177: tenanglah hati

tak henti-henti
aku berhati-hati
dari menyakiti hati

kenapa aku sentiasa
tentang hatiku sendiri

- tenanglah hati, 2025-01-30, 2.40pm

tak henti-henti 

aku berhati-hati

dari menyakiti hati

tapi kenapa aku sentiasa

tentang hatiku sendiri

- tenanglah hati, 2020-11-03, 1.40pm

176: sweater weather

today,

we collectively hold our breaths as

covert agents continue to take hostage 

of millions in its path like there's no tomorrow

amidst all the rage against iron fists that

ignore the pleas of those in the front lines and

the plights of those they are supposed to protect,

as systems break down and dreams fall apart,

my apocalyptic anxiety is offset

by drizzle

tickling my soul as i face

the blue sky that keeps getting darker

as the world continues to crash and burn

and nothing makes much sense,

i wish i had

a soul connection

- 20201005

173: heart

heavy and heaving,
overpouring my emotions
overpowering my motions
in a flash, flooding me with tears
crashing into me in waves as you
join forces with gravity
to typhoon up storms
and whirl up currents
inside me to
drag
me
down

tell me heart, why
do you keep letting me
drown?

💜💜💜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.

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

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

160: fakeup

blurring the shadows from the past sleepless nights
lining soul’s windows with the cattiest of sights
flicking off the ends, 'few times for good measure
to last all through the day in pain or with pleasure
plucking the follicles that have grown astray
filling in the gaps left behind by d.n.a.
staining the pale from being pursed for too long
plumping them with shades they keep on saying are wrong
powdering the rest, especially the spots
gathering the loose strands and untangling the knots
staring at the reflection, wonder with dread:
am i seeking attention by looking less 'dead'?


2019-03-27 2.10pm

157: Life, less (draft)

Hang on, i hear them say
as i lie on my own puddle of thoughtvomit,
eyes deadstraight
cheek kissing the ground
wiry weary locks swirling around,
flattened by the gravity of nothing.

At this moment, I am unmoving, unlike the world.
Unmoved, unlike myself.

Overwhelmed by senses of nonsensical proportions
in thought and from touch (always too little or too much);
for being blue yet well-burnt
for being infected yet disaffected,
I wish these unwanted emotions would stop mutating.
I am getting too old to see my reflection
post self-contamination and exposure to dangerous fumes of my own virtual reality,
constantly questioning my own sanity when illusions can be truth in its own concealed crumpled convoluted way.

Perhaps this attraction to hypothetical flames
is a way to douse my own nightmares of having been burnt one too many times.

Floating around in circles or among them
Up down left right everywhere nowhere
in a daze
in a maze
it's all a haze at this point
against the backdrop of wonder and wakeful gratefulness
paved with mysterious tracks of apparent randomness.

Or maybe these are merely excuses.
Because I do find peace sometimes.

But just as tears from the past turn into scabs and scars and signs of having lived, the too-familiar cloaks of safety and in denial compresses who and what we are, and the invaluable invisible packets of what's left of life's lessons of what we learn of what we are and should become; that we know we aren't or shouldn't be, are lasered onto my headspace
From snottynosed days where nothing is left untouched
To flushed cheeks where my heart is more than parched

So I heave my body up from the gravel
wheezing dirt and scraping my fists as my voice finally breaks
-- Save me.

One day you will be free
Hold on grab on come on get up
Youcandothis
wash your grimy mask
and plaster on a grin

Fake it till you make it, as they say
Keep swimming in salty tears
Embrace the pouring rain
and rest assured that one day you will be free

but for now
Hang on.

2018-10-17

- originally from 2017-09-04

150: Sayang

she calls me Sayang
as her love straightjackets me
while the padded walls absorb my screams
and my streams and my dreams
and it seems that she thinks she’s trying
to save me by tugging me tightly
but i’m no barbie in abaya,
nothing but a black sheep in wire
who'd rather crossfire than conspire,
wearing social justice warrior
as a badge of honor.
.
dia panggil aku Sayang,
dan aku dihidupkan untuk menjadi bonekanya yang
solek-selokanya bak bidadari tanpa bayang-bayang.
tapi sayang, suaraku tak semerdu dayang
rambut tak lebat berikal mayang
lidah tak sehalus tali lelayang
tubuhku tak seramping tiang
senyumku tak semanis angan-angan siang.
.
dia panggil aku Sayang,
tapi diriku dah penat ditayang.
sendiku sakit dihuyung-hayang,
diheret, disentak rentak si juru wayang.
yet even after decades of resistance
i am still struggling to keep a distance
between her scripts for me and my own reality.
.
she calls me Sayang,
and sometimes i wonder
if the word has lost its meaning
because the more she talks to me
the more redundant she makes me feel.
.
she calls me Sayang,
so the saying "marah maknanya sayang"
is really just gaslighting,
isn't it?


2019-04-12 7.20pm
2018-01-30 3.06pm

149: heartless

once again,
you are caught red-handed
with another pulpy, still-beating heart
ripped out of a chest you've once been a guest in.

blood splutters all around
as you squish it inside your fist,
turning tears into tsunamis
and friends into foes.

this isn't your first time,
i know.


2017-12-13 4.39pm

148: salah

sebenarnya
doa-doa mereka
supaya saya jadi orang yang berguna
hanya buat saya resah.

saya
serba salah.



2017-11-18
4.36pm

147: full circle

i keep dipping in and out of circles;
running in one spot and then to another
everoverworrying that it's never gonna be my place
to say or do or think or feel the way i do
and it always leads me back
to me wondering if
i'll ever




          f    i    n   d



                      my         

place
 
                                                         in

                                                                        the
                                                                       
                                                           

                            world

146: heavy mental

i've been asked
about my insistence in preserving
the sights+sounds+tastes+scents+strokes
of those i love
   but
i cannot put into words
why my fear of losing these Memories
   is so strong
       it hurts.

perhaps
i am simply
   Sentimental;
trying to tiptoe while tumbling through blocks
of matter and no-matters
and make sense of everything
in this sensational yet desensitised world
   is nonsensical
      but

perhaps
   (for better or worse)
   (and this is okay)
this is just
      how i Love.

145: water you weighting for

when you struggle to stay afloat
and reminding yourself to breath
makes no sense
as you suf
fo
cate on
thoughts of EVERYTHING
and feelings of n th ngn ss,
reach for your headphones
and r e l e a s e
the dammed music
you've been collecting
for over three decades.

let the soundwaves silence
the tsunamis tumbling within you
in full volume.


20170920 11.30am
- don't drown just yet.

142: storm in my heart

feels like there's a storm in my heart
because my eyes keep raining


2017-04-20 2pm

140: heart to skin

Patience
are the blades on my fingertips
not scraping the crusty canvas of my existence.

i know you are parched,
but if you weep,
so will i.

20170528 10:10pm

132: wanederlust

how is it
that everyone else is onthego and underpressure and overworked and inbetweenjobs and inthemidstofeverything and
are constantly running and falling and getting back up and spinning and running and getting back up and spinning and running and getting back up and spinning spinning running running running spinning spinning faster and faster and faster and faster going oh so fast oh so steadily
and all i seem to do is spin and spill tears and run and ruin away?

how is it
that i can be full to the brim
and spill out only gas and steam?

how is it
that i constantly find myself tiptoeing at the tip of my sanity
and drown in dreadful nothingness?