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Dshamilja Sturm Apr 2019
A glance across a room
A not so subtle smile
The vortex of what is yet to come
The wander and the yearning
No sleep, up till 4 am
Exchange of what has been and is
And what could be, but may not
The words that seal what hearts feel
The one who becomes familiar like home
Arms wrapped around your soul
The anguish
Of the words
The ones that sit deep
Brushed from the surface,
They fester beneath
The words that make you promises
And the silence that breaks them
When words are not enough
When they become louder, meaner,
Shouting
When you finally find the words to say
I’ve had enough
When your words no longer work
Banished into regret
Words left unrequited
Unspoken words.
Dshamilja Sturm Apr 2019
A girl danced in the wildflowers, beneath the big oak tree,
Chasing after butterflies, only to let them go free.

This would be a moment she’d return to in her mind,
When everything around her grew dark and life was not so kind.

A time where hoping was like waiting for summer to come,
She wanted it to stay all year, but the leaves fell and the flowers died; her spirit came undone.

The moment she learned the lesson that you can give too much love away,
You see, people are shallow and yearn for the light and they’ll take it, to make their night day.

A man she called father taught her the arduous art of forgiveness,
If he hurt her, left her in a dark hospital room        alone         , who could care less?

A loyal daughter should understand that if he has wings, she must watch him fly, even from her grave
And time would tell her that all her expectations were a waste; in the end he’s the one she’ll save.

When home felt less like home, and more like memory lane
And walking there was crippling, all it brought was pain.

But all this time, the world just turned,
And a thousand lessons she has learned.

Like summer needs the winter,

And the time you spend on blame,
Overlooks your gain
Dshamilja Sturm Apr 2019
It was noon, sometime in mid-July;
Imagine the road, a twisting highway to my grave.
The bus, a roller coaster ride unhinged from the tracks.
Dodging missiles with headlights, horns rattling my nerves.
Just another three hours.

It was midnight, somewhere out at sea,
Somewhere in the universe, the Milky Way, another galaxy.
A shallow heartbeat, a distant echo of a Chinese Karaoke show, but all else was still.
The stars never seemed so vast, and I remembered that they were bigger than me,
I was just a speck.

It rained on the way back to ** Chi Minh,
The roads turned to rivers, the scooters grew ponchos; under them a family of three.
The city brought chaos; sad, tired faces, begging for one thousand ****; a cent.
The children danced in the downpour, jumping over sticks
Like hopscotch.

I thought of Ha Long Bay, just the night before,
I couldn’t hear the silence; I couldn’t see the stars; a dingy hostel ceiling, grumbling strangers snores.
I went to sleep dreaming of peaceful valleys, fresh spring waters, trees as far as the eye could see,
For tomorrow was a new day,
The next part of my journey.
Dshamilja Sturm Apr 2019
Fascinating, isn’t it
How we damage ourselves
Yet our bodies renew, replace fibres
Still functional but not the same as before
Perhaps to remind us that we are not indestructible

I have scars

A perfectly distributed one along my spine
Reminds me of the swing my grandpa built,
And how I fell from it on the concrete the day he was buried.
He is gone, but the scar that I got from the swing he built, it is not.

One on my arm, hidden beneath a tattoo,
A reminder, that my cat Molly does not like vacuums.
She only had to let me know this once,
But I remember it always.

My left leg depicts very faintly what was once the topic on every passer-by’s lips
‘She was in a motorbike accident’.
But you see; now I know that braking on a loose patch of gravel will in fact, not slow you down,
But have quite the opposite effect.
I don’t know much about physics, but I know this.

Both of my thighs, once sliced open just like a knife to flesh
As ****** up as I was, the alcohol wouldn’t numb this one,
Throbbing, burning, gushing blood as I swam for eternity back to shore
But I still remember the view of the sunrise from that rock, the perfect front row seat
I also still remember that rock, and it’s perfectly jagged edges.

On my wrist, a small bump
Riding waves is fun but I now always keep in mind that we share our ocean,
I’m sure my jelly-fish encounter was as unpleasant for him as it was for me,
And despite being wrapped in foam from my neck to my ankles,
He sure was tactical, and I live to tell his tale

I have scars

But some of them you can’t see
All of them have a story,
A lesson,
A memory.
All of them are me.

— The End —