The girl with the biggest smile:

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she drinks 3 cups of herbicide every night,
to cure the moonlight that pools under her eyes.

 but behind the irises, the onion weeds lie,
and surrounding her heart, the wireweeds thrive.

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absurday

 

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she,
slots symposiums in envelopes
that she never sends.

he,
has fingers that shiver with reconnaissance
but uses them to play the violin instead.

they,
make drunken contact, sharing
evaporated kisses and a temporary
osmosis of the soul. 

swimming in the lacuna
of disillusioned love
feels more like drowning than release.
they,
emerge from the dream
covered in crushed
butterfly wings.

Continue reading “absurday”

here I lie

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Image courtesy of: Qinni 

when was the last time
I cried?

maybe that is why
words no longer roll off
my impatient tongue
and spill across blank pages
like sunlight adorned with
the oddities of a kaleidoscopic heart.

Instead, I am drowning in debris,
shattered glass and cheap neon beads,
mirror shards reflect my inability

to colour these heavy, broken dreams.

Continue reading “here I lie”

the empresses’ borrowed robes

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Photography: Flowerfolio

her footsteps echo through
another nameless tunnel
in this concrete maze,
all the lost ones, left searching.

the train rumbles above
towards its destination,
as inevitability echoes around
the thought of destiny, it ricochets
in her shaking fingertips
passing through flesh, bubbling blood
sinking into brittle bone but doesn’t quite
pierce the soul, she is so afraid of others
but also the dark, of herself,
and of death, leaving no mark.

nobody is born a voyeur
but life told her she is not a voyager –
so what else can she do but wrap the strands
of strange, perfect lives around her like
golden silks embedded with ruby stories
pretend to be the empress in her
borrowed robes, she quieten the child
who wants to shatter these delusions,
and let the rainbow light dance off her skeletons  –
what to be when waking feels like being asleep,
nothing to see but these false and wonderful dreams.

Eclipsed 心

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Photography: mxqqy (self)

I learnt my first 儿歌 over a
long-distance phone call as 妈妈
sat under the southern cross,
halfway around the world.

she sang about 一闪一闪的
小星星and I wonder if she
ever wished upon these flickering
lights to 再次 share the same sky
with the mother and daughter
she was forced to leave behind.

almost two decades later,
three generations 团聚在,
the same roof 下, but my
memories of 金色的 stars
cast across 陌生的 sunset
have become hazy, even
in slumber, my anglicised tongue
has become better at tying
knots into cherry stems than
imitating my grandmother’s songs.

Continue reading “Eclipsed 心”

Drown

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Photography: mxqqy (self)

one day, a lonely boy
builds a dingy raft
out of empty vodka bottles
and sets out to sea, so he
does not have to see
straight, ever again.

he prays for merciless waves to
crash and roar, overwhelm the silence
of strangers on the shore too afraid of
getting their toes wet, he wants to drown out
the whispers of wayward ghosts luring
him into the murky depths of despair.

maybe the wind can carry his listless
body to shore or at worst salt-water can
hug his lungs and sting the open wounds
of his heart like hickeys or lighting,
forecasting the long overdue iris rain.

Questions about life I do not have the answers to:

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Photography: mxqqy (self)

Why can we only slip into disillusioned delusions in darkness
but morning madness must to be mourned by the minute?

What do we leave behind once we tire of this place, all those
wasted hours and wasted days, wasting body in wasting space?

Was nirvana always a bitter breath away, or can nonexistence
only be sought for in the sacrilegious silence of forgetful lips?

Love(d)

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Photography: mxqqy (self)

I:

dandelion seeds,
crack in the sidewalk they meet,
serendipity.

II:

beach towels on car seats,
washing sand off salt-licked feet,
oh, his sun-kissed cheeks.

III:

the wind takes the leaf,
away from her favourite tree,
his roots run too deep.

IV:

earthworms are asleep,
warm hearts shiver separately,
sad eyes and cold screens.

self portrait on a plate

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my tassle-splayed fringe

falls carelessly like squiggles
of chocolate syrup across

a rounded face, revealing

slivers of buttered forehead.

 

my thin top lip traces like a

carefully calligraphed ‘M’ over
a squelchy ‘U’ shaped dollop of
sticky strawberry sauce.

 

my dark brown eyes match
closer to blackberry
than
nutella and sunspots
dust
my raspberry-tinted cheeks

like brown sugar sprinkled
on an unapologetically

scrumptious Sunday morning

pancake.

 

villanelle in the sky

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I have always wanted to fly,
but the sun burns sickly bright,
and I am much too scared to die.

Don’t we all dream of blessed light,
shadowed by wings unfolded up high?
Aren’t we all born wanting to fly?

But mother gifted feathers not fit for the sky,
and life-altering wax is too hard to find,
eyes on the ground, too scared to die.

Then the storm hit in the dark of the night,
the winds did scream and clouds did cry,
heaven is just as absurd as wanting to fly.

Alas, no time to dwell on man-made lies,
eyes straight ahead, forget the idealised,
it does not matter if we want to fly,
life is wasted on being too scared to live or die.