Tag Archives: poetry

Heartbreak

I’ve had many failed loves
Whether relationships that ended
Or one-sided infatuations coming to an end.

With each of their demise came the tears.

You know the kind I’m talking about:

Snot-filled
Puffy eyes
Cracked voice
maybe a little bit of drooling

But even after my first boyfriend told me he never really loved me
Or after my best friend of 8 years broke off our newly-founded romantic relations
Not one of them broke my heart as much as my mom could, and still can.

Just one single argument
(that escalates into a screaming match
paired with passive aggressive screeches of my ungratefulness
unfilial-ness
rudeness
and how undeserving I am of their love and brought up)

leaves me crying so hard I’m left
voiceless
eyes burning with tears long evaporated into salt
lungs splitting apart after heavy heavings
(perhaps even a panic attack as I hyperventilate)
muscles cramping from curling into a ball
as I try to keep my shattered heart together and make it whole again

before I come crawling into her arms
begging for her forgiveness and her love again
praying she’ll take me into her embrace
tell me she still loves me
wants me
pet my head and make all the bad feels go away

I make do with the anger in her voice
and the look of disgust on her face
as she holds me
and tells me Okay lah stop crying already!
Stupid girl, cry so hard until like that.
Who asked you to be so rude, huh?

And I cry like a baby
who just got her first bruise
relieved by a mother’s touch and presence
and cries louder simply from the ease of knowing mother’s here
that I am now safe.

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up high.

Each climb requires a descend,
but all I desire is to fly,
wasting away high up in the sky.

dripping down melancholy
as I soar through clouds

embracing false evolutionary instinct
as the wind pummels against my eyes.

Even with the agony of sleet
breathlessness
rain-soaked skin

I’d rather never land
and instead keep drifting through
these stratocumulus clouds.

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Tactile Surreality.

Passing gradients and swirl dream dyes.

bumps, crackle, white-red sparks
chest expanding lifts,
tippity-top of the brain
rolling eyes.

oxygen widening the tubes
seeping into nubs
tinkling jerks and winces
clench

Smooth rippling tides by gentle lilies.

Self obsession a cure
for redirection
and healthy minds
healthy hearts
healthy lives.

Ease, a belief of connected souls.

snap, crunch, crackle, brittle
seeping, crystals, thick
soft, compact, tough
tender, hurried, curious.

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Loneliness

What is this 

Running alcohol

Of emptiness 

In between my lungs and at the centre of my lower spine.

Coldness appears like the chill unexpected at 4am after a night of tossing in humid Asia.

Mental tears forming and pooling

Empty eyes.

Fear, burrowing, curling. 

Slightest needles of agonising icy spears jabbing incessantly behind and above the breasts

Breathing getting tougher as nostrils seem to tighten and air gets sweeter.

Shrapnel sweetness of air, loneliness pains, clenched muscles in the calves and butt.
Loneliness beyond romantic and platonic friends and partners.

Loneliness in this universe, always expanding never ceasing to stop or slow down and each connection growing steadily further.
God is infinite. Is there and mind proportionate stretch of me between Him as the universe speeds on by?

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Mind state.

Desperate for love

Dejection from rejection

Agony from disdain

Sadness with solitude.

People pleasing, pleasure pursuit.

Addiction and impulsiveness.

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Jesus wept

two words

Jesus wept

I wept
I am weeping
the beauty of music is its ability to

shock our soul into
recognition of mortality

connection, flimsy contact

shaking and trembling
tears dripping
heart breaking

stiff and agonising realisation
mortal prison of flesh
the soul she cries

for she can not escape and mingle with her fragments
swirling with the universe

trapped shard in meaningless structures
false identities and constructs.

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Reaction

joji’s you suck charlie

swirling grey matter
drippings of glittery galaxies
sharp sweet shrapnel in each breath

shooting pains from between her tips
crackled brushes from those lips
staring down needles full of rust and iron

beautiful entitled whine
bloated cheeks and liver
spotted mottled jaws

 

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Propranolol

PropranoLOL more like

way less empty, blank stares muffled words
more loopy smiles, bad jokes and mumbled speeches

feels good man, eyyyyyyy
slow 2 fingers typing and knowing people might withdraw

people have Got to be weirded out
and goddammit shut the fuck up and go and fuck yourself bruh
i need to claw the fuck out of your fucking eyeballs

matttttyyyyyyy ayyyyyyyyyyyy get dat lobster roll.
gurlllll i bet you all up in dis, boyyyyy you know you wanna date the heck outta me

stop chirping fucking crickets

breathe inandouttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt
but also…in…??????omgbreatheinnowcause you’regonnasuffoca

fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu

should I pop another? raise a hand.

and stop cause i don;t need your allowance auyyyyyyyyy

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Depression as a woman

Imagine feeling empty, sad, hopeless, worthless, directionless and lost.

Anxious and panicky, sensitive to lights, sounds and casual words.

Couple that with monthly intense mood swings, tears that flow easily, body aches and exhaustion, need for sleep throughout the day, aching back and swollen breasts.

Now your emptiness and loneliness is heightened with the consistent flow of blood and unfertilised eggs.

My brain becomes a ticking alarm clock reminding me it’s time for my pill again.

Its choice of alarm tune?

The urge to pop handfuls of pills, to get knock out drunk, to do something, anything to mute the mind and feelings. She doesn’t scream at the back of my mind anymore, but her toxic breath fogs the brain in the meantime.

Up till I take that little pill and go to bed. Things are better when I wake up. But in between, there’s no guarantee what the subconscious will unleash on my sleeping mind.

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An Argument for Being Fat

I am fat.

Now some of you might call me curvy, and others might call me plump. The Mandarin speaking folk would call me 丰富 or abundant in English.

But I know my weight vs height and I know from the clothes that are too tight. I am fat. And while it’s not good for my health, it’s done wonders for my esteem.

Back when I lost a ton of weight and could fit tight clothes, my outward fit bod was but a vessel for my insecurities and self hatred to manifest. My exercise and makeup and clothing did not belong to me, but to the desire for male attention. My body, free from cellulite, was not free from the shackles of disrespect for myself. 

I gave myself to boys and men, gave my heart and mind to any who wanted a toy. I was a prey but a cruel predator as well, sex driven, or rather sex manipulative. All I wanted was to be loved, because I needed to not be unloved. I was hurt and I hurt. The cycle continued.

But then, came 2016. I made mistakes still up to the middle of the year where the weight started to pile on as the pressures of joblessness coupled with staying at home daily took over. After that, an intense 3 months of work that went from chronic diarrhea to binging for relief. 

Now I stand heavy. But confident. I worked for money but left with experience. Working world experience. Skills acquired from necessity and desperation. From responsibilities.

I knew my worth as a worker. Somehow that led to realisations about my worth as a person. As a woman. As me.

Boys and men alike were cast aside when they knew only of games and touch. No longer did I spare a second nor a thought on frivolous attention when my own were occupied with the career ladder. I moved on to a wider view on life, and moved away from childish perspectives on self love.

But what has this got to do with being fat, you say? Well I allowed myself to grow fat because I was moving away from seeing my body as the first point of notice for men. I allowed myself to expand because I indulged my cravings and tastebuds for me, and no one else. I gave myself permission to be lazy because I acknowledged that this body and its health is my own, not for the pleasure of others.

And perhaps now that I’m more self aware and appreciative, I will start to get back in shape and watch my health. But because I am fat and still love myself and my body with all its creases and lumps and stretch marks and bulges, when I am fit and trim and healthy and strong, I will love myself just as much. 

The attention of others will no longer factor in this strictly confidential relationship between myself and I.

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