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

117: cur(se)few

TW

i wouldn't be stupid enough to be out past midnight by myself
-- why ask for trouble?
but when i have to,
every gaze from a passerby
every puff of smoke from somewhere close by
every catcall
every chuckle
every shadow
every footstep
every flickering light
every creaking sound
every freaking thing
is amplified like i'm walking through a dark, icy cave.

the temperature doesn't drop,
but i subconsciously wrap myself
with my arms and with my prayers
as i try to make sure i haven't lost my voice
-- in case i had to scream
and i glance down to see that no shoelace is untied
-- in case i had to run
and with a cellphone in one hand
and whatever i could get in the other,
i pick up pace at every corner
i lock the door as soon as i'm inside,
and with blood raging through my veins in anger
and my heart pounding so hard out of fear
it pains me to realise
why i don't go out past midnight,
and why
for those who don't have a choice but to endure this
every. single. damn. day,
they're told
that they're asking for it.

2017

---


i wouldn't be stupid enough to be out past midnight by myself
-- why ask for trouble?
but when i have to,
every gaze from a passerby
every puff of smoke from somewhere close by
every catcall
every chuckle
every shadow
every footstep
every flickering light
every creaking sound
every freaking thing
is amplified like i'm walking through a dark, icy cave.

the temperature doesn't drop,
but i subconsciously wrap myself
with my arms and with my prayers
as i try to make sure i haven't lost my voice
-- in case i had to scream
and i glance down to see no shoelace is untied
-- in case i had to run
and with a cellphone in one hand
and something lethal in the other,
i pick up pace at every corner
i lock the door as soon as i'm inside,
and with blood raging through my veins out of anger
and my heart pounding so hard out of fear
it pains me to realise
why i don't go out past midnight,
and why
for those who don't have a choice but to endure this
every. single. damn. day,
society tells them
that they're asking for it.

---

- Izzaty | #YesAllWomen | 29/5/2014 | 11.30am

58: why i am a feminist

i am a feminist
because
They keep reminding me
by touch
by humour
by education
by interaction
by observation
by prescribed obligations
that
it's a man's world out there,
and men and women
i am told
are as different as night and day
and we need to RESPECT that
men are the decision-makers --
women should only be drones --
because women can't lead, only follow;
we need to just stfu because we're hollow,
and if we disagree,
they'll make damn sure there'll be sorrow
because we're only good if we can blow,
right?

no,
i don't hate men.
i just don't trust them.