Vulnerability is trust
Trust is vulnerability
Carefully tread these dark waters;
do not lose yourself.

Maybe it's time
to realise that
I do not have
to search for love
elsewhere;
not when it's etched
into my being--
my identity.

Maybe it's time
to not salvage
that love for anyone,
but embracing it
for me.

Paint the night sky with twinkling stars, distant from one another but collectively emitting a spectacular glow;
Paint the spun ivory clouds across the interminable blue, watching the softness suffocate sunlight streaming below;
Paint your frayed chocolate braids beside curved, smiling full lips in the middle of a vivid, adorned cottage;
Paint the passionate red of blood that stains our hands as they clasp together like imperfect puzzle pieces, and the jagged breathing that fogs the dusk;
Paint yourself where you are loved--
Paint yourself with me.

warm, sweet,
and comforting
flows through red lips
and rosy cheeks
and a mind shining
like the first rays of dawn.

Infatuation;
when you focus, idolise and fixate upon
the one reason it will work--
ignoring the million others
that dictate otherwise

It is unreasonable
logic screams; reason shatters
yet so heartbreakingly human

On a comfortable breezy evening,
my mum converses with her sister via Skype
exchanging quirky tales

They broach the subject of her lemon tree.

"It's the most peculiar case;
it was growing so divinely
until, suddenly, it stopped."

Silence. Then the punchline:

"Reminded me of your daughter."

They exchange hoots of laughter
Meanwhile, I sit in the corner
arms folded, eyebrows knitted
unamused

I am a humble painting
hung upon a common wall,
composed of grey tears;
striking, yellow laughter;
trampling fear; undisciplined love,
of other human beings.

A judgemental, prideful and arrogant writer confines within his mind.

white fluff
but crunchy
plain taste that
is somehow
fulfilling

Do you miss me?

An absent voice, a faded smile,
two red-rimmed eyes
that avoid your own;

A heart that once opened,
a beautiful, elegant vulnerability,
now solidified into stone.

Or maybe
you haven't noticed
anything wrong.

For us to understand humans, we must first detach ourselves.

A fatal flaw
of selflessness
that is humbling
on paper
but self-destructive.

I've always pondered
the emotions behind delivering
a confession of love.

A friendship ruined;
interminable pain
rejection suffered

Somehow, my heart is lighter
Rays of sunshine linger
instead of fading
into the night.

*I don't regret it.

on your birthday
I wrote a letter comprised
of all that I adored;
words articulated in strikethroughs
and barrelled with smiley faces
to disguise my evident
addiction to your smile
--to your happiness.

and although I value your happiness
the letter remains at the bottom
of my computer
untouched, unsent
because my heart is already
shred to pieces, and the thought
of you dismissing
the words I poured myself in
is unbearable.

words;
they never articulated properly
although I pride myself a writer;
I addressed situations I overanalysed
over countless nights of lost sleep,
where your mouth dropped,
your eyes lowered
your breath grew heavier after
another brutal attack from my unaffectionate
words.

I noted little things;
conflicts within yourself
and wrote about them,
my remedy a simple melody
contrasting the bitter tunes
spat at you, through widened eyes
and curled lips.

That letter is unsent
because it exposes too much
about how often I think
dream
feel
about you.

while I say very little

The prospect of reaching happiness--
this intrinsic desire can never be attained
unless we change our definition

Happiness is me;
everything I am
everything I have
right now

I am happy.

I replay
the uproarious sound of your kidneys
at 4 AM; you tucked in a comfortable quilted bed,
and the curve of your glistening elbow
resembling the crescent moon
that my eyes averted from
because they fixated on you
instead.

what if my cage
is out of sight;
rather
inside my mind?

these shackles
cling to my wrists
can you see them?

you envy my freedom--
one you perceive me
possessing;

one I never
truly
ever had.

Apparently,
my eyes blaze
with intensity,
emotions, and feelings
I can never suppress;

a labyrinthine
of your deepest emotions
intertwined in a single spark
reflected in my eye

today I breathe--
without you
but instead of pain
there lingers serenity
calming butterflies
at my core;
palms faced upwards,
I heal.

They wrap their arms
tightly around the other's
veined neck
clawing maniacally with
exposed teeth
and wild eyes.

a certificate;
their names as one,
ripped to shreds
but apparently
still valid.

and somehow,
when it's my turn,
I fantasise my arms
would lay limp
and his will, too.

But maybe
it's a glimmer of hope
of a candle in
interminable night--
wishful thinking.

Silly girl--
there is no romance
without menace.

i. no absolute rest
"yes, time
never did stop
for anyone."

but I add...

ii. no absolute motion*
"even time itself
is an
illusion."

because
yours and mine
...dissent.

iii. backwards
maybe yesterday,
we could still
work things out.

--softer,
than lightly (3.0 x 10^8 m/s)

iv. implausibility
our foreheads wear
the cracks of our heart.

you lost your zeal,
I lost my saviour,
we lost each other,

but left
with osmium-clad
backpacks,
and collapsed
patellas.

E = mc^2.

v. our end

fact:
tomorrow
is inevitable.

fact:
screeching alarms
and lopsided bed-hair,
and chugging caramel lattes,
with precisely two tablespoons
of raw sugar--

fact:
forget among the clamour,
the shadow of your figure--

fact:*
you are an
unearthed blackhole,
under the facade
of a supernova.

(your mass = 2.5(+) x greater than the sun)

Is there a barrier
between myself and
the world?

Why do you
conceal your heart
from me?

Loneliness is
watching animation,
laugher, voices, chatter,
and feeling suspended
in time.

Maybe that's why
loneliness is easier to bear
when you're alone,
than around others.

Competing,
sabotaging, manipulating,
controlling, demeaning, angering,
underestimating, avenging,
hurting
stops when you
learn to respect
that person.

Better than you;
always considered myself superior
--a delusion I nurtured
with vicious remarks
and cold sniggers;
within the remotest of land,
full of dust,
you learned to bloom
with your youthful flowers
growing larger
than me
and yourself.

Do you watch the night skies
your mouth agape in awe
watching light sparkle; radiate?
remember:
the stars gaze
at your warm heart
self-assured posture
intelligent eyes
and wise soul
with ceaseless fascination.

I wore my heart
on my sleeve last year
with a touch of agony
and the depth of despair
in hopes that you would
somehow love me.

But desperation,
I hear,
has a strong scent;
and when mixed
with fear--
and you could sense it
clinging onto my every
spluttered word,
every painted red lips
I hope you'd gaze upon;
the shadow of my eyelashes
imprinted in my cheeks
and the sweet delirium
of your voice;
a echo in the morning,
a whisper at night.

Today I remember
a year ago
how dearly I loved you
and loathed myself.

caramel skin
like the sweet scent
of toffee & warm sugar
during a summer festival.

you called me exotic,
with black eyelashes
******* my even darker
raven eyes.

no other woman
could ever compare
with my soft voice,
strong principles,
and thoughtful nature.

you called me exotic.
but I wonder if you know,
I am a stranger within my skin,
within my community.

I am exotic
in an unsettling way--
halves and quarters,
of thoughts and ideas,
and never whole enough
for anyone.

my parents
are whole people
with a fragmented daughter;
to them,
I am a stranger--
I am exotic.

I am both
sickened and liberated
by my difference.

but mostly,
terrified.

Maybe it was never love,
but envy,
because your carefree nature
didn't come from battling hardships;
your scars exist only outside;
and your life falls perfectly
according to plan
while mine keeps falling apart.

Perhaps this bitter
resentment I hold
is because you never
quite appreciate
how whole you are--
while I am cracked edges
pasted together.

I am not creative; but I am emotional and human.

Most of my creativity emerges
from crestfallen summer nights,
where I tear the seams of the scars

that have reopened
after a thoughtless word
after a tasteless comment
after an inconsiderate finger,

jabbing into the insecurities
I imagined myself to bury,
but in reality,
I have not.

Humid,
crestfallen summer nights
encapsulate me,
until the pain numbs
me.

I have my father's mind:
logical, quick-witted, carefree,
always searching for sublime meaning
in words and people
over a third cup of tea.

and my mother's heart;
soft, selfless to a fault, empathetic
searching for ways to attain happiness
for everyone but themselves;
ultimately alone.

Within me,
*they are still together.

Truthfully,
I relapse with a smile
and contemplate suicide
with a giggle;
because our society dictates
happiness, extroversion, ambition
should be carried even to
a grave dictated by
ourselves.

Listening to a song you heard a million times before,
in a past not distant from your present,
but finding a spiritual connection with the lyrics,
the instruments, the singer's voice--
you find newfound meaning.

Then you realise, it is not the song,
which has changed,
but you.

Twirling on moonlit streets
where their shadows entwine
simple as falling water,
in a world without time.

The scent of lilacs arise
a true epitome of spring left
on their fragile fingertips.

Abundant galaxies,
in a world of close proximity;
remember our eyes,
shining brighter
than the stars above.

*how rare
and beautiful
it truly is
that we exist

My father said the other day
with a sad smile
his calloused fingers ran through my hair,

"You feel too deeply:
it is both a blessing
and a curse."

"Blessing?" I inquired.

He had no answer.
His hand gently provided more weight
and suddenly I knew.

It is not a blessing
to be different from the majority
from pragmatic individuals
who superficially skim over events
--that hurt, injure, sadden-- me.

No;
it is a curse.

We didn't last forever;
the word attaches shackles
and chains that restrain,
and is better left unspoken--
never uttered, always locked
in the bars of my ribcage
where it restlessly remains
in utmost agony.

Then,
it stops.

The silence haunts me,
and my ribcage is imbalanced.
With laughter filled with tears,
and nonchalance juxtapose passion,
I whisper:

"Nothing lasts forever.
We fell apart like rose petals
amongst heavy storms."

The mask slips;
I avert my
red-rimmed eyes.

"But we could have--
oh darling,
we could have."

Beauty is
Flowers, rain, the night skies, city lights,
and,
benevolence and compassion.

For I see humans everywhere,
but no humanity.

together we stroll
misty foothpaths reflecting
our empty, sad smiles

I judge people
for being judgemental.

Oh, the sweet irony.

My heart bled ink
on the ivories
of the piano;
enveloping all white
in supreme darkness.

He painted every key
with careful, calculated words
that spat venom
to cover
to conceal
and to showcase
the superior identity
of the black keys.

Suffocating black drowned
strangled cries
as the white blended beneath
the black;
forced to play the same
sharp
note
while ignoring their own.

But music is harmony.
Without white, there is no melody.
As a monotonous sound resonated,
the black scrambled to recover
these voices --different,
soothing, rich in beauty--
have already broken.

And so the black keys play
--imbalanced, remorseful,
and forever imperfect.