Every time I walk into the line I can only hope to run into you like I've  done before.
Your smile brightens up my day and
In your conversation I could forever stay.
Will you be my Starbucks lover?
We could grab some coffee and lattes,
talk about our lives and mistakes.

Cause I want to be the peppermint to your mocha, the pumpkin spice to your latte, the caramel to your macchiato.
We could compliment each other.
I just want your sweet company and I'll wait in line patiently.

it took a second for titanic to hit an iceberg

it took 24 hours to sum up your day

it will take a few minutes to make your caramel macchiato drink

it will take you a second or two to finish up your lightened cigarette

and it will only take a minute to brighten up someone else's day

but how long will it take me to accept the fact that you're no longer mine....

maybe in days, weeks, months or a year
I don't know....

but i know in time, I will

I must’ve known you in a past life
You feel so familiar
Even when I didn’t know that I knew you
I knew
There was something in the way
The warmth radiated from your skin
Caramel macchiato I drank you in
The baritone of your laugh
You were so familiar
Yet we had just met
Your silhouette
Was one I had seen before
But not in this lifetime
Were you mine in another one?
Slipping through my fingers like silk
Always one grasp away
But you’re never gone
The way you remain like the rain
Soaking grass in spring
And I’m thirsty for you
For endless nights talking in darkness
Till light came in again
And never running out of words
But even as we spoke it felt so deja vu
Don’t I already know you?
How do you know me so well?
Like your code is written into my cells,
I feel you on a molecular level
Your soul intertwined in mine
But never fully actualized in this timeline
Years and years come and go
But your “aww” and chuckle never fade,
I hear it like you smiled that way you do
Like it was yesterday
Time a construction that doesn’t function
In the realities in which I know you
I have known you
You’ve been mine and I yours
In lifetimes before
In present, eyes closed I manifest
My me’s and your you’s
Subconscious whispers traveling
Through time and space
Dimensions unknown
But I know
It’s you and you know
It’s me too.

The first sip they say
Takes your breath away
And so it did
As I lifted the lid
Again to my smiling lips
The liquid falls and drips
But my mind is elsewhere
Thinking of a moment I share
With only you
Just us two

It's been a year since I wrote my last poetry.
You can tell, how sad,
how uninspired,
how broke,
how am I such in deep, deep sorrow.

I always see myself as a nomad,
I always up to a new place, and new adventure.
then why when I need to move from Singapore,
I can't stop the tears.

I live on 40th floor of an HDB near Holland Village.
The market where I always buy my roasted chicken rice
and my teh-peng is only 3 mins walking distance.

If I need to go to my University, I will need to walk around 5 mins to the bus stop and catch bus number 74.
It's not that efficient because the bus will go along Buona Vista and Dover. But I don't really mind because I love sitting on the bus, listening to my playlist and let my mind wander.

I'm taking Marketing Degree from SIM Global University, one of the Top Private University in Singapore.
I will never forget the classes, the lecturers, my friends from all across Asia, my Indonesian friends, the canteen, and of course the projects and exams.
I will never forget that around 3 pm, me and my friends will go directly to the canteen on the Blok B and buy Kopi Peng together.
Oh, and sometimes we also buy chicken-popcorn and chicken-seaweed.

Around 8 pm, if we haven't finished our project, we will directly go to Holland Village, and chope seat on Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf.
We will stay there- sometimes just to hang out and laugh together and sometimes we really really concentrate to finish our project until 2 am.
I still remember there was a moment when I'm really stressed out with project, and I cannot smile anymore.
With my oversized tee, shorts and hoodie, I go to the barista there, ordering iced Caramel Macchiato,
He tells me, "would you smile if I give you marshmallow?"
I smiled, and he gave me a cup full of mini marshmallows.

Sometimes, when I got no money left, I will order the small cup of iced caramel macchiato. but he free-upsized me, and I will still get the regular ones.
I miss when the life was so good to me.

My friend and I have our favorite diner, Char-grill Bar that has the best Chicken chop and teh-peng.
I swear until now, I still miss the taste of it.

I'm not a club-kinda-gal. I prefer bars.
So when I want to get a little tipsy, and I want to get a nice beer and talk,
We will go to ******* or the other local bars.

There was those time, when my friends and I feeling active, we will rent a bike around Changi,
but most of the time we prefer went to Starbucks and gossiping for hours.

There is a Bingsoo place behind Bugis Junction that opens for 24 hours. Usually, after we study on the National Library near that place, we will grab something cheap to eat. Then have a long break at the Bingsoo place for a nice chat before we take Uber to get home.

I once joined the Dragon Boat team from my University, well it only lasted for maybe 2 or 3 meetings until I gave up.
But for around 2 years I was the Student Representative of my University. So I lead the Campus Tour and go to Secondary Schools around Singapore to promote my University.

I will never forget the rainy days,
when I don't need to go to a class, I will curl up in my bed, ordering McWings and Iced Milo from McDonalds, or Swiss Shroom from FatBoy's, watch a lot of romantic comedies or youtube, and not showering the whole afternoon.
or when I have class on that day, I will run with my navy blue umbrella and navy blue slippers to catch the bus.

I have a member card on the Gardens by the bay, I always spend my alone time there,
or if not, I will be on the top of the Esplanade, where I can see the panorama of Singapore.
from the very left side, you will catch the Singapore Flyer,
then in the middle, you will see the Singapore Art Science Museum and Marina Bay Sands, Singapore's CBD Area, then the Merlion, the majestic Fullerton Hotel, lastly it is the Esplanade.

Almost every single day I go to the mall.
I don't why, but me and friends always, always go to the mall to watch movies or rent PlayStation, or I don't know- sometimes we just have nothing to do, and just hanging out together.

I was living in Singapore for 3 years.
Singapore gave me a heartbreak that I never forget;
Best-friends and a lot of friends that I cherish;
A new opportunity that gave me a life lesson;
A love that I know it is true;
A home that I can never imagine;
Memories that I can never forget;
A life lesson that God wants me to learn;
and a very grateful heart that my God is my provider, as He never ever leaves me.

I will never forget that I always have my pocket knife in my hand, especially when I walk alone in the dark.
I will never forget the friends it gave me,
I will never forget how frustrating it is to have no one by my side to count on,
I will never forget the city lights that I see from my window.
I will never forget that it all so beautiful.

well, Life goes on whether we choose to stay or not.

I will never forget those moments,
those routines,
that I thought it would last forever.
Well, like The Wise Man said,
"All good things must come to an end."

P.S
9th January 2018
10:41
*(Singapore Time)

Don’t date people who drink coffee.

But especially don’t date people who claim they love coffee
then drown it in sugar and cream.

Those are the ******* that will break your heart.
They claim they love coffee and then they manipulate it
until it’s something they can tolerate.
They don’t love coffee at all. They like sickening sweet sugar water.
They like pretending to love coffee.

The sort of person who goes to Starbucks every morning and demands a
Venti,
Non-Fat,
No Foam,
Sugar Free with extra ice and three pumps of hazelnut
is the sort of person who will slowly find every quirk that makes you who you are
and destroy it to fit their lifestyle.

Half calf with a twist
As the line stands
Thinking she is a superimposed *****
Foregoing on

Barista
Waist like an elastic band
Hair waving hello in it’s pinkness
Homeless man coming in
Screaming
Obscenities
Something about Romans and Euripides
As if in a round about
Circle the store like a hovered cloud
Then out again

The rocker dude sipping his tea
The older man in the corner
Who constantly leaves
Wandering where one can’t see
Trailing behind his laptop and keys
Somewhere in this madness loop
Latte’s and Macchiato's brew
And I
With a child's flair
Take it all in, while I throw back my hair

Starbucks barista
Beautiful brown *******
3.70?

                  Yes.

Saturday Morning -
It's a little cloudy,
It's a little windy.

Text: We're going to get brunch
So get ready.
Thoughts: I'm hungry! It's getting late
and we have to go to a birthday party.
Baby. hurry!

Menu: I can't have anything heavy,
Me and my girlfriend were out yesterday.
To the lady: Strawberry crepes for me, please,
I'll also have a caramel macchiato, and...
Can you add a Perrier? Thanks.

Across the table: What is this moment?
It's not butterflies, there's no knots in my stomach.
I think it's love...it's definitely happiness...
This is straight out of a movie...

No, nothing speacial happened.
It was just a cloudy Saturday morning
But there was enough Sun to hit our window,
And I just couldn't believe
I was living that moment.

caramel macchiato flavored coffee with mint cigarette flavored kisses with your dreamboat lover is the quintessence of what i call "perfection".  if there was a way to describe the way your lips feel against mine, i could only describe it as "cigarettes and coffee".  cigarettes and coffee isn't simply consuming caffeine or inhaling tobacco in your lungs, it's sitting on the roof at 1 am looking at the stars with a blanket around the both of you.  it's laying in the grass with a slight breeze blowing making smoke rings between the arduous kisses.  it's simply sipping a vanilla latte on the corner of a new york city street with a cigarette in your hand, making swirls of smoke as more ash forms above the filter,  looking like some sort of bohemian gods. it's walking along a deserted sidewalk in your black jeans and doc martens with a big t-shirt and coke bottle sunglasses on with your lover on your hip and your menthol in one hand and philter in another.  "cigarettes and coffee" is whatever you can interpret as pure bliss; it's simply whatever makes you happy and whatever makes you want to sit in the grass all night and talk about anything and everything.  there's a lot of people that would argue there's no beauty to the feel of tobacco in your lungs and arabica in your mouth, but evidently, they've never tried cigarettes and coffee.

The Vanilla Bean Frappuccino,
who brings chills down my spine every time.
Sweet on the inside, cold-hearted on the outside,
Especially when he leaves me high and dry
in the morning unexpectedly.
He’ll remind me that I’m alive,
And make me feel Zen for a split second,
Then he splits in a second.
Or
The Caramel Macchiato,
Tall with a sophisticated smile
And unrealistically hazel eyes
That read “bello” around his irises.
With a shot of expression—
He’s never afraid to speak how he feels.
But that’s just the Italian in him.
Or
The Pumpkin Spice Latte,
The most popular guy.
He’ll warm me up when I’m cold;
And make me feel like I’m his only one,
He’ll tell me everything I want to hear,
Then he’ll disappear without a sign—
At least until the next year,
Only to continue the same cycle over again.
Or
The Cappuccino,
He’s got a strong mind
like those French roast blends
With a secret soft side.
He speaks with fluidity and is
As charismatic as the rest.
He’s a morning person nonetheless,
And won’t leave me loveless
In the sheets like Mr. Vanilla Bean sometimes does.
Or
The Teavana Chai Tea Latte
He sounds fancy, does he not?
He’s different to say the least,
Layered with many spices,
And from cinnamon trees,
He’s warm-hearted, yet feisty.
Gentle, yet fatuously energetic.
Soft spoken, yet bold,
He doesn’t have to do much
To have me sold to his trance.

Now for me to decide what I want
As more people file in, deliberating the same
Line up as I, but they have more to
Choose from.
Perhaps I should loosen up some, and go
With last one.

I've always been cold until I visited the Far East and you pranced into my life like a wild gazelle in the grasslands. I've always been cold until you laid your head on my chest while you fell asleep and the aroma of your cocoa brown hair intoxicated me to the point of snores and the most pleasant dreams I've ever had. I've always been cold until you wrapped your arm around my stomach and I could feel your veins circulating on the contours of my abdomen. I've always been cold until you looked at me with your macchiato eyes and my state of matter went from solid to liquid as I tried to construct myself back together like an artist sculpting an ice statue outside in the middle of May in Mexico. I've always been cold until your kiss electrified my lips like an underwater eel and I felt 12,000 watts circulate my body bringing to attention every cell that flows within my valves. I've always been cold like an iceberg near the Antarctic and nothing's ever changed that. Nothing except for you. Thank you for being my fireplace in the middle of an ice cold winter. Thank you for being my heat.

The breaking warmth over the morning glow.
The caramel macchiato which remind me of her love.
Her stress filled tears, do so bring me fury.
Her radiate smile, endless dreams.
Her heart, wishful happiness.

Black coffee in a white cup
Half awaken for a new day.
Coffee without sugar to sweeten
Day spring arise sad in one January day.

Coffee with friends at noon
To embroilment stubborn world.
Dusk coffee associated with tobacco
To **** troubles and have fun
Up to lunacy.

One coffee, two coffee, three coffee
To **** grieving
When you are desperate
Dark coffee, macchiato, espresso
To celebrate defeated King’s victory.

I burnt my tongue a week ago--
Too much of scalding coffee and lies [on your part],
But I swallowed it with a couple of anti-depressants
I have forgotten how creamy, toffee powdered mocha tastes like and your lips,
They used to taste like macchiato, as time passed by,
                                                                ­         Maple leaves drizzled autumn, burst into slashing icy winter,
Your lips started tasting like black coffee, like tar, most of the days it’s only a figure of speech,
Warning sign blinking all day long in my head, when I can’t hold it in my fingers,
When it’s escaping out of my grasp, ready to run, making space for the sugary vanilla layer
But then there are days, when you find your way back underneath my sheets,
My duvet, the only witness, sadly silent all too similar to my will power screaming inside my head,
And here are you fictious sentences, framed with such precise,
Knocking down all the walls I tried to built, leading to defeat,
                                                                ­                     Holding me chained like a slave.
All my fury fueled sentences burn like fire, vengeful riff of an electric guitar within my mind,
When your fingers encircle me, rough nibs of your lips on the nape of neck, palm tracing lies on my tailbone
All the fire drowns in crafted lies, ashes of my dignity scattered, a bleak watered down-
                                                           ­                    Note of a single string as the soundtrack of my misery.
I burnt my tongue last night--
Too much of your blazing skin and lies but I spitted it all out,
This brittle heart not so brittle anymore heated at 1,300*c, on the kiln again and again-
                                                          ­                                                   To form an everlasting nature.
Arteries have clotted, hatred burning bright within, lungs suffocating starving for oxygen and blood,
Like the dragon breathes fire, I’ll breathe out the scathing curses; and leave with my dignity intact
Barely responding to all your shameless deeds.

the sky over london
fingertips in a dark theatre
vintage clothing
november 19 - 22
a starbucks double-shot macchiato
the taste of toothpaste
canada
the sadness of missing the 7.30am snow
an empty hotel corridor
secret ***
a reflection (in a camera lens, the windows of the metro, the mirror opposite your bed)
old style rap
a hand to hold in an ice-skating rink
a sad boy
the only ******* thing i can think of

Sat in Coffee shop, latte in my hand
Watching people queuing, time turning to sand.
The server takes your order, writes your name upon the cup.
The Barista makes your order, then serves it up.
The server calls your name over a microphone.
Chocolate sprinkles, marshmallows, flake bars and pretty stuff, adorning the top.  
Workmen in their high viz, ordering macchiato to go.
Watching the clock tick tock, tick tock, 15mins is all they've got.
Business women in sharp suits and heels, ordering double espresso.
Watching the clock tick tock, tick tock, 10mins is their lot.
Mothers and their children enjoying babycino.
Watching the clock tick tock, tick tock, waiting for the hour hand to reach the top.
I sit taking it easy, watching the world rush by hoping that something miraculous will catch my curious eye.
Something hot & steamy.
Something with a froth on top.
You never know what you may find in your local coffee shop.

Writing gets way more personal
Imagination moves at full speed
No anxiety
Every part of my body feels like it is in a jacuzzi

Caramel Macchiato flavor
Overwhelming feelings are at a standstill
Family is more tolerable
Friends are more entertaining
Early mornings are the best time to be outside
Enjoying the sunrise

Problems find solutions
Off days turn out to be the biggest blessings
Eerie thoughts are heard
Time does not exist
Raw and unfiltered
You learn a little more about yourself with each poem that you write

I'm the faded old photograph tucked away between pages of the romantic novel you read in high school.

I'm the smell of the coffee beans that greets you while you sip a latte macchiato on a rainy evening with your newfound love.

I'm the lyrics of a song you sing no more,
I'm the high you get from the pills you take
to drive the loneliness away.

I was there, I am here
and I will be
a part of everything that you've ever touched to your lips
or laid your eyes upon.

Every city that you breathe in,
the winds will bring my name to me.

And if not my name,
at least give to me the sigh that escapes your lips
when you feel alone in a room full of people

When you'd hold the glass of 1973 Chavignol between your fingers
like you once held my hand
I hope the color of your wine
reminds you of the color of my amber eyes
but ah! where would you find the depth.

I'd live in every second your watch ticks by,
every mile you drive out of the town where we lay beneath the ink sky and  those million stars
and made memories through the night.

Sometimes, you grow. Get over people.

But you'd never get over how they made you feel.

That's how they stay,
Like the after taste of something you ate.

And no amount of alcohol could make you forget it.

I am like a cup of coffee
The black coffee is my soul
the cup is my body
the hot temperature is my love
the steam rising are my dreams
The sugar is my friends
the cream is my family
Leave me out too long
I start to get cold
re-heating me is like giving me a hug
reminding me that I am not alone
The spoon is my soulmate
I need him to mix the flavors
Whip cream is the blessings
I receive on a daily basis
The sprinkles on top are milestones I have reached
the scent is my voice for when I sing and when I speak
Vanilla is my favorite holidays
Chocolate is my birthday
Raspberry is my laughter
Macchiato is my sad days
Pumpkin Spice is my comfort
Peppermint is my kisses
Lattes are my poetry
Cappuccinos are my tears
Every flavor is another part of me you have to get to know first in order to like
Irish Creme is my hello
Hot chocolate is my goodbye
I am brewed every minute of everyday
I am well loved by everybody
I can warm you up and make you feel alive
just like a cup of coffee

mornings become   afternoons
   become nights
two   jobs     I juggle
     just so I can say
   fresh   money in my   purse
     for things I do/don't need
a mahogany     umbrella stand
gorging     bottles of beer
     chest of     drawers
   from that vintage store

     guy at the window
fancies a macchiato
   any second now
   whatshisname     from the bank
   loose tie yet   again
will come in
     expect an     espresso
not in the mood
   only   thinking
     about   rent this month
     some dude     last night
clattered into me
a drunken   haze of words
    sticky kiss   on my fringe
    slapped him     so he grabbed me
   rectangular ****
migraine like     Vesuvius

     clean a table
   know he's looking at me
     turn   around
hides     behind the Times
latte latte latte
     chuck it over some   Asian’s lap
sorry   about that
   I'll get you another     one
so not with it
   all I can     see
spread out as items
     at a flea     market
snow umbrella
rent   ***
   book kiss
milk     orange
     blood   money
alone
coffee

Rainy days and Mondays
Piloting my car like a
river boat captain
on a shiny Mississippi
It is morning but still dark
an eye dropper of blue has
been added to the sky
and what was once black
has now slowly spread to purple
A purple macchiato in the atmosphere

I pass by a convenient store
It looks like an oasis in the dark rain
Soft blue lights reflecting on wet asphalt, illuminated marquee
an old cinematographer trick  

This is my time
This is where I live
This is me.
My true self
before,
I am stained by work

I am not here
very often anymore
I am far too busy
staying under the covers
listening to the monsters
growling from under my bed
and by my bed, I mean my mind
how cliché is that?

I am usually in
my car, my broke ***
big red SUV that needs
its AC recharged and
a shift solenoid replaced
and it’s good that I can’t
lock the doors because
I don’t have the key

And I think that’s pretty
corny but accurate way
of describing who I am
I have the means to get
it all going but I lack
the self-control, the
the tools to keep it all in
and to keep myself safe
one day it’ll all come spilling out and
it’ll be all my fault

I make friends with rocks easier
than with people,
and I’d rather hang out with my
dog than with my friend
who I love and haven’t seen in months
because it’s easier
I’d give anything to be able
to take my pets with me to the grocery store

I don’t know how to love
human beings
--I only know how
to fear them, or
to pine after them from far
away
instead of interacting

I don’t have any little nuggets of wisdom
for you—I’m a borderline, a recovering nihilist,
I have spirits for friends and I worship
old gods shrouded in mystery
I wish I had a gender to cling to
and I wish that I could feel loved
by other humans

my boyfriend and I always fight
because I’m so insecure
because I’m borderline
because I have PTSD
I’ve spent 20 years trying to
cope with untreated mental illness
and a million past traumas

although I’m scared of losing him,
although the things he does
bother me because I’m scared
of how different we are,
I love him more than anything
But I’m afraid he loves me more than I
love him

because when it comes down to it,
I think that I still feel
more connected to
my little black mouse, Coffee Beans,
my temperamental python, Macchiato,
my dog, Joy,
than I ever can feel to him
to humanity

I never learned how to be a person
I was too busy trying to figure
out what I did to make my parents hate me
or how to stay safe from their rage
or how to make friends,
or keep them

too busy pretending that
the terror I lived in was normal
that my parents never hit me
so their screaming insults and
gaslighting shouldn’t touch me
pretending that she’s right—

I’m just a drama queen
and mothers are allowed to
call their daughters names
and punish them for crying
mothers are allowed to
make their daughters feel
so worthless as to be subhuman

I never got to become a person
I was only a mirror image of their abuse
waiting for my life to start
so that I could have friends, so that
I could have a name
and likes
and a style
and, maybe,
someone to love me

and now
I have a car, and although
I can’t afford the gas
I’m comforted by the thought
that I gave something akin
to freedom now
that I can go to the store and
buy food that isn’t filthy and rotted
that I could jump in and drive away
and never come back
if I needed to do that  
and one day I will

Your love was sweet,
like cotton candies on festival nights,
So sweet and weird and quirky all at the same time.

But when I tasted your lies it was sweeter than the cotton candy I had before,
So sweet that it hurts my teeth.

When I left you,
It's like the macchiato we always have,
bittersweet.

I came to Barnes Noble
to feel like a writer,
believing that my proximity to books
would anoint me
kinda in the way
hugging a good-smelling friend
makes you a part of them
if only for a while.
I'll take that...
smelling like a great wordsmith
If just for the time
I rub against them.

                                 So I sit in the museum of
                                 colorful covers
                                 and barcodes
                                 channeling Billy Collins
                                 or Susan Wheeler
                                 (maybe Dr. Suess)
                                 glowing with empowerment,
                                 while my ostentatious
                                 and somewhat snooty tablet
                                 stands arrogantly atop
                                 this cafe table
                                 in parallel unity
                                 with the Caramel Macchiato,
                                 because poets know
                                 Starbucks is Popeye's spinach
                                 for authors.

                                                                                   Then clumsy fingers
                                                                                   pound out
                                                                                   keyboard percussion
                                                                                   swelling into
                                                                                   a privilege of honor
                                                                                   that God would
                                                                                   love us enough
                                                                                   to give us words,

                                                                                   and people,

                                                                                   who will sustain us
                                                                                   in their admiration,
                                                                                   right or wrong.
Where the meager difference between
walking among giants or peasants
will only be known
after we are long gone.
                                              We write
                                                     not so that we are known
                                                            in this moment,
                                                                   but that we will be
                                                                          criticized by the future.

I pray I am hated more than you all
a thousand years from now.

There's beauty in every single
Person's point of view,
And lately I only see it when
I look at you.

I don't know
when or where or how
these thoughts came to be.
I only understand the feelings
When you're looking at me.

A look of comfort.
A look of hope.
A look of wonder.
Everything in the world
That makes my heart fluster.

Could it be the macchiato
eyes that leave
Me on the edge of my seat?
Or that smile that sweeps
Me completely off my feet?

It might be the laugh-
That I wouldn't deny loving
Even if I had to for a polygraph.

Or it might be your mind -
So open, so loving..
All the qualities that have
Men pushing and shoving.

You may not see a thing
That makes guys think
You're a cutie.
But, to me,
I'll always recognize
Your inner and outer
Beauty.

(20 minute poetry)

We are not at fault
not to blame
It's the tube and the bus
it's not us.

They will state that being late
is a state of mind over matter,

what's the matter with them?

at any rate when I am late I don't know why, but at this rate I'll be late
for my own funeral and I can cope
with that.

What's with being on time anyway?
there's no kudos to be gained
no holy grail
and if failure is inherent who hasn't
inherited?

I think I'll take my time
wander through the arcade
grab a macchiato to go
slowly

Waiting.

The old buzzard cursing his luck
what the ****?
he's lived long enough to get
over this stuff
and I'm betting the grim reaper is
getting his coat on for him.

Why should I worry about the hurry up?
slow down
be late
let the screwballs wait for me.

They don't rush when I'm pushed for time
they don't give a ****
so
in a bit when I've finished my drink, had a smoke then this old bloke
might think of moving on
or not as the case may be

absolutely most definitely
let the fukers
wait for me.