feels like there's a storm in my heart
because my eyes keep raining
2017-04-20 2pm
Showing posts with label pain. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pain. Show all posts
141: stub-burn
healing
begins
when the stub-
born
T
H
O
R
N
is finally out of the wound
ori: 2017-06-06 10.17pm
edited: 2017-07-21 8.21pm
begins
when the stub-
born
T
H
O
R
N
is finally out of the wound
ori: 2017-06-06 10.17pm
edited: 2017-07-21 8.21pm
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
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
139: kitsugi
kitsugi
is the art of mending broken things
using gold.
we too are made of clay:
ever at risk of wear and tear,
hardening with heat,
and falling apart,
but our defections are not as easily glazed over;
under pressure, our physical cracks are not dry
bright scarlet liquids that keeps our shell alive will eventually escape
in drips, oozes, gushes, depending on the severity of the impact.
yet, time after time,
the vessel will seal its bloody lips
on its own.
but filling up an empty shell with cracks all over, that haven't been healed by time, is not as straightforward
some of us survive only on the faith of others
and we keep cementing our brokenness the only way we know how:
to keep reattaching the cloudy shards of our existence
and line them all back together with silver
because that's the most we can afford.
kitusgi
is the art of embellishing broken things
and after thirty years of existing, i've learnt
that it is really a way of appreciating
that there are ways to make a vessel
hold water, to not be emptied;
that even those that have scars
can still heal
can still have value
and can still be beautiful.
2017-09-16 7.11pm
---
kitsugi
is the art of mending broken things
using gold.
we too are made of clay:
ever at risk of wear and tear,
hardening with heat,
and falling apart,
but our defections are not as easily glazed over;
under pressure, our physical cracks are not dry
bright scarlet liquids that keeps our shell alive will eventually escape
in drips, oozes, gushes, depending on the severity of the impact.
yet, time after time,
the vessel will seal its bloody lips
on its own.
but filling up an empty shell with cracks all over, that haven't been healed by time, is not as straightforward
some of us survive only on the faith of others
and we keep cementing our brokenness the only way we know how:
to keep reattaching the cloudy shards of our existence
and line them all back together with silver
because that's the most we can afford.
kitusgi
is the art of embellishing broken things
and after thirty years of existing, i've learnt
that it is really a way of appreciating
that there are ways to make a vessel
hold water, to not be emptied;
that even those that have scars
are still valuable.
--
kitsugi
is the art of mending broken earthenware
using gold.
we too are made of clay
we too are ever at risk of wear and tear,
we too can harden with heat
we too can fall apart with pressure;
but our defections are not as easily glazed over,
our squishy fleshy skin does not create cracks when broken;
the scars ooze out scarlet liquids pumped out by
our pulpy beating human hearts
to give life to the vessel that contains all our insides but
for those that are barely alive, i keep wondering
what use it is to keep patching up the leaky wounds
if the body has been emptied of everything of substance?
it's difficult to find meaning in emptiness though,
so some of us survive on faith
of others more than ourselves
and for better or worse,
cement our brokenness the easiest humanest way:
to look at the cloudy shards of our existence
and keep lining them all back together with silver
because most of us can't afford gold.
2017-07-21 8.11pm
---
kitsugi
is the art of fixing
broken things using gold.
people too can harden and be broken with pressure and heat,
but although both are made of clay and may wear and tear,
humans are not earthenware;
public displays of abundance and defections are not as easily glazed over --
so our pulpy beating human hearts pumping blood even in the most unliving bodies
reminds us that the only way to keep us whole
is to cement our brokenness in the most human way:
by lining all our cloudy shards with silver instead
because most of us can't afford gold anyway.
kitsugi is the art of embellishing broken things
and after thirty years of existing, i've learnt
that everyone has silver scars
and there is beauty in that
even when we can't see it ourselves.
2017-05-23 5.23pm
---
kitsugi is the art
of making broken pieces whole
by gluing them back together using gold.
after thirty years of existing, today i learnt
that i have somehow, unwittingly, perfected kitsugi.
breathing humans can withstand a lot of heat and pressure, much like china
our hearts allow the pumping of life
as they beat and bleed, hurt, and often, then heal
but although both of us are made of clay, humans are not earthenware
we are neither naturally stiff nor inanimate,
and public displays of abundance and defections are frowned upon.
so instead of cementing the our brokenness with gold,
i've learnt that we're expected to keep lining all the shards using silver;
for me, i do this begrudgingly,
but with time, willingly
and much more generously.
kitsugi is the art
of embellishing broken things
and after thirty years of existing, i've learnt
that there is beauty in silver scars
even when others can't see it.
10.45am
----
but hearts are not stiff nor inanimate
they may just just as fragile as the most delicate china
but they are not cold and glossy --
they beat and they bleed
they hurt and then they heal
... sometimes.
is the art of mending broken things
using gold.
we too are made of clay:
ever at risk of wear and tear,
hardening with heat,
and falling apart,
but our defections are not as easily glazed over;
under pressure, our physical cracks are not dry
bright scarlet liquids that keeps our shell alive will eventually escape
in drips, oozes, gushes, depending on the severity of the impact.
yet, time after time,
the vessel will seal its bloody lips
on its own.
but filling up an empty shell with cracks all over, that haven't been healed by time, is not as straightforward
some of us survive only on the faith of others
and we keep cementing our brokenness the only way we know how:
to keep reattaching the cloudy shards of our existence
and line them all back together with silver
because that's the most we can afford.
kitusgi
is the art of embellishing broken things
and after thirty years of existing, i've learnt
that it is really a way of appreciating
that there are ways to make a vessel
hold water, to not be emptied;
that even those that have scars
can still heal
can still have value
and can still be beautiful.
2017-09-16 7.11pm
---
kitsugi
is the art of mending broken things
using gold.
we too are made of clay:
ever at risk of wear and tear,
hardening with heat,
and falling apart,
but our defections are not as easily glazed over;
under pressure, our physical cracks are not dry
bright scarlet liquids that keeps our shell alive will eventually escape
in drips, oozes, gushes, depending on the severity of the impact.
yet, time after time,
the vessel will seal its bloody lips
on its own.
but filling up an empty shell with cracks all over, that haven't been healed by time, is not as straightforward
some of us survive only on the faith of others
and we keep cementing our brokenness the only way we know how:
to keep reattaching the cloudy shards of our existence
and line them all back together with silver
because that's the most we can afford.
kitusgi
is the art of embellishing broken things
and after thirty years of existing, i've learnt
that it is really a way of appreciating
that there are ways to make a vessel
hold water, to not be emptied;
that even those that have scars
are still valuable.
2017-07-24
9.53am
--
kitsugi
is the art of mending broken earthenware
using gold.
we too are made of clay
we too are ever at risk of wear and tear,
we too can harden with heat
we too can fall apart with pressure;
but our defections are not as easily glazed over,
our squishy fleshy skin does not create cracks when broken;
the scars ooze out scarlet liquids pumped out by
our pulpy beating human hearts
to give life to the vessel that contains all our insides but
for those that are barely alive, i keep wondering
what use it is to keep patching up the leaky wounds
if the body has been emptied of everything of substance?
it's difficult to find meaning in emptiness though,
so some of us survive on faith
of others more than ourselves
and for better or worse,
cement our brokenness the easiest humanest way:
to look at the cloudy shards of our existence
and keep lining them all back together with silver
because most of us can't afford gold.
2017-07-21 8.11pm
---
kitsugi
is the art of fixing
broken things using gold.
people too can harden and be broken with pressure and heat,
but although both are made of clay and may wear and tear,
humans are not earthenware;
public displays of abundance and defections are not as easily glazed over --
so our pulpy beating human hearts pumping blood even in the most unliving bodies
reminds us that the only way to keep us whole
is to cement our brokenness in the most human way:
by lining all our cloudy shards with silver instead
because most of us can't afford gold anyway.
kitsugi is the art of embellishing broken things
and after thirty years of existing, i've learnt
that everyone has silver scars
and there is beauty in that
even when we can't see it ourselves.
2017-05-23 5.23pm
---
kitsugi is the art
of making broken pieces whole
by gluing them back together using gold.
after thirty years of existing, today i learnt
that i have somehow, unwittingly, perfected kitsugi.
breathing humans can withstand a lot of heat and pressure, much like china
our hearts allow the pumping of life
as they beat and bleed, hurt, and often, then heal
but although both of us are made of clay, humans are not earthenware
we are neither naturally stiff nor inanimate,
and public displays of abundance and defections are frowned upon.
so instead of cementing the our brokenness with gold,
i've learnt that we're expected to keep lining all the shards using silver;
for me, i do this begrudgingly,
but with time, willingly
and much more generously.
kitsugi is the art
of embellishing broken things
and after thirty years of existing, i've learnt
that there is beauty in silver scars
even when others can't see it.
10.45am
💜💜💜115: uncyclereduceabuse
The thing about abusive relationships is this:
you don't always end up with scars.
At least, not ones where you are left
beatenupbloody
brokenboned
blackandblue.
It started off so well --
calltxtwhatsappskype
timeschedulesdistance
marriagedreamshomes;
He said I was special.
But then special
turned salient.
---
The thing about abusive relationships is this:
You don't always end up with scars.
Not beatenupbloody blackandblue brokenbones ones, at least.
For me, it was a classic case of, "I thought only other people go through this."
simply because
"I should have been smarter than to let it happen to myself'"
Now, I'm not sure if it's necessarily about smartness.
I lapped it all up.
I guess in retrospect
I should've known better.
But it started off so well --
we did the whole calltxtwhatsappskype
went out some despite timeschedulesdistance
we even had talks of marriagedreamshomes;
The grim atmosphere.
And so my feelings, thoughts, and actions started to be (sub)consciously dictated by
how he would feel ifs,
The lashback was painful
The pleas were guilttripping
The callsmessages had to be blocked
but I managed to escape what has been caging me.
And I felt free.
you don't always end up with scars.
At least, not ones where you are left
beatenupbloody
brokenboned
blackandblue.
He had a way with words.
He was pleasant,
thoughtful,
sweet.
He was pleasant,
thoughtful,
sweet.
He said I was special.
It started off so well --
calltxtwhatsappskype
timeschedulesdistance
marriagedreamshomes;
He said I was special.
But then special
turned salient.
The grim atmosphere.
What used to make my heart skip a beat
Made me forget how to breathe;
What used to give me butterflies
Gave me sweaty palms and goosebumps.
"If I just did a better job at making him happy, he would be nice again"
The mission to please became an obsession.
I wish everyone else in the same situation has the chanceabilityprivillege
to do the same.
The undercurrents.
The addictions.
The dark side.
His past.
His past.
The present.
Our future.
Our future.
What used to make my heart skip a beat
Made me forget how to breathe;
What used to give me butterflies
Gave me sweaty palms and goosebumps.
"If I just did a better job at making him happy, he would be nice again"
The mission to please became an obsession.
And I turned into an addict in denial
just like him.
At one point, I jokeconsoleremind myself,
"Hey, it could be worse.
At least he doesn't hit you."
This made me sober.
I've heard the stories,
I've talked to the women,
I've seen the horrors.
I had to leave.
And I felt free.
At one point, I jokeconsoleremind myself,
"Hey, it could be worse.
At least he doesn't hit you."
This made me sober.
I've heard the stories,
I've talked to the women,
I've seen the horrors.
I had to leave.
And I felt free.
I wish everyone else in the same situation has the chanceabilityprivillege
to do the same.
---
The thing about abusive relationships is this:
You don't always end up with scars.
Not beatenupbloody blackandblue brokenbones ones, at least.
For me, it was a classic case of, "I thought only other people go through this."
simply because
"I should have been smarter than to let it happen to myself'"
Now, I'm not sure if it's necessarily about smartness.
Maybe it's smartness intertwined with or messed up when emotions come into the equation.
Because looking back, it wasn't really obvious when I started feeling trapped.
He had a way with words.
He was pleasant, thoughtful, sweet.
He had a way with words.
He was pleasant, thoughtful, sweet.
He let me know how much he needed me.
He said I was different.
I'm special.
I lapped it all up.
I guess in retrospect
I should've known better.
But it started off so well --
we did the whole calltxtwhatsappskype
went out some despite timeschedulesdistance
we even had talks of marriagedreamshomes;
Things were pretty good
at first.
It was not long
before other things crept in.
The slow, but sure, 180 turn.
at first.
It was not long
before other things crept in.
The slow, but sure, 180 turn.
The grim atmosphere.
The undercurrents.
The addictions.
The dark side.
Then, more things became salient.
His past.
Then, more things became salient.
His past.
The present.
Our future.
Our future.
But i had to be kindacceptingunderstanding, i kept telling myself.
And so i kept readjusting my bearings to where he was. To what he was.
It took me a while to realise what this actually meant:
And so i kept readjusting my bearings to where he was. To what he was.
It took me a while to realise what this actually meant:
that I was adapting myself to him.
I can't be the way I am.
I can't be the way I am.
Because I'm not good enough.
But I still had to make him happy.
By hook or by crook, even if it meant I had to be someone else.
By hook or by crook, even if it meant I had to be someone else.
And so my feelings, thoughts, and actions started to be (sub)consciously dictated by
how he would feel ifs,
what he would do ifs,
what he would say ifs...
And the little things he did that used to give me butterflies started to give me goosebumps...
And the lively calls slowly became more and more one-sided...
And the jokes turned into accusations or insults.
But he wasn't always like this.
He wasn't.
Honest.
And this was the fuel that kept me going.
Because I'm different from all the other girls who left him, you see.
I'm special.
And there's always that voice at the back of my head:
"If I just did a better job at making him happy, he would be nice again"
The mission to please became an obsession.
And the little things he did that used to give me butterflies started to give me goosebumps...
And the lively calls slowly became more and more one-sided...
And the jokes turned into accusations or insults.
But he wasn't always like this.
He wasn't.
Honest.
And this was the fuel that kept me going.
Because I'm different from all the other girls who left him, you see.
I'm special.
And there's always that voice at the back of my head:
"If I just did a better job at making him happy, he would be nice again"
The mission to please became an obsession.
I didn't realise that it was an impossible one.
And so I turned into an addict in denial
And so I turned into an addict in denial
just like him.
It was only when I began to jokeconsoleremind myself,
"Hey, it could be worse.
At least he doesn't hit you."
... that I realised the gravity of this situation.
I've heard the stories,
I've talked to the women,
I've seen the horrors.
I had to leave.
It wasn't easy.
It was only when I began to jokeconsoleremind myself,
"Hey, it could be worse.
At least he doesn't hit you."
... that I realised the gravity of this situation.
I've heard the stories,
I've talked to the women,
I've seen the horrors.
I had to leave.
It wasn't easy.
The lashback was painful
The pleas were guilttripping
The callsmessages had to be blocked
but I managed to escape what has been caging me.
And I felt free.
I wish everyone else in the same situation has the chanceabilityprivillege
to do the same.
to do the same.
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
50: hard to heart talk
the words
stuttering out
of this vessel containing every cell of my being
are jumbled, just like
how they are in my head
(scrambled),
as i absentmindedly twirl my fingers
around the tassels of my scarf,
my subconscious obviously trying to untangle
the knots
in my covered hair
and in my guarded heart.
these thoughts
have caused me to be
in shambles. i feel enshackled, so i must
apologise in advance if i bore you to death -- i might just
ramble on about all these things
that i was too afraid to say before;
i need to be cautious,
i remind myself:
the things i say can never ever be unsaid.
but to unfeel the things i have felt
is just as hard to stomach.
and so i have decided
that i have no other choice
but to mouth out what has ruffled my feathers
(not just off-late) --
so that you would understand me better.
do you, now?
or will i forever misunderstand
and forever be misunderstood?
stuttering out
of this vessel containing every cell of my being
are jumbled, just like
how they are in my head
(scrambled),
as i absentmindedly twirl my fingers
around the tassels of my scarf,
my subconscious obviously trying to untangle
the knots
in my covered hair
and in my guarded heart.
these thoughts
have caused me to be
in shambles. i feel enshackled, so i must
apologise in advance if i bore you to death -- i might just
ramble on about all these things
that i was too afraid to say before;
i need to be cautious,
i remind myself:
the things i say can never ever be unsaid.
but to unfeel the things i have felt
is just as hard to stomach.
and so i have decided
that i have no other choice
but to mouth out what has ruffled my feathers
(not just off-late) --
so that you would understand me better.
do you, now?
or will i forever misunderstand
and forever be misunderstood?
37: bloody vengeance
let's just move on and pretend
that everything that happened didn't happen,
because i do not fully understand
(and you can't possibly comprehend)
why these old scars have reopened,
but they hurt like fucking vengeance.
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