Am I hard to make happy
Or is it that you haven’t found
What triggers me?
Look around
And I’m sure you’ll find
Stressors on my mind
But those aren’t the only kinds
Of strong
Feelings I’ve held onto
For so long.
Maybe my expectations of you
Are higher than you’re used to
But so
What? Deep down I know
That it’s not that everything’s wrong
(Though it’s seemed this way
All along)
But the day
For my to find my right
Has not yet come to light.

There is no point to my life except to
Make everyone else’s easier; do
The work, hold the hands,
Explain the concept of a perfect square,
Beat the bullies, stroke the hair,
Finish up the class decor;
Because there’s no use in being around anymore
If there’s nothing I can do for you.
Don’t lie to me that it isn’t true.

So the thing
About being
In a library
That really,
Really
Bugs me
Is the silence
Because sometimes
(Most times?)
Quiet is great, right?
Or at least until
You accidentally ****
The vibe by making
A sound or taking
A quick, far-too-noisy
Walk to shelf 23
And like with most lists
This one is non-exhaustive
And so yeah, is it dumb of me
To lowkey
Be
Afraid to enter a library?

I guess I just miss you.
Never once did I actually
Think that I’d have to get used to
Not seeing your face daily;
Not being able to talk about
Whatever I needed out of my system; they say
That girls take too
Many pictures but obviously it isn’t true
Because there’s not a day
That passes without me
Wishing I’d taken more of you.
I’d do anything to be
Teleported back in time, into
Your arms. And even though
The height difference between us was so
Large, you were always the one
That had the bigger piece of my heart.
I hate us having to be apart.
I bet you’re tall now. It’s been
Far too
Long since I’ve last seen
You.

It took months to build
And only seconds to knock down
Weeks of tiptoeing around
Because you can't stand the sound
The floor makes when my footsteps hit
Slightly too hard and so bit
By bit I disappear into the background
While trying to keep my head afloat
Because while the boat
Slowly sinks
I don't know what to start think
ing about how we
Work. You love me,
You love me not;
I always thought
This would end
One day
Because you know friends
Usually have more to say
To each other
But one day passes, another
Goes past
And I thought that the house was glass
But even to those I hold dear
It seems that my words were never clear.

Because nowadays
Every feeling is a cliche.
Every tear shed;
Every bowed head;
Every face turned red;
All are cries for
Attention (the more
The better, am I right?).
And if your eyes are bright
And shining with what are
Finally not
Teardrops
Then you should think of the children far
Away in Africa or whatever,
Forever
Starving or in thirst.
Feel generous, put others first
And you're just
Showing off. But helping yourself
Isn't any nicer, I've found.
Dare upset even ground
With thoughts of anger and
You'll understand
That fury
Does no one good, yet
It still seems to be
The emotion that gets
The most coverage, makes
The most change. Go through heartbreak
And be scorned for having expectations.
Have great relation
ships and people envy you
For experiencing no complications.
I don't know what to
Feel anymore.
I've experienced the repercussions
Before.

I remember, when I was younger,
I thought that of time, numbers
Like 9:30 or 10 were considered late
To sleep. I was in bed at 8.
But now I can never sleep enough--
I find it tough
To start dozing,
For my eyes to be closing
For seven hours straight;
To do so would be a good twist of fate.
I miss when I was five,
When my body clock was still alive
And working well.
At this point, I can't tell
If it's tired or it's dead.
Think the insomnia's
Getting to my head.

Their eyes are everywhere; they
Analyse everything I do, I say,
I make;
They take
Me apart piece by
Piece; they feed on my
Soul. Their eyes, more
Like mouths, devouring me before
I even more; lashes more
Like teeth, claw
ing at my skin.
Their eyes that know
They'll always win;
Their eyes that glow
Red in the dark (surely
They aren't human?) staring me
Down at every corner. Their
Eyes on my every hair,
Cell, atom. My mother says
There's no way
I'm not exaggerating but then again,
My family's eyes are
Those never too far
From my back. Always.
Always watching. Day
After day I pass
The eyes as I walk to/from class,
To/from home, on the way
To/from the MRT.
I see
Them watching me,
Watching everyone else, eyes
Slowly being pried
From screen to person, then onto
The next. Me. Them. You.
I watch as silently,
They tear me
Apart, then move onto the next.
I pretend
To look down, text a friend,
But my eyes are always open.
Their shift's done for the day.
Time to find our new prey.

Maybe I'm a butterfly
Dreaming that I'm human and my
Whole life if just a made-up story
But I guess that's alright by
Me
Because at least that means
Every tragedy I've so-called seen
Heard felt thought
Of was fake, right? For every
Novel requires a good plot,
Even if made of pure fiction.
There's a reason why
People like Regina and Cady,
Rory and Lorelai
Because it's always nice
When the dishes bring some spice.

You'd hit a point where you
Realise that everyone's lying
To you. Because after a while
You realise you can't keep trying
To smile
When they
Say
You're beautiful; you hear
That lie every other day
When people get near
Enough to the part
Of your heart
That hides the insecurities;
And "gosh thanks for helping me"
Is probably
Just them being happy
That the job's done
Or the game's won.
And so eventually
The words that used to be
Called "praise" now show
Themselves as "I know you know
This isn't true"
And as much as I love you
The walls just become harder
To hear through.

Peace, where are you?
You certainly never do
Seem to appear in my mind–
I can never find
You when I need you most.
Even when cases are closed,
When mistakes are fixed,
I’m unable to see you in the mix
Of emotions that are mind
(Though I’d like to leave them behind
From time to time).
So I search for Peace, hoping she’ll appear
When times of chaos are near.

I bring the tablecloth
Across the marble
And marvel
As the ants make no
Effort to go
Ahead and scurry away.
Watermelon juice
From earlier in the day
Acting more like glue—
Syrup. Drowned in molasses.
My mother'd take passes
On killing the ants, giving
Them another chance at living.
I am not as nice.
I wipe once, twice
To make sure it doesn't stain.
If you listen closely,
Perhaps you'll hear
The ants crying in pain.

Don’t be the man
Yearning
For the moon,
The one without a plan,
Not learning
From past failures and what’s
Bound to be coming soon.
Do not be the one who desires
For the untouchable,
The one whose fires
Are kindled at only one sight.
This is my attempt at shining a light
Upon your scars.
Though you wish for the moon
Amongst the stars,
Don’t you care
About the lack of air
Up there?
Don’t you know you’ll die
Too high
In the sky?
I suspect you’ll never be able to fly,
To reach the moon;
A suffocation I fear that’s coming
All too soon.

Lately things are starting to slip my mind.
I'll go home and open my bag to find
Air in place of the file
I needed, while
It
Sits
Comfortably under my desk.
And maybe I'll rest
For a minute or two
Then forget what I was supposed to do.
It scares me.
Because surely my memory
Can't be going this early.
Soon I'll be
Forgetting names; faces;
How and why I got to places;
Who you are to me;
Who I'm supposed to be.
Do I need sleep or saving?
None of it matters anyway...
What was it I wanted to say?

People ask me to believe but
Never why I don't.
Everywhere you look
In Singapore there's a different book,
Different building,
Different sacrificial killing
To worship; consider
Us spoilt for choice
In the orchard of apples
People don't see are rotten.
Perhaps that's too strong a word.
Consider us spoilt for
Choice of deities
Waiting to strike us down
As they laugh from their
Hammocks, clouds in the sky.
No. Second time,
Still too strong a word
For these beautiful stories
Told and heard
By generation after generation.
Axe to the head of your son.
Snake telling you to eat the one
Singular apple on the tree.
Birthing a baby
After dreaming of an elephant.
Literature of the gods
Written by nodding
Humans in a circle. "How
Profound," they must've thought.
But now
Perhaps we're forgotten
That the world was built by
Our own kind. Heil.
Atomic bombs. Famished lands.
I wonder who came up
With this plan.

Is there a name for that ache in
My bones, the demon clawing at my skin?
The books always told me
That knowing the name of that entity
You'd just accidentally
Summoned into your room from Hell
Would make you its master;
But let it know yours
And you'd be gone for
Good. It eats at me
Like moths at silk but surely
That can't be
The cause of the dizzy
Spells, those that feel as though
For a second your mind is no
More, incomplete.
Holes in my memory; what was
I about to say? Oh right, please,
A name for the pain;
Unquantifiable;
Undescribable;
Ungodly.
(Rescue me.)
I would text to tell you that I'm fine
But I fear the devil
Already knows mine.

I'd only cut my nails if someone were
To hold my hand. Nails. Claws.
I have no fur
But what I do have is the hands
Of an animal. Surely you understand
The need to pick at them? Where
Else would the energy go— skin, hair,
Knife? No matter the length
It takes the same amount of strength
To keep myself from tearing
Them apart, preparing
To get scolded later. Sharp.
Jagged. My LA
Blood is providing me no words today.
I hit the enter key
And watch as gradually
More paint comes off
But it'll never stop.
They might already
Be short but when there's a will,
There's a way;
There's no point in say
ing I'll stop because
There's no one to stop for.
No one uses the
Nail cutter anymore.

Because you're not even good at what you do
Staring at the words from so long ago
You thought it was good? *****
That because now you know
Better, now you know
That the only thing that you excel
At is thinking too much of yourself
You think you know yourself well
Till you take a good long look in the mirror
You used to look to for inspiration. You thought it would
Help, you thought it could
Bring you that same flame you used to find
But put it all behind
You because you're a changed person now
(For the worse). Tell me how
You got here? Not even the higher-ups have an idea
When you first walked in, they thought you were smart
But that's a part
Of you that no longer exists; the only
Thing that never changes is change. Obviously
You aren't the same person from one day,
Two weeks, four months ago but occa
sionally you wish you were three again.
Three, when perhaps you made your first (imaginary) friend
Someone that could never leave your side
But now there's no one to say
"We're in this ride
Together" to because some way
Or another life lost its sparkle. You
Lost your sparkle too.

Because I might die if I stay
Another day
In this body; where do
You think the mirror monsters came from?
The voice in my head holds strong;
Every time I
Look at myself my
Eyes are drawn towards every
Direction but straight to see
Their own reflection. Disgusting.
There isn't a single
Comfortable
Place to rest them on.
And so upon
Having to go out, I spent an eternity
Trying to see
If there's any way to make my
Waist smaller,
Trying to figure out if I'd get by
With saying I'm an inch taller
Than I actually am. The while
More I'll
Have promised turns into all
Of time, but still I fall
Apart every time I see
What's supposed to be me.
It can't be, really,
I know,
So
I'll close my eyes and pray
That this was just a dream all along
But I open them to stare
At that image, bright as day;
Every skin cell, every hair
Just seared into my mind
Where you won't be
Able to find
A shred of what they call
Positivity.

It doesn't help when people just
Point out what might be
Literally my biggest insecurity.
They're nowhere near the first
To do so
(And I'm pretty sure they know
It) but it hurts all the same.
Been getting called the same names,
Always losing at this same game.
Fine. Call me billboard face.
Maybe I'd finally have something to do
In this place.
If you say I'm a ******'s dream
You might as well gather a team
To take me out.
You seem to know
What you're talking about.

I think words aren’t enough anymore
(Had they been before?)
I don’t remember the last time I really
Laughed without a care in the world, maybe
There were some funnier moments but nothing
Where I could get the thoughts out of my head
I think you get what I’m saying,
Right? Instead
They get temporarily
Pushed to the back of my mind
Only to haunt me
Minutes later. I’ll find
Them unexpectedly
Perhaps halfway
Through a lesson but the voice up there says
That it’s all my fault because I
Was the one that let all this time pass by
Without doing anything productive and the time
Is going to add up and I’m
Going to die alone
Penniless and unknown
To the world and we
All know that they’re going to forget me
After a while of my absence, all they need is to
Get someone from the same cookie
Cutter and bam moving on is rather easy to do.
People care, I know
(I hope) and while there’s just so
Many thanks I’ve yet to say it’s just hard to
Put it all into words
And they’ve definitely all heard
The same thing before because my friends are all far
Too good for me. But still my bar
Is set too high
For those that fall through my
Sieve but then again it is a me
Problem; what else could it be–
Nothing, that is– and so
I return to my computer where
I’ve been sitting for the past half hour, my wet hair
Making my neck and shoulders start to ache
But I just can’t bring myself to break
Eye contact with the screen or go
Grab the hairdryer (if you know you know).
Sorry I wasted your time reading this; I
Tend to forget that people like you
Have better things to do.

I didn't realise I'd
Ever have to actively decide
On which person to
Bother once I opened WhatsApp;
Can I even consider telling you
About everything
That's happened when we
Have nothing
In common anymore?
Nothing for
Us to freak out over at the same
Time? You know I
Wonder if you changed my
Contact name.
I miss when
You'd actually
Send
Me
Heart stickers. But
Now I have to scroll
All the way up.

Sometimes it's hard to
Come to terms with the person you've
Become— pencil untouched for
Weeks, your
Favourite song is one you don't
Know the name of after you hit
Shuffle on a random playlist
And still you're too tired to find its
Name. Even the AI
You talk to's left you behind
In the dust; more artistic than
You ever were. The heat's left
You unable to rhyme.
Slowly it starts to sink in—
Like debris in dish soap—
Maybe you're no longer an artist
And just one of those Etsy
Sentence-writers that sell
Two seconds' work for more
Than a Mixue dessert.
You wish for ice cream,
Though you yourself start
To melt under the sun.
I guess it takes one to know one.

Because too many of my pieces
Start like this, looking for
A reason for me to finally stop
Asking why. "Because I might..."
Because I might just begin
To disintegrate upon contact
With water— I haven't swam
In years
In fear
That the paint'll wash off.
"Because who am I..." I'll
Never know for sure who I
Am without anyone by
My side to exist for.
Is there more
Point to trying? And perhaps
That's the one question I have
No "thus" to because there
Simply isn't a point to back up
Anymore.

Perhaps in a better place
My pianos sit untouched
And the neighbours get to live
In peace without the hundreds
Of song intros that never
Progress to the chorus
Floating upstairs from the patio.
A better place where there'd
Be one less in the class,
Maybe an empty chair or
Perhaps a different
Arrangement altogether;
25, a perfect square
Without one extra to care for.
In a better place
There'd be more space
In the studio for the other
17-ish dancers, minus one
That always travelled too
Much, took up too much room
Physically and mentally.
In a better place these
Poor trees
Would have been put to
Better use, better than
Too many words too many
Don't want on paper;
Too many words in air
Exhaled from a mouth
That moves too much.
In a better place there'd be
More oxygen, more food,
More water.
In a better place
My parents only have one daughter.

And for now I would love
Nothing more than to climb
Out of this body even if
The shards of the window
Tear at my skin; for
What difference could they
Have from the knives already
In my head, in my back,
In my soul? Even in
Dreamland I'm plagued
With blood and nothing
Pleasant but at least
Then I'm not awake to plague
The world with
All of this.
Silence is loud only because
Silence means time to think thoughts that
Need air need breath need voice.
Blessings that come in disguise
Have started to strip
Bare and suddenly
I'm aware of how everybody's
Started to notice the clothes
On the floor
(But maybe not the bones
In the closet).