Mar 12

Look at me

A peck on the forehead.
You always liked that...
caressing your feathery hair,
fall asleep on me. 

Stare at the window with you.
Not looking at the cars,
but at your reflection.
Shut the blinds before the neighbor sees.

My hair is short.
Yours is short too. 
I love the way we were,
but sometimes I wish we weren't.
Sometimes I wish we hadn't

I know your face,
like you knew mine.
But the face I am looking at now
is not yours.

You do not exist anymore.
I miss you, I miss that soft, gentle feeling.
So kind that I would cry.

Sun, rain. Clouds are too white.
They say that if you put water droplets on something
you can see it better.
But why is everything so blurry?

Tap, pat. I hear everything.
Sniff, sob. Who is that?
Circle of black, chin to chest.
Mar 10

Love What is Perfect

Kiss my lips,
Adore my eyes and face.

Ignore my flaws,
my dainty faults.
Love only the sweet,
be blind to the bitter.

Understand my simple ignorance,
praise my words of truth.
Spoil my heart so much it hurts.
I will spoil you too.
Mar 10

Running From Freedom

Grip all that never leaves,
ignore what comes and goes.
Taste what you have already swallowed,
hear what you already know.

Love what all seem to hate,
hug what does not exist.
Cry for things that have not yet died,
to lose yourself in the mist.

Feel the walls of your cell,
turn from the silver key.
Be a coward, for all your freedom.
You know you will never flee.

Trapped in your own dark fears,
the light from your soul fades.
Ignore the creak of the open door.
Be quick to pull closed the shades.
Mar 10

An Ugly Girl in a big, sad World

The Girl has been through many things. Like insecurity, loneliness, self harm, and depression. She feels all alone. She feels cursed with her ugly face and weak body. She is a disappointment, the break of her siblings’ chain of good looks and great accomplishments. Every night when the lights turn off, she can never sleep — she is too busy crying. If you listen closely, you will hear a ‘snap’ coming from her room. She slaps herself as hard as she can, repeating to herself over and over. ‘You are a failure! You do not deserve this good life.’ but what people cannot see, is that her life is not good, not perfect, not pure. Her life is full of troubling pain. She sees things that people will never feel, she knows things that people will always ignore.
Mar 06

The Dead Can't Dance With The Living

The golden leaves,
scattered with jade.
Trees so closely knit in the cold air
that the blinding swirl of blurry sky
can't be seen.

The surprisingly sweet scent
of leaf litter,
and the still scene of life.

Every now and then,
a leaf falls,
fluttering dizzily like
a confused butterfly.
It joins the filthy piles,
crammed in corners crusted with dirt.

The ring of cars on the highway,
fade in the background,
barely heard.
Like ocean waves.
Like the flicker of fish.
So subtle,
it could be your imagination.

Cold and serene,
barely a brush of wind.
Your eyes trail from branch
to branch.
The dead mingled with the living.
Some dry and cracked, spindling dangerously
on a twisted jerk of bark,
others moist and rough, breathing.

You imagine,
leaping from the treetops,
resting on the farthest edge.
Mar 06

The eyes of a kid

This is just my perspective of the world right now as a kid, I apologise a million times if I say something insensitive or ignorant. 

Thirteen. The first step you take into realising that the people you’ve looked up to for so long, aren’t nearly as perfect as you thought they were. Adults all around the world are making mistakes that even a nine year old would know right or wrong to! You see the faults and worries that are being dumped all around you. I almost want to laugh when they tell us, ‘You need to fix this.’ ‘This is your problem now.’ 
Mar 02

About That Dead Cat

What is that shape
surrounded by flies?
I step closer, expecting feces.
But it is a small, helpless cat.
A crusty liquid
seals it’s small eyes.

A kitten, lying so stiff.

Of course! I dare not touch it!
It must be
I am horrified.

It lies not in a heap,
but a cruel position,
in which it seems to be
sleeping on it's side.

The seasons are changing,
I can see
the leaves falling.
The ginkgo fruits reek of filth.

I am glad for those fruits,
for they saved me the horror
of smelling the carcass.
For flies always surround things that smell gross.

It is times like this,
that I wish to throttle mother nature for such

I don’t know what to do,
should I pick it up and place it in the grass,
not the cold, grimy concrete?

Again, I remember,
‘I dare not touch it!’
Mar 01

The Wrapper

I wish you could see
the cruel way you break me.
Dropping me on the concrete over and over
knowing I’ll just keep hanging on,
knowing that you’re my only friend.

You’ve been clouded over with that power,
once so kind
I would have given my life for you
I still would.

But you take advantage of my shivering neck
and bite me on the shoulder.
You grab me by my two bloody fists,
and stab my sides out
until there’s nothing left but my head and chest.

You always like seeing me
half alive,
barely breathing,
like a fish dying in the tap.

Every year is like a race,
a race for you
and yourself.
How fast can I kill her this time?
Or rather,
how slow?

Your methods of torture vary
in so many painful ways.
You leave me behind…
What you know to be my greatest fear.

I want you to wait for me!
Mar 01

Tied Down

I was cursed with this body
and face.
I was cursed with family
and friends.

I am strapped down

by kind hands,
and sweet kisses.

'Hold my hand' I say,
your grip is inescapable.
'Let me go' I whisper,
gritting my teeth against the cut of your nails.

You beg me not to leave.
So I stay trapped,
in your paradise.
In my hell.
Mar 01

Hit by a car

Hear the drunken sounds
down the street.
The familiar wheeze
of an old man living nearby.

Bathed in light I listen
to the low cats’ moans,
then screeches,
and then silence.

I pass a figure
who seems to stare.
Unconsciously I am hoping
not to be seen.

They make not a single move on me,
though some part of myself
wishes they did.
Wishes something to happen.

No crickets weep in winter.
No old man
bothers to look up.
The wind sighs too often.

I relish the crackling
of wet sand on the road,
lost in the counting
of my steps.

The world is chokingly quiet.
I am too afraid to make
a single sound.
I feel ashamed for every cough.

But all of a sudden,
the slow wobbles of shadow
becomes a blasting, quick ball
of dazzling light.

And all of a sudden,
something happened.