As long as the paint is wet
my finger writes
my diary
in colourful blends

Unspoken questions
dipped hue after hue
and curl in curl on the tip
of my finger, layer on layer

a gobstopper of memories
which I slowly lick off, every time
I want to taste their flavours
and reread my life

What am I doing so wrong in my life, to not be moving any
further ahead? How many counts do I need make, to soon realize
I’m running out of breath?

Am I dead?

No, not yet!

But as close to the feeling, with blood running through my eyes,
to only see red. It could be my last time to wake up alive in my bed.
The confusing phrase of, “he/she woke up dead”

Where I rest my head, lays the thoughts of dealing with life’s pressures
and pointless cares. Gaining less of self-respect, and losing some of
my hairs. Especially at an early stage, as I disengage from people who
act my age.

Well the previous one at the least.

Being too young doesn’t have much to give, but just wasted time.
Living without much direction, missing every sign. Pretending you’re
all fine. Flipping girls over for a change of finding a dime. I’m funding
my love, but quickly losing interest. They could be so many out
there, but I’m not a fan of all the kinds of fishes.

Those constant sweet nothings, and long tongued kisses. Not
really much of a fan, when my opinions to them are blowing in
the wind. I’m just blowing in the wind, with the echoes of it
tickling me down in my knees.

Sigh! I take a few minutes to quietly breathe.

Testing my own winds, to see if I still feel. Ha, I’ve watched an
emotion develop into being. Proceeding far ahead of my delusions
that trick my out of the things that are real.

Sigh! I take a few minutes to quietly breathe.

Blowing in the winds, blowing in the winds, blowing in the winds.
A windmill of my life, all of which spins on repeat.

How do I stop myself from blowing in the winds?

I face fatigue each time I breathe,
praying on my knees until they bleed,
Facing another stressful day I’ve got to live,
I wish I could leave, if I believe enough in all of
my dreams; I’d close my eyes just to relive, and sigh
heavily for my relief.

Oh grief, is sentiment cement on memory streets;
walking on for long, towards that unfamiliar dawn,
Listening to unfamiliar songs, hoping I never forget
where the heck I came from.

When I get famous, and lost in the crowd’s
empty praises; the quietest moments are so loud.
I hope I make my family proud, and buy my mother
that house, she’d live in happily, even if it was for a couple
hours. Really beats the days I was just borrowing flowers.

Forgetting when Mother’s day actually falls,
let me recheck my calendar to make sure.

From having bosses smile politely at me,
but refer to me by the worst of words.
I’m just nodding my head for an empty pay cheque,
spending it on necessities. But ****, that swiping
hurts!

Waiting for a day to be closing my eyes at every swipe,
no need to add, and calculate the final price,
Without all of the wants, but enough money to afford
all of my needs in life.

Let them remember me by all of these
experiences I enjoy to write.

I truly love to write...

"You don't understand"
"No, YOU don't understand!"
The truth is, none of us
can ever truly understand.
Because despite our need to be social,
to connect with each other,
our experiences, our feelings,
are ours alone. But that doesn't make connections we have with others any less meaningful. One more thing.
For what it's worth,
your feelings, your experiences, are valid.

I haven’t had a partner in so long that I’ve forgotten I am single.
The memory foam on the left side of my bed only knows left over books and plates.

The empty places replaced with the things I learned I loved.
Only open spaces here are for self-affirmations doused in lavender.
Most of which I loved was uncherished until I had room for it.
The parts of myself I could never find underneath the cover of someone else.

The sheets get wrapped between my legs and for a second, I am reminded of how untangled I am.
How free it feels to be in a place you didn’t wish you were somewhere else or someone else.
A brief recollection of finally not being lost in another.
Deep open breaths of I am finally here.

I am reminded how calm this place feels – the comfort of not missing anything. How the spaces in between are cultivated by a reflection of my love - not those I once loved.

You’re paying homage to me
with your touch along my curves and edges.
With your golden, intense eyes.
With your kiss, your adoration.

This paid homage stirs me,
shakes out hidden grief,
reopens closed space,
unlocks dammed love.
Starts a new journey of ‘we’.

You’re paying homage to me,
aiming to reach me.
Intentionally, joyfully,
breaking down my
solitary
reality.