Unequal Halves (Audio)

Say, do you remember when
we pressed our palms together
and our lifelines intertwined –

I wonder how many millimeters
of time can be measuring in
these tangled memories.

get lost in frayed thoughts,
set tears on fire so cooled hearts
remember what numb is not,
even if the burn is less passion and
more pain, feel it from femur to fingertips.

sometimes I wake up from dreams
that have more vibrancy than reality,
haven’t we all lied in bed for what could
have been a moment or stretched by shadow
into days, into a daze, eyes closed,
trying to slot scrambled scenes into a movie
where we get the happy ending we deserve
before the light turns back on?

when boredom creeps in,
I hold my breath and watch the clock
tick down just so emptiness gains form
and I can be reminded that this body,
gasping for air, wants to be alive.

Tonight, the sky is black.
Fire is calm, heart obsidian, cuts
life in unequal halves.


mentioned: to be unnamed

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to be unnamed

This poem is inspired by Call Me By Your Name & was written with Visions of Gideon playing in the background.

If Heaven is built on white lies,
then let me believe for the last time
that your breath can run into mine,
giddy with love; you and me, likewise.

But why is it that every time our lips
collide, I can’t taste anything beyond
the quiet? Tell me, when will the thought
of you stop clouding these closed eyes?
Don’t forget the rain and wistful smiles.

Hey love, am I still allowed to call you
so? I suppose names were never our own,
gifted to us by others, so our entirety can
be condensed into palpable syllables,
rolled over the tongue, bitten into and
chewed on until the flavour fades
or tastes suddenly change.

I truly thought I was okay until time
reminded me of its unpredictable path
from now until tomorrow, here I am again.
Silence stretches out as long as a
sleepless night, and I am unlearning desire,
like feeling itself is a bad habit, brea
king words until they lose all meaning,
writing about you until I forget the way
I used to whisper – your name.

Continue reading “to be unnamed”

莲花 heart

In 2017, hip-hop took over China, in a large part due to a popular internet-based reality talent show called 中国有嘻哈 (Rap of China).

I was really late to hop on the bandwagon. So late in fact that by the point I binge watched the entire show earlier this year, rap has essentially been soft-banned in China.

Nevertheless, I was inspired to try write something myself, with the idea of mixing Chinese & English being something I was particularly interested in doing.

As some of the contestants said in the show, the most important part of rap is to “keep it real” and tell your own truth so that’s what I tried to do. If I couldn’t incorporate any complex rhyme patterns or have sophisticated flow changes, at least I could take a snapshot at my life in 2018.

I feel like this attempt is very juvenile and rushed but it was from the heart and so much fun so I wanted to share it anyway!

Now to be clear, it’s pretty evident, even if you don’t understand what I’m saying, that my musical background isn’t the strongest and I tried to force my lyrics into a backing track that wasn’t tailored for it (& therefore about 1/3 of the through I’m painfully offbeat) so that’s my bad, I didn’t have time to make it better/was too eager to put something out even if it’s really rough.

That’s my longwinded pre-amble, I hope you can find something in here that speaks to you.


Original lyrics & translated version (English) below:

You know, I used to be so scared of dying.
It was the rounding of a circle, the fade to black, permanent non-existence if you will.

Nowadays, death seems less daunting, more like a spoiler alert, you know? At first I thought it meant I grew up but maybe that’s not it. I used to want to leave a legacy, now I just want to stop feeling so… numb. Continue reading “莲花 heart”

Existence (a poem for a tattoo)

Hi friends,

I got my first tattoo in January 2018 and it was designed by the amazing & talented Zeze who is based in Auckland, New Zealand.

It is based off a Chinese fable called 猴子捞月 (the monkeys saving the moon) – if anyone is interested in what the story is about, I’m happy to provide a translated version.

I’ve been trying to write a poem inspired by the fable, but it just wasn’t working, I think it was a tad too restrictive. Instead,  I wrote a little something very loosely inspired by Zeze’s artwork alone.

I think that’s one of the best things about art, how it can be re-discovered, re-imagined and re-mixed to produce unexpected results and then interpreted every which way too.

Either way, a life update & a poem, I hope you like it.

Screen Shot 2018-03-21 at 3.10.35 pm.png
Image courtesy of: Zeze

Continue reading “Existence (a poem for a tattoo)”

yesterday I made a zine

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turmoil.
(n.) a state of great disturbance, confusion, or uncertainty.

Cover: Turmoil – of & by maggy

Page 1: “When the sun comes out – but the clouds / stick to stray lashes / and all she sees is rain.”

Page 2: “There’s a wrenching pull / back of my head, / slur and babble / asks if anyone noticed / no. yes, / if not, why not.”

Page 3: “No occupation: all men idle, all, / And women too, but innocent and pure.”


So this was a 3am project & more about remixing other people’s art than creating my own but it was really rewarding all the same.

After all, it is so important to take some time to recharge by finding inspiration in the beautiful things that already exist.

Continue reading “yesterday I made a zine”

before sleep comes

_moon__by_studiounderthemoon-d34iqcc
Image courtesy of: StudioUndertheMoon

do you ever lose yourself
when the night breaks to day?

and sullen silence is stained by white noise
but the darkness remains, caught in the ridges
of your molars as you grind down life
into ingestible inches of time.

there’s these sticky, murky thoughts
stuck behind the tongue and you’re not sure
if they’re even yours, head pounding
from all the muddled drinks
and puddled tears, you feel your heart
ache for someone you have yet to meet
and might never know, maybe that’s
for the best because the ones that get close
tire of how you dwell over the same mistakes
day and day again, the wayward words
carried by the wind litter barren streets with bro-
ken signs, nobody bothers to listen.

too many already dance in our heads, hallow skull but a
crowded stage, no space for new thought
or moving on, only screaming matches
against ourselves, stubborn anthems
against unmovable fate, I don’t know
if I’m starting to lose voice or mind,
I think by the time both go, it’s time to close my eyes.

People I noticed: 2017

A:

wild curls, soft eyes
strong hands, gentle smile
like light rain on a sunny day
or childhood games and daisy chains

– for M

B:

her eyeliner could slice
through my confidence
like I was nothing but a paper
lion, gawking at the sun,
casting shadows of doubt
onto fragile mind.

and I can’t fault her
for those pretty little
knives, throwing my shredded
words up into the sky –
you scare me, but my heart,
it readily mistakes these
palpitations as twisted love.

for A

C:

clean neck and
moon shaped eyes
hollow bones and
sharp black lines
ticking, clicking midnight lights,
hazy moments frozen in white.

she strums silence into lullabies
unravels kindness from fingertips
and sends them up to the skies
fluid beauty in frozen winter nights.

– for D

20 January

water_grave_by_hideyoshi-d9s9f3r
Image courtesy of: Hideyoshi

I could hear in his voice
the conviction of youth
and I wonder if mine
was wasted on a fool
who has chewed down flesh
and bone to leave a terrined-heart
dished out, cold.

Do boys like to wear suits and
swirl wine, slice through
boundaries like butter
because they think that anything
in the world can be bought by paper,
and if not, they’ll burn it down instead.

They wear metal on wrist
and hold metal in hand,
thinking they were born protagonist,
except sometimes forests are not yours
to cut down or even explore,
who gave you permission to scale these walls
she was never yours to save.

Now, I’m not saying women
are any better at sorting through
this tangled ball of fate and quick
mistakes but I have always envied
the rain for how it melts into waterfalls
and I could always trust the ocean
to cleanse any small cut or graze,
she feels safe,
maybe soon the hesitation
will fade.

Continue reading “20 January”

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”