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]

Last Night [昨晚]

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the morning after
she pretended vodka was water
all sleep deprived
and out of her mind
she tried to purge herself of regrets
even if it was mixed in
with chunks of last nights dinner

sticking shame-stained fingers
down her throat
she could not quite reach
any semblance of redemption
she was stuck with the potent perfume of bile
for the rest of the day
and she vowed to not touch smirnoff
ever again

Continue reading “Last Night [昨晚]”

metamorphosis

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once upon a time,
caterpillar thoughts
crawled over restless minds
stirring paper leaves
into a story about a life
that did not blend into the trees
sunlight streamed on her face
and she started to believe
maybe…

yet in the company of others
she felt herself
trapped in the same routine
chewing over unspoken words
cocooning beautiful thoughts
into regurgitated strings of anxiety
drinking 6 bottles of vodka cruisers
to drown her palpitating heart
from fluttering between
not giving a fuck and caring too much
she found herself stuck

but
something was different today
her nightmare-filled breaths
held the faint perfume of waterlogged wings
from trembling lips and strained smile
she spilled a kaleidoscope of butterfly corpses.
hope-blotted wings no longer
flitted through hazy memories
spinning a fantasy
where she could be happy

the sun hid behind the clouds
for the plot did not twist
she should have known
metamorphosis does not occur in reality.