching.
Waiting.
Ready to attack.
I look straight back into her eyes;
Barely breathing.
Barely smiling.
Barely feeling-
Anything at all.
It is then, the moons change and the stars shift
Feelings alter
And I feel something I seemed
Unable to fathom
Just a few moments ago.

Then,
I fear again.

when her eyes open wide
I could feel the ocean rushing in them
I could see my reflected happiness
I could taste the sea water as she cried
when her lips parted to reveal perfect teeth and tongue
I wish i could indulge in her
I wish i could make her feel wanted
I wish all that came out of her mouth were moans of delight and sweet nothings she'd whisper into my ear
when her heart beat fast
I could hear the thunder of a storm approaching
I could hear the blood rushing to her head and to her cheeks
I could hear her thoughts tumbling about in her head

and I sat down to think and think and wonder
why have I not fallen in love with her yet?