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
Showing posts with label adulthood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label adulthood. Show all posts
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
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
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?
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?
131: nts
in case you forgot,
you are more than blood and bones and tinglings and thoughts.
in case you forgot,
you are a complex being, fragile but loved but tired but brave.
in case you forgot,
you are human.
it's okay to just be.
it's okay to just feel
hell, it's okay to just feel sorry for yourself
sometimes
it's - okay, breathe, breathe, breathe
in
and
out
and in
and out and
internalising toxicity has never done you any good -- no matter how many times you replay all the guilt of the past three decades making you constantly feel like you are
out of time
out of control
out of your mind
but of all the things that you stop yourself from doing out of fear,
please don't stop yourself from living because you're scared of being burnt.
sometimes facing your fires is the only way to let out steam,
so go ahead:
shout at the sea at the top of your lungs at 2 in the morning --
use vibrating showerheads on lazy sunday mornings or lonely weekday nights --
down llaollao generously topped with rainbow sprinkles and crushed graham cookies --
let tears extinguish your flaming eyesmindtongueclenchedfists -- just
let it
all
out
and give yourself
permission
to accept that you may be an organised mess
that you may lose yourself in
but will eventually find your way out at some point.
instead of fixating on the hands of the hours and minutes and seconds tick tick ticking away
as you tick tick untick no tick get ticked off by the things in your neverending checklists
try to accept that you'll only be able to see yourself in retrospect so you can't timetravel back to fix your future but also
try not to worry too much if you can't seem to live in the present the way self-help books keep telling you to.
i know your eyes are covered with layers of open-burn smoke disney-tinted lenses underneath half-eyelids wishing they could remain closed
and it's okay that the only thing you can see most of the time are your hands wiping away frustrations from your eyes, creases from your forehead, and snot from your nostrils
because your sweaty palms and farmer-like digits and unpolished nails
have helped you verbalise what you think and want and need,
have clawed into your aggressor's hands at your most vulnerable,
have cupped water for you to gargle after supermintyhot mouthwash,
have on countless occasions placed antiseptic and plaster on your scraped knees,
have pushed yourself up after kissing the earth from falling down, thanking god, or both,
have touched and tickled and been tingled by those who have returned your love - no matter how brief; despite
having been born or shaped or grown or scarred in ways that are unacceptable in other people's eyes,
they are a part and a reflection of what you are and what you are capable of:
perfectly flawed but able to do and carry and protect and heal
more than you can possibly believe.
so please,
forgive yourself
as much and often as you give excuses for other peole being the way they are
for you not being more
for the times you regress and fall through
for all the opportunities you probably missed because you couldn't get up right away or in time or at all.
because really
it's okay
to not be okay all the time.
2017-04-19 6.26pm
you are more than blood and bones and tinglings and thoughts.
in case you forgot,
you are a complex being, fragile but loved but tired but brave.
in case you forgot,
you are human.
it's okay to just be.
it's okay to just feel
hell, it's okay to just feel sorry for yourself
sometimes
it's - okay, breathe, breathe, breathe
in
and
out
and in
and out and
internalising toxicity has never done you any good -- no matter how many times you replay all the guilt of the past three decades making you constantly feel like you are
out of time
out of control
out of your mind
but of all the things that you stop yourself from doing out of fear,
please don't stop yourself from living because you're scared of being burnt.
sometimes facing your fires is the only way to let out steam,
so go ahead:
shout at the sea at the top of your lungs at 2 in the morning --
use vibrating showerheads on lazy sunday mornings or lonely weekday nights --
down llaollao generously topped with rainbow sprinkles and crushed graham cookies --
let tears extinguish your flaming eyesmindtongueclenchedfists -- just
let it
all
out
and give yourself
permission
to accept that you may be an organised mess
that you may lose yourself in
but will eventually find your way out at some point.
instead of fixating on the hands of the hours and minutes and seconds tick tick ticking away
as you tick tick untick no tick get ticked off by the things in your neverending checklists
try to accept that you'll only be able to see yourself in retrospect so you can't timetravel back to fix your future but also
try not to worry too much if you can't seem to live in the present the way self-help books keep telling you to.
i know your eyes are covered with layers of open-burn smoke disney-tinted lenses underneath half-eyelids wishing they could remain closed
and it's okay that the only thing you can see most of the time are your hands wiping away frustrations from your eyes, creases from your forehead, and snot from your nostrils
because your sweaty palms and farmer-like digits and unpolished nails
have helped you verbalise what you think and want and need,
have clawed into your aggressor's hands at your most vulnerable,
have cupped water for you to gargle after supermintyhot mouthwash,
have on countless occasions placed antiseptic and plaster on your scraped knees,
have pushed yourself up after kissing the earth from falling down, thanking god, or both,
have touched and tickled and been tingled by those who have returned your love - no matter how brief; despite
having been born or shaped or grown or scarred in ways that are unacceptable in other people's eyes,
they are a part and a reflection of what you are and what you are capable of:
perfectly flawed but able to do and carry and protect and heal
more than you can possibly believe.
so please,
forgive yourself
as much and often as you give excuses for other peole being the way they are
for you not being more
for the times you regress and fall through
for all the opportunities you probably missed because you couldn't get up right away or in time or at all.
because really
it's okay
to not be okay all the time.
2017-04-19 6.26pm
126: NaPoWriMo Day 4: Still I Survive
Day 4's prompt, re: Maya Angelou's Still I Rise.
#pckl #day4 #napowrimo #npwm
---
My emotions twist and turn from troposphere heights to oceanbed lows;
sometimes I ✈ through and over ☁s and between 🌈s
other times I'm ⚓ed and suffocating with nowhere to go.
Barely alive, but still I survive.
My mind is a circus with a one-way admission;
the 🎡 keeps me grounded, 🎢 pumps my adrenaline
but I keep getting lost in 👻 mazes of inhibitions.
Barely alive, but still I survive.
My 💓 is an organ everbeating and overbattered;
keep being insisted that sticks and stones may only break bones but i doubt
there's sense in leaving verbal wounds untended, as blood keeps oozing out.
Barely alive, but still I survive.
My chest is "endowed" which oft-translates to "My D wants your D";
because the chances of being cupped by 👹 on the street
are ridiculously higher than finding a cup with the right fit.
Barely alive, but still I survive.
My legs are my vehicle to escape with an expiring key
they allow me to 🏃 and jump and 💃 and get down and dirty
but Doc said I'll have messed up knees by the time I hit thirty.
Barely alive, but still I survive.
---
Sorry for the late post! I had the idea yesterday but it took a while for the words to materialise in my head.
#pckl #day4 #napowrimo #npwm
---
My emotions twist and turn from troposphere heights to oceanbed lows;
sometimes I ✈ through and over ☁s and between 🌈s
other times I'm ⚓ed and suffocating with nowhere to go.
Barely alive, but still I survive.
My mind is a circus with a one-way admission;
the 🎡 keeps me grounded, 🎢 pumps my adrenaline
but I keep getting lost in 👻 mazes of inhibitions.
Barely alive, but still I survive.
My 💓 is an organ everbeating and overbattered;
keep being insisted that sticks and stones may only break bones but i doubt
there's sense in leaving verbal wounds untended, as blood keeps oozing out.
Barely alive, but still I survive.
My chest is "endowed" which oft-translates to "My D wants your D";
because the chances of being cupped by 👹 on the street
are ridiculously higher than finding a cup with the right fit.
Barely alive, but still I survive.
My legs are my vehicle to escape with an expiring key
they allow me to 🏃 and jump and 💃 and get down and dirty
but Doc said I'll have messed up knees by the time I hit thirty.
Barely alive, but still I survive.
---
Sorry for the late post! I had the idea yesterday but it took a while for the words to materialise in my head.
125: NaPoWriMo Day 3: early departed
lids flutter open, close, half-open, squint; light glaring between the curtains, visually reminding it's rise and shine o'clock.
plop facedown into pillow to find workpants underneath, somehow slept on. moanday? great.
roll over to one side; moments pass and eyes eventually adjust to less-dimming room.
wait a minute.
turn to windowside to see it's quite bright out. but the alarms haven't gone off yet so maybe it's not that lat--"SHIT phone is dead, shitshitshit!"
iron crumpled pants,
grab hung top, sniff matching scarves
towel, on! mask? check! gooo
#pckl #day3 #napowrimo #npwm
1.57pm
via Poetry Cafe KL
----
Basically, haibun is the combination of two poems: a prose poem and haiku. For example:
In the shadow of the Nevado del Ruiz, rice farmers woke as if on any other morning. Their daily pleasures and worries were the same as always. Even the smoke and eruptions that afternoon were familiar—though masked by a thunderstorm—no one aware of the approaching lahars.
not the sound
but drops of rain
scatter ants
- 1985, by Robert Lee Brewer
We sometimes take routine things for granted. Your prompt for today is to write in haibun form, the short journey from your bed to the bathroom door. Note what you can see, hear, feel, touch, and smell and surprise us!
For a further guide on how to write haibun, here's a free PDF: http://www.hsa-haiku.org/EducationalResources/Guidelines-for-Writing-Haibun.pdf
Don't forget to tag your poems with #pckl #day3 #napowrimo #npwm after/before writing using this prompt!
plop facedown into pillow to find workpants underneath, somehow slept on. moanday? great.
roll over to one side; moments pass and eyes eventually adjust to less-dimming room.
wait a minute.
turn to windowside to see it's quite bright out. but the alarms haven't gone off yet so maybe it's not that lat--"SHIT phone is dead, shitshitshit!"
iron crumpled pants,
grab hung top, sniff matching scarves
towel, on! mask? check! gooo
#pckl #day3 #napowrimo #npwm
1.57pm
via Poetry Cafe KL
----
Prompt:
Almost everyone knows what's a haiku, but can you write in haibun form?Basically, haibun is the combination of two poems: a prose poem and haiku. For example:
In the shadow of the Nevado del Ruiz, rice farmers woke as if on any other morning. Their daily pleasures and worries were the same as always. Even the smoke and eruptions that afternoon were familiar—though masked by a thunderstorm—no one aware of the approaching lahars.
not the sound
but drops of rain
scatter ants
- 1985, by Robert Lee Brewer
We sometimes take routine things for granted. Your prompt for today is to write in haibun form, the short journey from your bed to the bathroom door. Note what you can see, hear, feel, touch, and smell and surprise us!
For a further guide on how to write haibun, here's a free PDF: http://www.hsa-haiku.org/EducationalResources/Guidelines-for-Writing-Haibun.pdf
Don't forget to tag your poems with #pckl #day3 #napowrimo #npwm after/before writing using this prompt!
117: cur(se)few
TW
-- 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
114: word of the day
listen up, class!
the word of the day
is
disappointment.
but no,
this is not something i'll teach you --
though it is something you will eventually learn --
because, after all,
we are but hopes and dreams
manifested
in otherwise lifeless vessels with muscles and
yes,
this is something i'll teach you:
that wants lead to confusion
from unpredicted actions
and expectations leads to reactions
that may be sanctions
or a fraction of deflection
from tension
you get an A
in this class
if you get what i say
you get a huh
in your head
if you get what i mean
listen up, class!
the word of the day
is
disappointment.
but no,
this is not something for you to learn --
though it is something you will, eventually --
because, after all,
all we are are hopes and dreams
manifested
in otherwise lifeless bodies
with vessels and muscles and .
no,
this is something i have learnt:
that wants lead to confusion
and expectations leads to reactions
from unexpected actions
that may be sanctions
or a fraction
of tension
you get an A
in this class
if you get what i say
you get a huh
in your head
if you get what i mean
the word of the day
is
disappointment.
but no,
this is not something i'll teach you --
though it is something you will eventually learn --
because, after all,
we are but hopes and dreams
manifested
in otherwise lifeless vessels with muscles and
yes,
this is something i'll teach you:
that wants lead to confusion
from unpredicted actions
and expectations leads to reactions
that may be sanctions
or a fraction of deflection
from tension
you get an A
in this class
if you get what i say
you get a huh
in your head
if you get what i mean
---
the word of the day
is
disappointment.
but no,
this is not something for you to learn --
though it is something you will, eventually --
because, after all,
all we are are hopes and dreams
manifested
in otherwise lifeless bodies
with vessels and muscles and .
no,
this is something i have learnt:
that wants lead to confusion
and expectations leads to reactions
from unexpected actions
that may be sanctions
or a fraction
of tension
you get an A
in this class
if you get what i say
you get a huh
in your head
if you get what i mean
100: breaking news
how do you
brake
the news
to a child
that their only parent
is gone
?
here's one way
:
letting her
estranged villagefolk
who came to take her home
break
the news
at the schoolgate instead
.
because nobody prepared you to face
her
breaking voice
,
her
breaking down
,
as she tries to remain standing
in spite of her wobbly knees
;
as she struggles afloat though
her vision is drowning in tears
;
bothered breathing
,
sobbing and suffocating
;
and you watch
jaw dropped
hands shaking
mind numbed
because nothing prepared you for this
.
holding this
trembling soul
shaken and stirred
by the twists of fate
of having lost
her sole supporter
?
trying to
unbreak
herself
in her state of mind
of worrying about every single thing
of unpredictable uncertainties
---
then you start to realise
that she is no more prepared
than you are
.
nothing
prepared
me
for this
.
how do i
break
the news
to a child
that their only parent
is gone
?
---
written: 13/4/13
last edited: 3/12/13
brake
the news
to a child
that their only parent
is gone
?
here's one way
:
letting her
estranged villagefolk
who came to take her home
break
the news
at the schoolgate instead
.
because nobody prepared you to face
her
breaking voice
,
her
breaking down
,
as she tries to remain standing
in spite of her wobbly knees
;
as she struggles afloat though
her vision is drowning in tears
;
bothered breathing
,
sobbing and suffocating
;
and you watch
jaw dropped
hands shaking
mind numbed
because nothing prepared you for this
.
holding this
trembling soul
shaken and stirred
by the twists of fate
of having lost
her sole supporter
?
trying to
unbreak
herself
in her state of mind
of worrying about every single thing
of unpredictable uncertainties
---
then you start to realise
that she is no more prepared
than you are
.
nothing
prepared
me
for this
.
how do i
break
the news
to a child
that their only parent
is gone
?
---
written: 13/4/13
last edited: 3/12/13
87: BittersweeTea
sweet
is my iced wintermelon tea
as i nibble at the gummy bubbles
and the flavored rainbow jellies
-munch
-munch
look outside
-munch
an old woman walks past
-munch
-mun--
her blanket over her arm
---ch
her hair unkempt
-pause
her expression confused
-stare
her clothes disarray
-focus
Homeless?
-assess
Disowned!
-conclude
Disability.
-pause
is my iced wintermelon tea
as i nibble at the gummy bubbles
and the flavored rainbow jellies
-munch
-munch
look outside
-munch
an old woman walks past
-munch
-mun--
her blanket over her arm
---ch
her hair unkempt
-pause
her expression confused
-stare
her clothes disarray
-focus
Homeless?
-assess
Disowned!
-conclude
Disability.
-pause
-munch.
-look down
chatime in my palm
-look out
blanket on her arm
-stop
chatime in my palm
-look out
blanket on her arm
-stop
Gulp.
sweet
is my iced wintermelon tea,
but did it always have
such a bitter aftertaste?
is my iced wintermelon tea,
but did it always have
such a bitter aftertaste?
Aug 11 2013
78: Adieu Kate
kate said:
"at the end of the day,
all teachers look for are mistakes"
but then i realised
that in our dualistic system of
black or white
loose or tight
wrong or right
we have lost sight
in the middle of the spectrum
in the middle of everything
and sweep under the carpet
because only adults
can have opinions, right?
become notorious rebels
"adieu, kate!"
as she faces the world beyond the school gate
because she will come to realise
that school didn't really prepare her for all that
but in some ways, it did
just not exactly like
---
kate said
"at the end of the day,
i was about to defend my profession
i was about to defend myselfbut then i realised
that in our dualistic system of
black or white
loose or tight
wrong or right
we have lost sight
of kids like kate:
in the middle of the line
in the middle of the graphin the middle of the line
in the middle of the spectrum
in the middle of everything
and yet nowhere to be found.
we stuff them into boxes
expecting them to still breathe
and then we wonder
why they choke when we ask them to speak;
we make them give answers
based on prepared marking schemes
they can't think too far
they can't think too far
-- can't give more than the examiner wanted;
we want them to be unique
yet shut them down when they areand sweep under the carpet
their blood, sweat and tears like specks of dust
we tell them to listen listen listen
and then we talk talk talk talk talkbecause only adults
can have opinions, right?
and then we complain
that kids like katebecome notorious rebels
or passionless zombies.
so when kate finishes school
i wonder if i can honestly say"adieu, kate!"
as she faces the world beyond the school gate
because she will come to realise
that school didn't really prepare her for all that
but in some ways, it did
just not exactly like
what we had said.
---
kate said
"at the end of the day
all teachers look for
are mistakes"
i was about to defend my profession
i was about to defend myself
and then i realised
that she was not far from right.
because in our dualistic system of
black or white
loose or tight
wrong or right
we have lost sight
of kids like kate,
those who are
in the middle of the line
in the middle of the graph
in the middle of the spectrum
in the middle of everything
and yet nowhere to be found
and
we stuff them into boxes
expecting them to breathe
and then we wonder
why they choke when we ask them to speak;
we force them to answer
based on the scheme
not what they had discovered
-- hey, it's more than what the examiner wanted.
we want them to manage
by themselves,
so we sweep under the carpet
their blood, sweat and tears like specks of dust
we give them rules to follow
which we ourselves
don't heed or understand
and then say 'tut tut' when they are confused
we tell them to listen listen listen
and then we talk talk talk talk talk
because only adults
can have opinions, right?
and then we complain
that kids like kate
become notorious
or lifeless beings.
so when kate finishes school
i wonder if i can honestly say
"adieu, kate!"
as she faces the world beyond the school gate
because she will come to realise
that school didn't really prepare her for all that
but in some ways, it did
just not exactly like
what we had said.
---
i was once a kate, and i hope i educate.
---
kate said
"at the end of the day
all teachers look for
are mistakes"
i was about to defend my profession
i was about to defend myself
and then i realised
that she was somewhat right.
because in our dualistic system of
black and white
loose or tight
wrong and right
we have lost sight
of kids like kate
they are those
who are somewhere
in the middle of the line
in the middle of the graph
in the middle of the spectrum
in the middle of nowhere
and
we stuff them into boxes
expecting them to breathe
and then we wonder
why they choke when we ask them to speak;
we force them to answer
according to the scheme
not what they had discovered
because it's more than what the examiner wanted.
we want them to manage
by themselves,
and we sweep their problems
under the carpet like silly specks useless dust
we give them rules to follow
which we ourselves
don't heed or understand
and then say 'tut tut' when they are confused
we tell them to listen listen listen
and then we talk talk talk talk talk
because only adults
can have opinions, right?
and then we complain
that kids like kate
become notorious
or zombies.
but
when kate finishes school
i wonder if i can honestly say
"adieu, kate!"
as she faces the world beyond the school gate
because she will come to realise
that school didn't really prepare her for all that
but in some ways, it did
just not exactly according to
what we had said.
---
i was once a kate
and i hope i educate.
70: blow job
To think
that being a quarter century old
would help me
endure the mental torture
and the emotional turmoil
of figuring out how to minimise
the blow
of breaking another person's heart.
that being a quarter century old
would help me
endure the mental torture
and the emotional turmoil
of figuring out how to minimise
the blow
of breaking another person's heart.
29/11/12 2pm
69: School blues
rewind ten years back
around this time of the year
and you will find
a student in her teens, and
fast forward 10 years
back to this time of the year
and you will find
a teacher teaching teens, and
both are in denial
of the fact
that school starts
in
one
week.
68: like them
why must i
respect people who could straight up lie
worry what everyone thinks until i want to cry
be forced to be a busybody when i hate to pry
work like an adult but be treated like a child
wear what they wear because it's in style
pretend i'm a tree, powerless and docile
listen to views that are far from fertile
have expensive taste and be in denial?
why must i
be sly
without making a sigh
and without feeling vile?
and why must i
do all this to beguile
and without asking why
like them?
67: the sole battle
at the end of the day
these rows of lustrous lots
these groups of vague vendors
these lines of scripted sentences
are operating
like an oasis
in the middle of nowhere;
offering
promises
to care less;
promises
that are careless.
because
as you get closer,
you would soon realise
your eyes wildly looking around to soak in the vision of what you are able to (par)take,
your mouth salivates with the thought of how that sparkling pond water would taste,
your fingers would carelessly reach out to touch, feel, things you have longed for.
all to satisfy
your natural instincts
your worldly desires
your own foolishness.
and yet, you make a run for it.
you run like your life depended on it.
does it?
does our life depend on whether we reach this oasis,
despite knowing that
we are still
lost
and
alone
in a desert?
perhaps we have lost sight of
or lost track of
or have completely removed ourselves of the thought that
there is
an untouched-as-yet lake
up in the virgin mountains
just waiting
for us
to have a swim.
may we all win the battle
against ourselves
when we face a mirage
in the comforting disguise
of an oasis.
may we all reach that lake.
ameen.
why are we killing each other
and ourselves
in a race
to reach an oasis
that is only a mirage?
these rows of lustrous lots
these groups of vague vendors
these lines of scripted sentences
are operating
like an oasis
in the middle of nowhere;
offering
promises
to care less;
promises
that are careless.
because
as you get closer,
you would soon realise
your eyes wildly looking around to soak in the vision of what you are able to (par)take,
your mouth salivates with the thought of how that sparkling pond water would taste,
your fingers would carelessly reach out to touch, feel, things you have longed for.
all to satisfy
your natural instincts
your worldly desires
your own foolishness.
and yet, you make a run for it.
you run like your life depended on it.
does it?
does our life depend on whether we reach this oasis,
despite knowing that
we are still
lost
and
alone
in a desert?
perhaps we have lost sight of
or lost track of
or have completely removed ourselves of the thought that
there is
an untouched-as-yet lake
up in the virgin mountains
just waiting
for us
to have a swim.
may we all win the battle
against ourselves
when we face a mirage
in the comforting disguise
of an oasis.
may we all reach that lake.
ameen.
why are we killing each other
and ourselves
in a race
to reach an oasis
that is only a mirage?
54: i surprise myself sometimes I
he asked, "you really
wanna know?". i freeze, inhale
sharply. do i?
wanna know?". i freeze, inhale
sharply. do i?
in the car, there's not much you can't see or are able to hear. or do. or hide.
52: Submerged
Somehow,
I find myself in the middle
of the sunken fields of Despair
again.
But I am not stationary.
And I am not alone.
Because the weight of
pent-up tears and
the wrench of
dark undercurrents
I find myself in the middle
of the sunken fields of Despair
again.
But I am not stationary.
And I am not alone.
Because the weight of
pent-up tears and
the wrench of
dark undercurrents
make me sink
faster, deeper
faster, deeper
into the overbrimmed
realms of Dysphoria,
realms of Dysphoria,
the dystopic home of
the rejected,
the tormented,
the dejected,
the tormented,
the dejected,
the fragmented.
Here is where
you will find those
who are in want of
who are in want of
a teaspoon of Concern,
a big pinch of Gratitude,
a handful of Appreciation,
a morsel of Happiness,
a sprinkle of Hope;
from those whom
they care about the most
they care about the most
(from those who
care about them the least).
care about them the least).
Struggling together in
solitude: suffocating in this
sea of hot ever-flowing tears and
solitude: suffocating in this
sea of hot ever-flowing tears and
sobs of endless desperation from being
souls trapped in lucklustre, unfulfilled lives
still trying to seek someone who understands, to
save us from ourselves. But there is nowhere to go but
Down.
save us from ourselves. But there is nowhere to go but
Down.
And the lower I go,
the more I give in
the more I give up
the less I give a fuck
about the world.
About all this.
About all this.
Will this go on forever? Will this abruptly end?
Will this just end up being a nightmare,
where I wake up drenched in my own sweat?
where I wake up drenched in my own sweat?
And ah, what if I'm able to save myself
But am unable to save the others,
especially those who dragged
me all the way down here?
me all the way down here?
Do I leave them?
Not an option.
Not an option.
I couldn't
I can't
in the middle
of the sunken
fields of
Despair,
the weight of
pent-up tears and
the wrench of
dark undercurrents
of the sunken
fields of
Despair,
the weight of
pent-up tears and
the wrench of
dark undercurrents
make me sink
faster, deeper
faster, deeper
into the overbrimmed
realms of Dysphoria,
realms of Dysphoria,
the dystopic residence of
the rejected,
the tormented,
the dejected,
the tormented,
the dejected,
the fragmented.
Here is where
you will find those who
lack and are in want of
a teaspoon of Concern,
a big pinch of Gratitude,
a handful of Appreciation,
a morsel of Happiness,
a sprinkle of Hope;
from those whom
they care about the most
they care about the most
(from those who
care about them the least).
care about them the least).
So I
suffocate in this
suffocate in this
sea of tears as the
sighs of desperation from
souls trapped in lucklustre lives
seeking those who can try to understand.
But there seems to be nowhere to go but down.
And the lower I go,
the more I give in
the more I give up
the less I give a fuck
about the world.
About all this.
About all this.
Will this go on forever? Will this abruptly end?
Will this just end up being a nightmare,
where I wake up drenched in my own sweat?
where I wake up drenched in my own sweat?
And ah, what if I'm able to save myself
But am unable to save the others,
especially those who dragged
me all the way down here?
me all the way down here?
Do I leave them?
Not an option.
Not an option.
I couldn't
I can't
51: who i really am
from the depths of my soul,
at the bottom of my heart,
inside the core of my mind,
underneath it all,
i am
afraid of being aloneof being left alone
of being left behind
of being left undone;
afraid of being apart
of being broken apart
of being broken inside
of being broken hearted;
afraid of being unloved
of being eventually unloved
of being eventually ignored
of being eventually forgotten;
afraid of being disappointed
of being predictably disappointed
of being predictably disappointing
of being predictably unneeded.
these 'irrational' fears
guide me
restrict me
control me
force me
to
do the things i do
think the way i think
feel the crap i feel.
from the depths of my soul,
at the bottom of my heart,
at the bottom of my heart,
inside the core of my mind,
underneath it all,
i am
Sca(r)red
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