waste-landed heart

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Moving Image Courtesy of: wiffles

once upon a time
she hardly remembers,
the girl with tumble weed hair
and rose petal lips
was not afraid of heartbreak.

she kept her head held high
so she could learn
from birds in the sky
how to gently unfurl
the delicate wings encasing
a heart three-sizes too big
for her hope-filled chest
watch her as she breathes in
the meadow-scented winds.

Continue reading “waste-landed heart”

stars, space & an empty place

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image courtesy of: borda

she remembers that night,
no stars dusted the evening sky
but their residual light
flickered in his wandering eyes
and how she desperately wanted to hold –
his gaze, hand or mind
for them to share a hazy moment
in suspended time

too bad
he was on the other side
of an unfamiliar room
filled with mutual strangers
maybe with enough imagination
they could have been
the newest constellation

already tenuously connected by
some star-struck fate,
but too scared or sober
to name this new feeling or shape
much less ask if he
maybe thought the same

it’s funny how
she has learnt all about
the grand, infinite universe
but her saturday night silence
still felt like the most empty
and hopeless space
that she has ever known

 

What of

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what of hope
but empty promises
if you do not
dream of dandelion fields
and look for four-leaf clovers
in pavement cracks
sometimes?
(even though you’ve never seen one)

what of ambition
but unbridled fantasies
if you do not
bellow your wild ideas
to the skies?
(the ones that make
the earth tremble
and the seas part way)

what of love
but heartbreaks and mistakes
if you do not
try to swallow it
but find its fluttery wings
tickling the pit of your stomach
leaving feathers on your tongue
when you least expect it to?
(the 2am I miss yous
and 2.05am tinder convos
tastes strangely like vodka)

Continue reading “What of”

friday night – out

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excuse the mess (referring to both my room & me) – genuine photo I sent to a friend to show her what I was wearing prior to the event that inspired the poem below (09/16)

9pm – 3am
(day off)

my white jeans
are stained with sticky memories
and I wish they were covered
with the drinks
I shouldn’t have drowned in
instead.

It’s funny how you tell people
you regret friday night
and they wink and say
“bet you had fun though!”

As if clinging onto people
instead of my toppling pride
would be in the highlight reel
of my life.

As if wanting to vomit up excuses why
I’m acting like a scared little girl
and not being heard or seen
doesn’t make me want to cry.

As if becoming a fumbling stumbling mess
was what I was looking forwards to
all this time.

at least I learnt that
losing control
when you feel out of control
is like jumping off a bridge
just because you’re sick
of the way gravity
makes the air feel so heavy
on your shoulders
(it’s stupid)

and even though
alcohol makes you
feel like you can fly
away from both the whispers
and indifference
the shots will always hit you
and here comes the fall
everybody/nobody
was waiting for

remember
when you said you wouldn’t
do this ever again?

[work/out]

sommelier

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I will never be
the girl who keeps
a quick tongue
locked behind smirking red lips,
her canines ready to pierce
the throbbing hearts
of sweat drenched men.

swirl their blood
around her mouth
like cheap shiraz,
a goddess
would never swallow
a poor man’s lies.

she tastes
these complicated
and interlaced notes
of desire and desperation
like a true sommelier
of sleazy drunkards and
self purported ‘gentlemen’
different varieties
off the same vines (veins)
never quite good enough
to pair with her tannin-coated heart

Continue reading “sommelier”

fragile selfish beings

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Source: Unkown

we are flesh
wanting flesh

walking sadness
searching for a similar
brand of pain-stained soul

so we can rub warm tears
into each other’s wounds
sanitise our weary hearts
under the light of these
indifferent, dying stars

hoping our battle scars
do not pull new blood
from strangers’ veins
but we do not care enough
to wait for the judgement
of the summer sun
let the casualties rest
in the dark

oh these fragile, selfish beings
that we are

oh these fragile, selfish beings
that we love

friday night – work

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11pm – 7am
(graveyard shift)

tonight,
my friends dance
under strobe lights
as I get drunk on alcosan
sanitising my heart
of the desire to be
anywhere but here

they cannot wait
for cute boys
chiselled by the shadows
of their flickering pocket screens
to objectify them
as I fight the urge
to down whatever poison
I’m pouring for the next guy
who can’t look up from his phone
for a fraction of a second
to humanise me

Continue reading “friday night – work”

long distance – 4614

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Image courtesy of: Arsenixc

we are missing
and I no longer remember
where I misplaced us
perhaps our hearts
sunk to the bottom of the
Tasman sea when I moved
away from home?

I thought if I packed my bags
full of photos and love notes
I could make a scrapbook of
our story but I guess
scraps are just the meaningless
edges of what I clung onto
too tightly and torn too carelessly
and these tears cannot be mended
just wiped away.

Continue reading “long distance – 4614”

echo chamber: earth-sized & shell-shaped

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Image courtesy of: transmissiondream

do you remember
when we were younger
and they told us
we could hear the ocean
if we held a sea shell to our ears
as if those lifeless husks
contained some echo of home?

as a naive & introverted child,
my brown spotted conch shell
became one of my most prized possessions
and I spent hours upon hours
at my auditory beach
close my eyes
so the waves
could drown out reality.

well it turns out
they lied to us
like they did about everything else
(faeries, santa, growing up)
and the sea-like sounds we heard
was just our surrounding environment
resonating within the cavity of the shell
I guess you cannot escape reality
only distort it temporarily
google tells me
it’s a cheap trick
replicable with an empty plastic cup
(by holding it up to your ear
or finishing the liquor inside)

Continue reading “echo chamber: earth-sized & shell-shaped”