telephone lines

see, every time i rise from the dinner table

i leave a battlefield behind.

bones plucked, strewn, broken;

spit showering down like hail.

what is otherwise something sacred,

really is a waste of space.

they tell me to pray about love, but if they

can’t tell me that we‘re something real

then that’d just be blasphemous.

someday always, and

eventually diffuses into a myth.

so instead i build a militia of something less.

something less than divine intervention,

or rhapsodic songs about soulmates.

because i know better,

because i am a soldier,

yet

this is why they call me a monster.

Posted in -

st(r)ained verses

i.

everything’s been riding on

lamenting throbs that screech along

to the white noise under my tongue.

ii.

moonlight rains down to sweep me

away to a place where my eyes turn crystal.

and fails.

iii.

i think my head beats more

times per minute than my heart.

or is that just truth knocking at my door?

iv.

i swallow eggshells like

breadcrumbs, but birds still fly south,

finding themselves pecking at plates.

v.

write about yourself so you can

clinch something bigger so you can

write more about yourself so you can

clinch something bigger so you can

vi

is this the life i’ve always wanted?

i’m sure i pressed another button

in the elevator.

Posted in -

tipsy

Doom like a vulture’s cry—a sputtering

flame choking on honest

water; a sea wave that stills mid-air,

crest and trough multiverses apart.

 

I think I saw it first, brimming in the

pools of your concealed pout.

You can’t fool me: there is stubborn moss

growing within the cracks of your voice,

your eyes bruised and melted,

making me feel like a wayward child

seeing his mother cry for the first time.

 

This is my last plea to you:

pat down the last few slabs of earth

into my screaming mouth and let

the grass grow from my bones. After all,

what else am I, but something

gnawed and spat out on mosaic floors—

A toothpick on a chocolate sample

 

Once craved.

Twice forgotten.

Never loved.

———

(psst! i called this piece tipsy because a) this is a narrative of my first week at school as a senior, which has very much been a blur, and b) each one of these lines were written on different nights, always right before i knock out during the witching hour. i’ve been completely exhausted, forcing myself to stay up. but i tried to use the last moments of consciousness each day, during which my train of thought goes completely ludicrous, as a channel through which i could be most authentic and raw in my writing.)

Posted in -

only if

as a child, i used to have this crazy, irrational desire.

the one wish i would spend on every 11:11, every communion i swallowed, every birthday candle—was that i could have an older sister. growing up as the only girl, i felt very alone. the situation was exacerbated by the fact that my brothers had each other.

i would secretly weep about it sometimes, when i was 4-6. during my formative years, at 7-10, i glorified some of my friends who were a year or so older than me, letting my mind wander off to imagine a life in which i was not this lonely. by the time i gained literacy at 11, i started to concoct short stories on my family computer, taking a slab of words to mould a reality i could never have.

how amazing, i used to think, to have someone to listen to why-you-and-so-and-so-aren’t-friends-anymore, to teach you how to hold a mascara wand, or even just someone to share a skirt with.

ridiculous, right? there is no degree of delusion you could possibly associate with my endless coveting.

then i grew up and shelved this dream away, neatly wedged between logic and reason. what was i gonna do—manipulate time and fate?

as of late, though, little kelly’s hopes and dreams have resurfaced in my mind, like a corpse adrift in a lake.

the dry lump in my throat every time i think about it has started to grow again. yeah, yeah. i know it’s a juvenile thing to ask of the universe—for the impossible, the unattainable; the foolish and incontinent.

but this really means so much to me. it always has. really.

Posted in -

long time no see

with scaly fingers, i tuck these

thickened, dry lumps of quasi-forgotten

nightmares with a sticky duvet to sleep.

i sweep the dust off another, and smoothen

it out on my weathered mountains of knuckles.

the cabinet i thought i’d never open

slams shut, scaring away the spirits

of need and thirst and greed,

until girl in the mirror pins me down with

that familiar gaze.

i tilt my head but she does not tilt back.

instead, she tells me she hopes they will not

notice my wispy, dry hair—constantly

bundled in a scratchy mop—

or the way my lips crack at the edges,

when i smile to kill the silence that stalks like a predator.

but she can only hope: so as i, can only pray.

entropy is a laughable thing.

Posted in -

lazuli

the first week of the winter holidays has commenced! spent almost every day in school uniform due to projects and stuff. however, for me, the final juncture of every year has always been a time of growth and discovery. a time for skin to form over old wounds, for the reassembly of nondescript puzzle pieces left behind from the year before.

what do you want to achieve before the flowers start to grow again?

Processed with VSCO with c8 preset

Continue reading “lazuli”

Posted in -

leonidas


i. pink stains being wedged into blue palettes like flesh and bruise; 

ii. the ends of each bursting seam refusing to submit to the backward flow of this great lake

iii. breaths dripping with bloodied fight those thorns will never understand

Posted in -