💜💜💜170: panic pixie dream ghoul (draft)

throughout my life,
i have been taught
to be seen but not discerning,
to constantly sacrifice spoons
and breakdown
walls i have painstakingly built
to survive; to smile at my own vandalisation.

lately
i have learnt
that part of the problem
is i keep getting lost
trying to find hope and meaning in the halls of shame
of gaslighting goodvibers armed with husnuzon on one hand
and hubris on the other;
my dirt-filled nails and shaky scarred fingers
have been trained to dig up blood-stained building blocks
of altars that served souls saved through divine intervention
at someone else's expense—no

now
what i really wanna know:

Why do i keep talking to walls
that only wanted
wallflowers?

— 20190829 0311

169: gasbag

i have sliced open my chest far too many times to know that brutal honesty is painful for a reason.

unbloating myself from feelings feels like an easy reflex sometimes, but the aftermath of pouring out the content of my heart is never a pretty sight: the streams of words bleeding down my sleeves pooling in my palms always end up looking like an acidic al pha be t s oup, a Ho tCri m s onMes s d r i p p i n g on the floor that i may have to lap up in the end, and my oral fixations do not include having my own foot between my lips.

but after years of slowly swallowing morsels of self-compassion and washing them down with perspective, i am learning that layers of bandages are weights i need not carry. poking my brain to thoughtvomit has a tendency to leave a lump in my throat, but i am starting to understand why we must squeeze out pus to clean wounds -  that there is wisdom in releasing things that make you ill, and the dangers of romanticising decay.

and so i pick out the letters i need with one hand to form sentences the best i can
and hit send
with hope that you understand.


2019-10-08 8.45pm



i have sliced open my chest far too many times to know that brutal honesty is painful for a reason.

unbloating myself from feelings feels like an easy reflex sometimes, but the aftermath of pouring out the content of my heart is never a pretty sight: the streams of words bleeding down my sleeves pooling in my palms always end up looking like an acidic al pha be t s oup, a Ho tCri m s onMes s dripping on the floor that i may have to lap up in the end, and my oral fixations do not include having my own foot between my lips.

however, after slowly swallowing morsels of self-compassion and perspective and patience
i am learning that layers of bandages are weights i need not carry.

poking my brain to thoughtvomit has a tendency to leave a lump in my throat, but i am starting to understand the wisdom of cleaning infections by squeezing out the pus first.

and with that, i pick the letters with one hand
to form words the best i can
and i hit send
with hopes that you will understand.

2019-10-08 8.34pm

i have sliced open my chest far too many times to know that brutal honesty is painful for a reason.

unbloating myself from feelings feels like a good selfish reflex sometimes, but pouring out the content of my heart is never a pretty sight: the streams of words bleeding down my sleeves pooling in my palms always end up looking like an acidic al pha be t s oup, a Ho tCri m s onMes s dripping on the floor that i may have to lap up in the end.

my oral fixations do not include having my own foot between my lips and poking my brain to force out thoughtvomit has a tendency to leave a lump in my throat,

but i am starting to understand the wisdom of cleaning infected parts by squeezing out the pus first;

perhaps it is finally time for me to learn to swallow my worries and wash it down with self-compassion

to see the beauty of clean wounds

rather than live in layers of bandages

and with that, i wash my hands and send

with hopes that you will understand.

167: vacuum

i keep landing in alien spaces trying
to pace myself between touchdowns & breakdowns;
traces of untied laces all over the place
remind me that i count steps & leaps
more than i inhale

my words go further than my aims
my tank is starting to run out of air
god what am i doing here

2019-09-04 7:58pm

166: oh sheet

i am in love
with excel;
letters and numbers and symbols
all aligned neatly in columns and rows - its infinity,
the ease in which
cents and sense add up
as i am handed the ability to
manipulate and enumerate;
formulating and formatting,
manually or conditionally.

to be honest, my love for spreadsheet is newfound
i am barely waddling in the deep-end,
bound by cells
within my control,
but too often i forget
that my obsession with virtual borders
is merely a means of containment
to manifest contentment:

facts and fractions could be put in boxes
but not faces
not feelings
not you
not me.


Last updated: 2019-08-10 6.49pm

165: do you kopi

i was jingled into believing that

hitam itu keunggulan:

invoking senses by blended scents rising

from steaming water stirred

with spoonfuls of bold black and sugarcane specks,

the whirlpool pulling me in

is a dark swirl of mixed notes

and spiralling memories, of moods

swinging from the coldest of temperaments

to blistering tempers and tongues.

i grew up thinking

everyone started their day with java,

that instead of learning to ice our burns,

we were all taught

that all it takes to deal with heated things

is to pour out the contents in a shallow container,

and either blow some steam off or wait for it cool down

before you dip in and sip

till the last drop.

life feels a lot like a cup of kopi o

complex

bittersweet

anxiety-inducing.

wait.

is that why i just buy four boxes of fruity teas?

Last updated: 2019-09-03 5.27pm

164: harapkan pagar, pagar makan hati

forgive me
for my
staggered
response,
i am still struggling to gain composure from past blows.

the hard expressions i wear (a mask at best)
and the hostile exterior i carry (an armor at least)
are all attempts to cushion any sudden or sustained impact
on my mushy softnesses inside,
yet all the walls i keep building are no match for my constantly outstretched arms
—my first line of defense and my most faithful traitor
everready to charge headfirst and to wave the white flag
in the battle of hearts.

i must confess
my sleeves have turned black
from wearing my heart on them
so religiously.
you can't kinstugi shatteredheartpieces
when it's still bleeding,
so i have spent decades perfecting
the art of stitching them together
with flimsy threads of self-love
and forced silver livings.

sometimes i wonder
how despite everything
it still keeps on beating.

sometimes i wonder
why despite everything
it still keeps me alive.

2019-06-13

163: a concept

i keep finding myself holding out an axe for you
crack open my skull
hack me quickly,
understand its discontent
just figure me out, already.
but what you really wanted was to pick my brain in peace;
to poke around the pieces and folds as you please.

perhaps i am hoping too much
with these pipe dreams bursting at the seams
my screams of consciousness incessantly leaking
thoughts and tears and fraughts and fears
—i must apologise
for believing you could save me if i struggle to keep afloat.
i should have learnt by now that we can't see neurons
sending distress signals with the naked eye;
that you can only hear
my palpitations and hyperventilation
if you would look at me
rather than through me.

i am not a concept.

20190719 7.56am

162: airbourne dis-ease

a slumber laced with magic dust slowly reaches its final act; the illusion of a young-at-heart morpheus is slowly morphing, deforming into a seasoned peter pan ever on a flight of fancy.

this daydream or daymare of castles in the sky
is making me dizzy.

i can't fly that high.

2019-07-08 1.17pm

161: carb and get me

i say woe is me
as i swallow my sorrows with mouthfuls of waffles,
sweet ice cream melting on my swelling tongue,
blank tears flowing downstream
— all attempts to save me from the gallows of my mind,
but it seems like a dream
that i can be both numb yet very much alive
in this tragedy i never asked to play in.

breathe, pause.

this is not a cry for help but rather
an acknowledgment:
this deja vu must mean that i have survived this before,
so every time i slip into the depths of infinite void,
i should be able to drown my existential doubts
and keep myself afloat
with these little lifeboats i can afford,
using whatever spoons
i have left on to keep me going,...

right?

pause.



20190627 8.16pm