The lovely kids comforted me and never promised to pour rains on my key's day.
The kindness with calmness hinders sometimes.
The act was plain ,that l saw it coming.
There was no way for me to set out the fire,since l was still cooking.
The seasons spoke for me that all was going to be well.
Then l couldn't  take hid in total silence.
I tried,surely I tried and all was wasted efforts.
Since the breeze of the country was no more,
The bubbles with the spirit gave me boost.
They took me no way but to a mere finish line.
Would this karma say we won the race now?
Just a thing of the past  left behind.
Who would have the zeal to remember those lies now?
Just call them memories then.
We was riding so fast,February fourth jumped us out the emergency exit.
Yet this is another crush landing.
I've grown neither to cry nor say why.
I'd blame not August sixteenth for not signalling a may day.

you see i am very very hungry, so much in fact

i burp very weirdly, yeah i feel so weird

i burp loud and i burp soft when i have a nice cream bun or a nice beef nachos

and i feel like a nice packet of chocolate biscuits

ya know to have with my coca cola

i was watching ellen degenerous and i felt like eating the pie that went in the contestants face

yeah i feel like a bag of popcorn as well as choctop at the movies

because my mouth is burping very weirdly

i don’t want to have this burping feeling

i feel like a strawberry milk and i am fighting myself saying, no, i don’t need it

the strawberry milk says yes, i do, but i don’t want a strawberry milk, it’ll just make me fat

i wanna lose weight but the burping is making me want food, i want a nice chocolate bar

and i want a bag of marshmallows, i want to have more energy

so i can be a cool person, that i am,

i know the burping really is bugging me

and i do want it to stop, STOP, making me feel this way, i want to an artist and a writer and not an eater

please leave me alone strawberry milk and leave me alone chocolate biscuits, i don’t want to eat you

i feel like a chocolate biscuit, but then i say, i will grow fat, ya know keep the fat on me

i don’t want to be fat, i want to lose weight, so leave me alone ya ****** strawberry milk and coke

i want to feel fit in my mind, so i can write and be creative

please leave me alone, junk food, i don’t want to eat you

but the junk food gets in my mind and makes me smell the nice chocolate

i know coke used to be a medicine, but i don’t wanna drink ya

i like to have a healthy lifestyle, and i want to lose this burping because

it’s the medication making me wanna eat, like donuts and vanilla slices and cream buns

and dewok chinese stir fry’s and chocolate biscuits and chocolate desserts and strawberry milk

and a large bottle of coca cola, as my medicine, I DON’T WANT THAT

i had a garden salad for lunch as well as a few glasses of water

i hate being fat, so that means at 2-30 pm, i will go for another walk, whether i feel like it or not

because i must get rid of all this food from my body, so i don’t get diabetes

so if you feel fat, because you eat too much food, push yourself into walking

and walk a regular pace, so you don’t feel sluggish

no dead birds in the oven
no innards in the stuffing
nor fatty drippings to be scraped and poured

the smell of roasted veggies
wafts through  the wintry air
pumpkin and sweet potatoes
marshmallows  green beans  lentils
turnips  & collard greens
hashed browns & black-eyed peas
quinoa  sorghum cuscus hummus
carrots  leak  broccoli Romanescu
gumbo in southern regions
wild rice dishes in the north
tastily spiced with turmeric
cumin and baked paprika
Indian curry  soy sauce  chipotle
as well as with the usual suspects
of garlic  salt  and pepper
and whatever fits the taste of hosts

in short
a venerable feast to demonstrate
how nature feeds us a large cornucopia
of plants for our delight and sustenance

in short
no need to **** a bird

                * *

Salt+Pepper=Vinegar-Ketchup-Barbeque-Sour Cream+Onions

Mint+Lime=OneTequilaTwoTequilaThreeTequilaFloor

Br­ead+Mornings=Buttered Side+Lands Down

Potatoes+Oil=Burgers+Wings+Club Sandwiches

Milk+Chocolate=Nostalgia+Marshmallows

Freezer+Yoghur­t-Regrets=Dissatisfaction

Coffee+Liqueur=Saturday Night=OJ+Champagne=Sunday Morning

Sitting there under starry sky
The smell of burnt marshmallows 
The crackling of fire
The laughter and chatter
The sound of bottles clinking 
The feeling of being young forever
What a sight to behold
A picture worth keeping 
And then there's you
Hair messy, glasses askew
But still breathtaking 
And then I was confused
On which view was more beautiful

Seeing your face

                  is like diving straight

                                              into a bowl

                                                       of Lucky Charms cereal

                                                         ­                    that's only the marshmallows.

Dear Night;

The day breaks like a child's neck,
And there she is -
Like a fresh sand hills beckoned seductively
By childish poetry that
Rings off the fingertips like marshmallows
Burnt from too much *****

A cradle erupts:
Two deaths turning into one,
A turning sensation of philosophers timid to experience
We are what?
We are the writhing fiends caught on
By electricity sought upon by
The high priests of a no man's land
Billy the Kid

Tragic care giving fiends telling tales
Of naturality that grow like figs neath virgins
And we share the fragrance of foreigners
Dancing neath' their dead bodies for we
Are the store fronts of the epileptic rich

Sharing nothing, we forgive the dead angels that
Share in nothing but their own salvation
And we the nation hold their hands as they are handed
Their medals that shine and beat against innocent
Sun where we - Good Humans - will always feel inferior

I take thee for my own prisoner
Let's go and check out the sun for mine own
I said I was having sun...asleep
Mine own mind was bent, crooked, doomed
Warranted evil will of course be put to light

Teller tell me what I wish to know
You tell me the secret
You wish to hold, oh' you wish to keep
We are the children you asked for
But you are so unwilling up accept

But the press is something that is intangible
They are spread spearers that are accepted as they are:
A good german; a fair dutchman; a funny Chaplin;
Genius moving with insecure marijuana.

But she presses her own soul on the glass
Never lasting - a pure bread horse
There she stands, like an egyptian statuette incarnate
Breaking through the clouds like a pillar
Bent only for salvation and glory

A cool informant next to Hemingway that breaks
The next vinyl that's hot mixed with devil sweat
Someone breathes something on my neck and I'm soon
To wonder what the next place I need to be is
So...I wonder...Myself is the one to take care of this mess?

Here we are - stagnant - like a tombstone,
Wondering what we are meant for and wondering
Where we are not supposed to go.
We have our labels.
We have our names.
And, yes, we have our jobs that were
Given to us by companies that have no face,
Only a name and yet we obey...

Too push a confidence you have to ask me
What I wish to know for the assignment that no one cares about
After I get what people will listen too
What the truth is a very thing
I love the hash that beeps like a dead hyena on the road side
Howling like a lost lover without someone to love

Like burning marshmallow,
the clouds this Monday.
Thumb over the phone
& the words to you pop
& sway like gin pink
with bitters. Lily lady,

O my lily lady,
kiss me marshmallow -
sticky and tinted pink
with lip on a rainy Monday.
Green window pops
arrive on my phone,

this sweet black phone
that brings you, my lady,
over Atlantic's salt pop
& volted marshmallow.
So on this Monday
when the sky draws pink,

& clouds too are toasted pink,
I take this thin phone
and find you. On this Monday,
my Dublin lady,
under a melting marshmallow
sky, I seek out your hot pop,

that flame that's popping
in the twilight, red and pink.
Sweet as marshmallow,
you burn through my phone,
my smiling lily lady,
even on a Monday.

& so this Monday
like a soap bubble pops.
I'm inspired, my lady,
by the silken pink
thing. On your phone,
a swan's wing of marshmallow.

Yes - Monday's poem comes pink,
& pops with phone messages
from my lady, soft as marshmallows.

The little kids we used to be,
still play like the kids we were,
but now it’s graveyards instead of a playground.
Instead of dress-up costumes,
it’s makeup lathered to our faces,
we must be like those perfect pictures in magazines.
We play boyfriends and girlfriends instead of hopscotch,
anorexia instead of basketball.
Instead of storybooks, it’s facebook posts telling us
we don’t deserve to live.
We used to wear those colorful sillybandz,
and trade them with each other,
but now it’s scars from a razor
we wish we could take off.
It was always begging for seconds of ice cream,
but now it’s sneaking away to throw up the
little amount of food they make you eat.
Instead of staring at a summer campfire
waiting to roast marshmallows,
we stare at the fire waiting to burn ourselves.
Instead of angry first graders getting into a fistfight,
the anger now directs the punch to ourselves.
We used to sneak Halloween candy,
trying to stuff ourselves,
but now you sneak pills,
trying to overdose and hoping for death.
We used to play so freely,
we thought it’d always be like that.
But now we run among graveyards,
the bones of the ones we left behind
clutter the passages.
And we’re still children playing games
with the worlds, but the stakes are higher,
we wonder if we’ll make it.
It’s just a roll of the dice on this graveyard
playground.

Since fifty-eight
the jaycees come
rounding up rattlers
in Sweetwater, folk from all over
for a weekend in March
when snakes leave the hibernaculum
and slide back up
into west Texas and the wind.

Mr. Herrera knew his Luis and I
rode the seven-thirty bus,
had cokes and potato chip sandwiches
with Mitchell and Thomas
after Sunday school,
shot jackrabbits that ate alfalfa
in the dairy pastures.

Dad said he reckoned,
so I took Mr. Herrera’s apron
and offer and brought my knife
that Luis sharpened to a razor
and shaved his forearm hairs with.  
Frank tried that once,
sliced himself like a tomato
when he slipped.

Snake shop’s a butchery,
down the main street
past the dairy mart
and primary school,
in the yellow open scrub.  
If buzzards had noses like dogs
they’d flock, smell that
snake blood from Mexico.

Rattlesnake skinning
is all stringy guts, soft skin,
pulled teeth and poison
squeezed out of gum sockets
like milk from an old cow’s ****.  
Fancy skins with eyeholes
and lips cost ten,
specialty of Mr. Herrera.
Headless strip plus rattle
just two dollars the foot.
Cut the belly lengthwise
and rip,
easy near the backbone
where it catches.  

Out-of-towners buy anything.
Wallets, boots, belts with snakeskin
sewed or tacked on,
lucky rattles, picture frames
for proof of their longest catch.  
God-fearing jaycees doing good
for our communities will eat
deep-fried snake meat,
like tough old chicken,
but good with black-eyed peas
and sweet tea on the side.  

The women even come
once the round-up is done,
the church women, the Jesus women
with belief
and pistachio pudding
with marshmallows,
like Mrs. Howard
who shrieked “Boyd!”
and lectured about hygiene
when she saw me in my apron
and ****** to my elbows,
menacing the street.  

The biggest round-up days
we worked late, past midnight.
Past the dairy mart hours,
so once the skins
were all peeled and stretched
and the sticky linoleum
hosed down some,
Luis and I walked back through town,
deserted, dark





except lights from Roscoe and Roby
and even big Abilene
miles away, shining
across the flat nothing,
coyotes yip yip yipping
somewhere near the lake farther north.

Luis showed me how to eat peanuts
shells and all
and let me try on his brother’s
high school letter jacket.  
Late night in Sweetwater is a nothing.  
The wind never stops blowing,
and there’s nobody else
on the ******* planet.

A day with you is saying good morning to the sun with cups of coffee. Long walks, but longer talks, and feeling tingly. Pillow fights on white sheets in underwear with yellow smileys; bacon and eggs and pancakes and sausage, and peanuts with no grease.

A day with you is seeing the dusk with rainbows. Chocolate ice creams and cones and mangoes; KitKats and Cadburys and Oreos, with Lego House and marshmallows. Or maybe cookies and cola and not milk, while I hold your hand of silk. Or maybe some singing or dancing or playing the guitar. Or painting a portrait of the moon and stars.

A day with you is a night in July and rainy. And kissing you with some hugging too and three spoonfuls of honey. Then I'll cradle you, with lights out, as you doze sweetly beside me. I'll hum you to sleep with tender pattings on the hips, and watch your eyelids fall gently.

There's a funny sort of emptiness
that passes over me
as I walk past the paperback erotica that tuck themselves away
in the shelves of the local grocery store in places that are
simultaneously completely out in the open yet completely ignored
looking, as I do, with mock casual interest
and unfeigned disdain.
Who are these intended for, really?
Are they for the snuggly-wuggly, *****, cozy-woozy, wishy-washy and warm family of four
comparing chicken nugget prices and
weighing the health benefits of
vegetable medley versus succotash?
Or are they for the uni flatmates
walking huddled together for warmth or protection or both,
seeing as they're wearing only sandals and denim shorts
and this is the first time
they've been grocery shopping without mum,
that giggle loudly together to mask how homesick they really are
while they compare the calories in
Campbell's versus Progresso.
They went with Progresso if you were wondering.
Or are they meant for those who are cooking for one?
For those who have no need to compare prices
or calories
out loud.
For those who are well acquainted
with the old, familiar tiled aisles
as they have no one to take out to dinner.
Is this where they are to find company?
Betwixt the pages of a badly penned,
lighter than marshmallows,
more shallow than the kiddie pool,
more transparent than Casper,
not-good-enough-to-be-******-compost
"literary" garbage?
Is this -assumed- female
supposed to curl up with one of these slabs of drivel
and feel **** and aroused
in her baggy sweats and ill-fitting hoodie
after she ate a microwaveable chicken *** pie all by her lonesome?
As a single girl who often cooks for one,
I am offended by this.
Personally,
I think Lestat is ten times sexier than Edward,
Salai is way cuter than Fabio,
and Christian Grey couldn't S Mr. Rochester's D.
What I'm saying is-
Grocery Stores.
YOU are the primary reason for this pathetic f-ckery.
Everything else in the store can be compared for quality.
So why not apply that same knowledge
to the book arena.
Signed,
A Concerned Shopper
p.s. Please extend the validity date on the chicken *** pie coupon. Thank you!

i am a fine eater i eat everything

i feel like eating chocolate and many other things

and i feel like giving up and i have a craving

a craving for toothpaste

but i don’t wanna eat it because it is for teeth

i feel like drinking orange juice as well as chocolate

i eat chocolate and i gain weight

i want to stop eating junk food

he;s eating junk food, he’s like us now man

i feel like a chocolate bar as well a a chocolate mousse

i feel like a packet of biscuits as well as a big bottle of coke

please stop theser cravings please stop these cravings

like LOLLIES, YUMMY OLE LOLLIES, makes you fat but still tastes great

lollies put on a lot of excess weight, too much sugar

i am 162 kg, from eating too much sugar

yeah, dudes, my sugar count is high

i like cheesecake or vanilla slices as well as butter popcorn

which, that tastes soooooo nice, like me, i guess

i feel like two flavoured milks which can put on a lot of kilos

and i feel like a nice packet of mint slice biscuits and a 2 litre bottle of lemonade

lovely lemonade, and a 2 litre bottle too, and a beautiful sponge cake

sugar causes diabetes, and diabetes is caused by too much sugar

and i buy a tub of ice magic and pour it all over the ice cream

yes, i do feel like a tub of ice cream

and i have a sweet tooth a very big sweet tooth

chocolate and vanilla slices and milkshakes make me tick

and the yummy ole lollies make me feel happy

but each ounce of sugar i do eat can add on the weight

like every bottle of coke i do drink refreshes my mouth and body

like red coke and vanilla coke and coke life and coke zero really adds the fucken flavour

i do a poem in the poetry slam and coke is my reward

i was walking today and i smelt the wonderful cake in my fat body

i don’t want to be fat, but the sugary is solo addictive

the toothpaste is so addictive, but i must stop myself

i know i have a sweet tooth but i need to look further down

because sugar causes belly problems and dental problems

and my mental illness medication is making me crave all these wonderful foods

like hamburgers and chips and mexican nachos and cream buns

puts on weight, i can’t resist i ****** can’t resist, it’s clogging up my arteries

but i can’t seem fro stop the cravings

money buys sugary foods and drinks, i feel poor

i want to be rich and resist  these foods, i would love to have mates

but i am poor and i can’t resist these foods

i hear old school chums calling out to me, eat it brian eat it brian eat it brian

sometimes i can’t resist not to

but i want to, i will eat all these foods in one day

who can give you chocolate for many times you knew

who can rip the strawberry out of strawberries and cream lollies yeah

yeah i can eat a whole packet of marshmallows and strawberries and cream

as well as milk bottles and freddo frogs as well as a packet of 10 cherry ropes

i can eat chicken twists and cheese twists

as well as a packet of cheese and bacon *****, again too much sugar or saturated fats

bad for me very very bad for me, but i still eat it

i got addicted to coke when i was buying my second coke, and the lady said

you must be very very thirsty, mind you i was very thirsty but the sugar put coke ahead of water

and i went to the club and had a few sugary cokes and i bought a few packets of saturated fat crisps

as well as another sugary chocolate bar, i was thinking sugar is better than alcohol

but they both are as bad as each other

it is a lot of food to consume

who loves orange soda, brian loves orange soda is it true, yes i do i do i do oh yeah

you see food is the wicked witch and your body are the children she has

today i bought a nice sumo salad, a takeaway option

and i had two oranges as well as two dips, still bad, but all this are my preferences for a dessert i don’t need

I don’t know you yet,
But I’m scared I won’t ever get the chance
And there is still so much I want to tell you.
So I hope tonight you’re listening to
The sun whispering secrets and promises to the earth
While the stars play sonatas and symphonies
with a crescendo that Shakes beliefs
and crystallizes my voice in the wind
I hope it’s carried to you, wherever you are.
I hope you feel what I’m feeling right now
And know you’re not alone
And wherever you are
Whoever you are
I love you
So put down your blade
For you should only bleed with the moon
Life’s the gift in your veins and
Your wrist was meant to be kissed by lips
Untie your noose,
Use the rope to tie the backyard swing
Someone someday
Will pump their legs so they can
Fly and kiss the universe
But that’s not the only thing I want to tell you

Like the mother that gives up her unborn
Tears in her eyes for the
Countless nights she won’t be able to
Tuck her daughter into bed
And tell secrets of the strength she possesses
That she’s so much more than beautiful
her legs are strong enough to carve her own path
And someday she’ll find success buried
Inside her own bones
Read her son fairytales
Of how to love gently
Break the stereotypes
Because It’s okay if he cries
There’s strength in tears
She has so many lessons and stories to
Share but
She’s only 16 and she’s still a child herself
this is the second time
Her mistakes will burn scars in the empty space
Between her arms as she cradles regrets and
Kisses the soft skin of an imaginary cheek
right below the should-be reflection
Of herself
There’s still so much she wants to tell them


And there’s a girl wandering the street alone
who’s given up believing in anything
Except empty promises and lies
The same night her god died in
The arms of a stranger who
had too much to drink
Bruises on her thighs
And stale breath burned into her neck
Knowing no amounts of soap could wash
The filth away, not even the sun is bright enough to guide her
When her eyes are stained with black cigarette ash
Not knowing there’s someone out there that
Has the stars to bring her safely home
that there are empty hands aching
To hold her
show her there is so much more
Than wrists and razors
That Heaven can be found
In hot chocolate and mini-marshmallows
a safe arm around her shoulders as they toast
One another by the fireplace
But she’s already given up
With the barrel to her chest,
She takes a deep breath
and pulls the trigger
While miles away in foster care
In a run-down room with
three beds and tear stained sheets
is the lonely other half with stars in his pupils
A smile for the hope of making a home
Despite the promises of homes that’s been constantly broken
He keeps his strength in ink
so he keeps on writing
And even without dinner for a week
He’s full with dreams of
A home he would’ve shared with her but
he’ll never know that except for the pain in his chest
From never hearing the voice that
Could sing back his heartbeats, a muse
with hands that mirror his lifelines
But tonight with no realization of the could-be family
He’ll press his pen to paper;
Writing poetry for the girl he’ll never meet,
folding his words into a paper airplane
That he can release to the atmosphere
And pray it finds her, wherever she is.
There’s still so much he wants to tell her


And
I want to whisper secrets in your ear
Of every nightmare I’ve ever had
And how I believe you can turn the falling sand
Into dreams
Give bodies to the ghosts
Of those who haven’t died yet
I want to tell you stories of
My grandmother under the Tuscan sun,
Losing everything but still believing in her dreams
And how with shaky hands from world war II bombs
She signs her name on the Ellis Island wall
An Italian accent tinging her tongue
As she learns how to dream in English
Of how she joins the American war so she can
Shakily hold a diploma and finally
Teeter on the edge of the precipice
Singing songs of triumph and kissing
The things she dreamt of as a child
And with those same shaky hands
She’ll hold my mother and kiss her eyelids
Not once resenting those explosions
Because fate has a funny way of
Bringing you to where you were meant to be
And she was meant to love the American man
Who stares down at his new born child with
A new kind of gentleness in his smile
And these are the things I admire the most

But I also want to tell you how I’m terrified
Of how I’ll inherit my grandfathers disease
(the same man with a gentle smile)
Of mania in iridescent white
And depression so deep you drown in blue
With his OCD mannerisms and bi-polar Medication
he shakes too.
And sometimes I’m convinced
That this shame will be repaid
With my own set of pill boxes
Mapping out every white and brown tablet
That I’ll take day after day
To control the chaos
To control the hysteria
To bottle myself up in chains
So I can say no to the shining razorblade that
Beckons to release the pressure of
Red (blood)
White (highs)
And blue. Deep deep blue.
He has chocolate brown eyes just like mine
So maybe that’s not the only thing
I’ve inherited

I want you to be someone I hold
Under sheets kissing your forehead as you fall asleep
Both feeling holy as Jesus as we finally let go and cry
Knowing that our tears will reach their hands into the sky
To pick out the brightest stars
and light up one another’s face in the dark.
Invincible but not invisible in your embrace.
I want to tell you of all my dreams and how I used to
Pretend I had superpowers
Pretend I could fly with a red cape
i want to tell you
Of how I still sleep with the moon as my night light
Because I’ve always been scared of what lurks in the dark
And
When I look in the mirror
I don’t really know who looks back
but I still think life is beautiful
When you’re looking for pictures in clouds.
Most importantly I want to tell you
I love you.
I don’t know you yet,
but I love you
And I hope when I pass you on the street
Not yet knowing your name
I will dream of you.
And someday when I come across you again
In some coffee shop on the corner of
Reality and make believe
I’ll have the courage to ask you to
Stay and talk a while
The steam from your Chai washing away
The stress from your face
As we both realize this is it
So let‘s start with our names and explain
there is so much we need to tell each other.

I remember being lost,
being distraught,
being sad.

I remember grieving.

I remember hope, pride,
Elation
And the birth of my niece.
I remember the cold and wet,
The old faces as well as the new.

The music, the wind in my hair
And the oil on his jeans.
I remember the taste of champagne and marshmallows,
The warmth from the fire.

I remember traveling,
Our first date,
Good food
And the gentle pressure

Of your lips
On mine.

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)

there was a girl in class
who had a perfect punctuality report
but always seemed absent to me

and so i asked,
“when you’re in class,
seated a few seats away from me,
where are you really?”

and her eyes spoke

she was not here on earth

she was on the moon,
drinking up the sight of
stars and suns

she was on a distant planet,
fighting up robots
and fiends trying to destroy earth

she was on the sun,
roasting marshmallows
with all the other pretty alien girls

she was everywhere,
she said

she was everywhere
but here

because here was where
reality took place

and reality was no place
for the wandering kind

I am ...
the marshmallow kid,
that lives
mostly in the present.

Inside locked rooms
I grab ...
whatever shows
and rolls around,

that looks,
I guess ...
so worthy of betraying
tomorrow
for the now.

Your hands were heating pads.
Your fingers, soft and lithe, heating everything that they touched.
We started with our fingertips,
yours between mine, casting shadows on your bedroom walls.
We marveled that the shadows looked like twigs above a burning fire.
And so we stopped.
And made each other marshmallows.

You taught me what it was
to be chocolate on graham crackers,
place them on a metal rod
and cook them over an open fire,
chocolate burning and rolling across my tongue.
Also, like a campfire,
we traded secrets and pinky promises.
Your darkest secret
was that you hated everything that you loved.

Later, we rode your bicycles through the town that you grew up in,
over the railroad tracks,
across the old bridge where you told me you once took a lover.
It was just a kiss, but he stays with you still.
You and I shared that same phenonemon,
in that same spot.

Along the path, splitting up to your house,
we took turns being the leader and the follower.
Again and again, we would change positions.
Had our tires created tracks, you would have seen one tread crossing another crossing the other, pushing and crossing over each other,
like the way our bodies did, in time.

You had to get stitches only once when I was around.
I took you to the doctor and you told me
that you hoped your future husband would do the same.
I assumed the pain that I felt in that moment was sympathy
for the doctor pulling on your bruised and bleeding elbow.
It was not.

That night, you convinced me,
as you always did,
to try something new.
I ran ******* -but with a bra- across my dorm room floor.
No one besides my sister had ever seen that skin before.
You convinced me to dye my hair brown.
You told me I looked **** and I should have more confidence with the boys.
I didn't have the heart to tell either of us that they
were not what I was interested in.

I sat in the back of your car as you and your drug dealer smoked ****.
You asked me about the experience
and I laughed and almost told you
that i was tensed and waiting
to jump into the front of the car
if either of you were too ****** to turn the wheel yourselves.

Later, when he left,
we baked no-bake cookies and bought chips because you said they were the best combinations for romance movies
and ghost stories
and hot tubs.
I smoked **** for the first time there in that hot tub surrounded by the smell of chlorine
and refer.
And you.
In time, I stopped thinking about the inch or so of extra skin around my middle
and started thinking about yours.
You had much more than me
and you
were a goddess.

When we had dried ourselves and went inside
you said you were scared of the ghost you had planted in your house,
the one of your father.
I held you then and I held you later in our dorm room when you cried and told me how you felt
responsible.
You said the darkest thing you know is when you look in the mirror and you see dark eyes,
unrecognizable,
like there is someone else behind them.
Ghost stories never felt real until I met you.

That night,
You laid your body on top of mine
rough like logs
and then softer like marshmallows
and I knew then what it was to create heat out of nothing
but two objects
and a small span of oxygen.

The next day
you took my hand in public,
in the town they called Raystown,
in the chilly cold air,
and I felt the possibility.
Then,
on the way home, we got lost,
and under the dark trees  
you drew ghosts in the branches
and said I would never make you feel
safe enough
to be happy.
The trees looked like charactures at first,
and then just twigs,
and then the dark shadows moving behind glowing wood.

And then you reminded me that you hated everything that you loved.

You hated everything you loved.

You hated everything

that you loved.

How to cook a gourmet (whatever the hell that means) dinner:

Step 1: Send your boyfriend a text inviting him over for a romantic, candlelit home-cooked gourmet dinner.

Step 2: Remember that you are forever alone and don’t have a boyfriend.

Step 3: Go buy mass amounts of chocolate and cry about it.

Step 4: Get over it and invite over your grandmother instead.

Step 5: Preheat the oven to 975 degrees

Step 6: Freak out about the fire in your oven and turn it off.

Step 7: Open all your doors to let the smoke out.

Step 8: Get out all the ingredients you need for the recipe you are
following.

Step 9: End up eating most of the ingredients before you even get to
use them.

Step 10: Spill oil and wine all over your recipe book (umm pffft the
wine is TOTALLY one of the ingredients, that’s why you had it out… heh heh… yeah…)

Step 11: Panic and try to dry it off by taking the book outside and waving it around.

Step 12: Watch in horror as all the pages in your book tear and fly off
into the wind.

Step 13: Chase hopelessly after the pages down the block screaming
swear words and having a heart attack.

Step 14: Politely smile and wave awkwardly at your neighbour who
hates you.

Step 15: Yell an apology across the street to that other neighbour who
REALLY doesn’t like you with the little five year old daughter who is
now repeating all of your colorful vocabulary words you just yelled.

Step 16: Reluctantly accept the fact that your recipes are gone. And also
that you have just contributed to the global problem of littering the
streets.

Step 17: Walk back to your smoke-scented house in shame.

Step 18: Look through pictures of scrumptious-looking meals on
Pinterest.

Step 19: Get inspired and decide to put your brilliant idea of creating your own recipe into action.

Step 20: Get out your frying pan and throw a bunch of random ingredients in.

Step 21: Put out yet another fire and realize that marshmallows, sprinkles, raisins, baking soda, orange peels and liquid gasoline probably wouldn’t have tasted very good together anyway.

Step 22: Wonder what the hell is wrong with you.

Step 23: Get distracted by the television for half an hour.

Step 24: Try to microwave 2 week old mac and cheese you forgot to
throw out.

Step 25: Watch as your microwave malfunctions and spontaneously
combusts.

Step 26: Decide to clean it up later because you just cannot even deal
with it right now.

Step 27: Fill a *** with water to make pasta and try to boil the water.

Step 28: Somehow manage to burn the water.

Step 29: Wonder how that even happened?!!!!

Step 30: Give up and call the pizza delivery guy.

Step 31: When you grandmother arrives have her take a seat in the
kitchen.

Step 32: Call an ambulance when she has a heart attack seeing the mess
in your kitchen.

Step 33: Get ready to leave and drive after the ambulance to the
hospital with your grandmother once the pizza arrives so you can
bring it with you. Get a call from the pizza place.

Step 34: Listen to the manager explain that your pizza spontaneously
burst into flames in the oven and they are terribly sorry there will be a
delay in the delivery due to this.

Step 35: Pass out.

The touch of the sunlight,
the warmth of the water
dancing around our ankles,
smell the salt in the air,
fresh and clean and pure.
Little tastes of happiness.
But it's never enough for you.

You think that happiness is a state,
like liquid or gas, something you stay in.
But happiness is in the fleeting moments,
the laughter of friends,
hot chocolate, sweet and smooth
with little marshmallows.

Dancing in the rain,
wearing your favorite shirt,
a walk through the woods,
a hug just a little longer than usual,
the warmth of someone else's arms.
These fleeing moments are
where you find happiness.

We came here on a hayride,
To have a campfire and fun;
We will have sung many songs,
Before evening is done.

For starting a good bonfire,
Cedar kindling works real well.
When it is in a bonfire,
Silence it sure can dispel.

Over fire we cooked hot dogs,
And also big marshmallows;
Colored ones for this bonfire,
Are the marshmallows we chose.

After we will douse each flame,
To the hay wagon we'll aim.

Hi dudes and welcome to Jupiter where we have the concert of the decade where we have some Christmas poems to share with you
First one is Christmas party time
I am having a party
The famous Christmas party
With eggnog and fruit cake
And a beautiful fruit punch
Everybody gets on the dance floor and we celebrate with songs like
Working class man
The clapping song
And you took the words right out of my mouth
Then after that we add a Christmas carol to brighten up your day we could choose
Jingle bells and away in a manger and joy to the world
But I could play a version of
Winter wonderland
Wouldn't that be cool
Party party party as Christmas
Is coming soon
It will start about 6-00 am
For presents
Going right up till noon
I am watching the parade from Niagara Falls and they play nice music in the background
To really brighten up the day
Time to party party party party
Every day and night
Playing six white boomers
Into the beautiful light

The second poem is santa loves life like me
You see he flies with his reindeers every Christmas Eve
Delivering presents to every boy and girl
You see he comes into a parade with marching bands and floats
And he welcomes you all here
Saying ** ** ** saying ** ** ** you see santa oh santa
Loves life like me
He eats your food and drinks your drink and reindeers have a nice carrot or two
Santa will party all over this town never ever ever lets out a frown for santa is happy very very happy such a happy Chappy
Come on santa party dude
He is a jolly person and he delivers presents to the boys and girls
Santa oh santa he loves life like me
Yo hey he is a very happy dude
And he gives presents oh yeah that is sweet
Everyone who loves Christmas
Loved this man indeed
Everyone at the North Pole is working making sure the presents are all packed
Yes santa oh santa
He loves life like me

The third song is I love Christmas
You see I like going out to sing carols and having a lot of fun
I like exchanging presents with the people I really love
I will watch parades on YouTube
And I watch parties in the vlogs
I am trying to diet at present
So I can't eat sugary foods
But I am doing things right
By going for a 1 hour ride on my bike
I end up nowhere but really I am
Getting somewhere
And despite of all that I love Christmas
Oh yeah party on I love Christmas
You see I know I have a mental illness but I love to have a party
And Christmas is the time which makes me very happy
I like singing carols and sitting in The park
Soaking up the atmosphere
Enjoying every moment
We wish you a merry Christmas
Yes a ripper Christmas
Enjoying your Christmas dinner
But don't eat too much
Some people worship Jesus
Some worship god
Kids worship good old santa
Yes, that is why I love Christmas


Fourth song is santa having a party

Oh Christmas tree oh Christmas tree
We're having a good time
With the Christmas tree
Oh Christmas tree
Santa having a party
With marshmallows and broken chips yeah what a day we are having
And watching Christmas carols down at crace
Having a good time oh yeah
Whether you want to celebrate
Or whether you party mate
Yeah it will be the coolest thing you'll ever see
Christmas tree and holly too
Santa is having a party
Party party party party
Santa oh santa
Santa is having a party
And afterwards he goes from
House to house saying merry Christmas to all

She hates the city
Say street lamps
Are too cold
For marshmallows,
Too far apart
For hammocks
And a little too yellow
For stars.

She loves daisies
Especially when they're alive
And drinks sunshine
Like it's a fireball
Bottle at a bachelor party

She
Has got a body.
Like a Lego fire walk
That I can't help but
Move across
Slowly,

On the parts of her
Past that build us
Omnicolored castles
Of Kings and Queens
And treasure chests
Too small to hold anything
Outside our own imagination

And I,
Her ready loyal Knight
With nothing but
A dull promise
On the edge of my tongue
Laying my rusty faith
At her feet keep

Moving
Like my eyes
Across a line
Across a line
Across a line
That I never
Want to stop
Reading

Her edges
With my fingertips
Like the map
To my home
And her lips
The closest thing
I've got to
A key

But she
Is not the type
That needs a night
To see the stars

And I
Am not the type
To write poems
From fireflies
That I never learned
To let go

'Cause I know my life
Has seen enough jars
Of my amputated parts
To know you don't have
To be broken to be used
To picking up the pieces.

But baby break me.
Like a firefighter
With a family of four
Who knows the risks.
With your arms
'Round my fists
The only chance I've got
Of making it out alive.

So baby hold me
Like a papier mâché
Tugboat from articles
Of my past that I no longer
Want to pull.

And my plaster heart
Heavy,
Ready to be made
Into something new

With my hands full of skipping stones
I no longer have the stomach read
'Cause I don't wanna leave her life
Without being buried somewhere beneath.
But I don't wanna dig too deep
Before I figure out just how to breathe.

So every time she leaves,

I wear my teeth
On her scent
Ribs bent
In the direction
Of her return.

For the first time
In a long while
I've got a fire in me.
And this time,

I'm gonna let it burn.

I've written soo much
But I haven't posted
Like marshmallows
Instead of I've roasted