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.