full (2013).

 

you are a rocking chair, whose screws have come loose.
you are a mattress, whose springs have cut into my skin.
you are a pillow, flattened by heavy heads and heaving hearts,
stained with tears.
you are an old pair of sneakers, worn from years of running along mud-soaked paths.
you are a rusty blade,
you are a wooden chest of drawers brought to the ground by termites.
we are glasses half empty,
a light switched off.
 

so fill me, and ill fill you; my drink is your drink.
(“please, lover. turn the light back on. i can’t find our promises in the dark.”)
read me our story in this chair, on this bed.
we don’t need new shoes, throw out the knife.
store your secrets in me and ill store mine in you.
 

turn it back on, bathe me with kisses in the light.

untitled (2013).

 

the gradient,
and how it transformed with the
dip in the small of your back.
falsely showing itself to be consistent,
when we both know that you waver
at least once a month.

and so what,
of the uncertainty and anguish?
so what, of the
future and its woes?
who are we, desolate in the eyes of others,
cheerful in the hearts we carry,
to want to alter the waves,
instead of ride them?

the smoothness of your back (2014).

 

i like to watch you sleep,
and how you breathe while you dream.
the slight touch when you move;
legs entwined, skin on skin, 
how you curl your toes when you stretch.

its like watching a film i know ive seen before,
a film so delicate its almost a secret,
a film i could watch every day.

from the awkward way your finger
rests on the pillow,
to the tiny breaths you take while
half asleep.
and the way you squeeze yourself so gently
around me,
so that i know this secret film
is mine to keep.

overdue I (2013).

 

please, my love.
you are the best
thing that’s happened
since the worst day,
dont become a shadow
too.

please, my love.
you are pushing me away.

please, my love.
look out the window
for just a second.
the world is such an ugly place,
we dont need the same
ugliness in our bed.

please, my love.
i am so tired.
my heels are bruised,
my back is bent
where it shouldnt be bent.
my hair is a mess,
my arms are sore
from all the reaching
theyve been doing. 
my face is blistered,
my tongue is dry.
i am running out of ways
to put things,
but i try anyway.
i am tired,
but you are the sunrise,
arent you? 

“help me to make it.” part deux (2013).

 

“stop!”
stop what?
“stop your arguing, your complaining, and your lack of effort? do something about it.”
okay.
“no. not okay. take your fucking teaspoon back, i dont want it anymore. take your teaspoon and share this bucket with me. its big enough around the rim for us both to hold, for us to empty out this boat together.”
but im tired.
“but i love you.”
but im tired, and i dont want to be tired anymore.
“but i love you and youre an idiot, and ill take over when your hands are aching from holding on to this bucket for too long a time.”
but.
“but nothing. but nothing at all. this was made for us, and if we arent the ones keeping our feet dry, they will stay wet forever.”
okay.  

“help me to make it" (2013).

 

i am sinking, 
slowly, gracefully.

youve tied your weights around
the ankles of my lifeboat and
given me teaspoons to scoop out
all the water im sitting in,
all the water that’s aiding your weights in
dragging me down into nothing but
lungs full of air.

you made me love you.
i made you love me.
but now, who’s going to love who, 
when we are tearing each other to shreds?

over backwards (2013).

 

do you have any idea, how far id reach for you? 
how far id stretch and how low id bend?

my bones are aching and my heart is a time-bomb but im still reaching and stretching and bending.

there was a promise i once made;
a promise you once made.
and until you manage to fix yourself and until you can reach and stretch and bend like you used to,
im keeping that promise for the both of us.

nature (2012).

 

its like sitting on a breaking chair.
you attempt to distribute your weight evenly but end up tilting too much.
topple.

its human nature, i guess,
that when we manage to get ourselves back up, it isnt a new chair we look for.
its a different way to sit.

corpse/you (2012).

 

it is forfeit, and
you are faking it.

where do you go to fade into the background?
is it cold where you are?

what is this (2012).

 

this ache so deep it pulls on my insides and sets them ablaze.

this constant feeling of inferiority because im always the one who calls.

this distance that sets me as far away from you as it does to my father.

this fear to tell you how i feel.

this gnawing on my chest with teeth so razor sharp.

this excuse for a friendship because a lie is what we’re built on.

this, 
that i love you and am unconditionally…

oh but what is this love. 

untitled (2012).

 

“i hate lying to our friends,” she said.

she took a closer look at her shadow

and found a gap where her neck used to be.

and then she disappeared.

swift, it was.

sort of like a quick fall into a secret

underground passageway.

this, curled up together in an endless sea of

fingers and toes,

has become her secret underground passageway.

that falling asleep mid-conversation has never been quite

this easy,

quite this overwhelming.

that saying i love you has never weighed this much,

and no one will ever know. 

a-way (2011).

 

so i watched you from behind,

a quiet desperation in your eyes.

so i listened when you cried,

i held you through the night.

so you trusted me with your dreams,

but you picked at our seams.

so youve chosen to be apart,

and youve given her your heart.

this is where i stop,

and start again; 

and stop and start,

and stop and start.

so youve chosen to be apart,

and you’ll always have my heart.

sunrise, rise again (2011).

 

its six oclock again.
it seems like its always six oclock these days.

i am a little more messy than id like to be tonight and i cant figure out why.
there is this strange pull and i feel it not in my heart or head, but on my feet. 
i feel as if im being dragged away from home, from familiarity.
dragged into someone else’s subconscious and forced to live their life, work their job, raise their children.

——-

i would like to walk with you again.
i dont care where we’d go, i dont need you to hold my hand.
i just want to walk with you again.
id like my nerves to dance like butterflies again, instead of the weight breathing now puts on the better parts of me.

maybe i shouldve said something earlier, but at that point i was afraid to say anything at all. i constantly felt like if i told you what was happening in my head, it would be the same thing as showing you a locked door and then handing you the key. 
unfortunately, thats just what my silence did.
ironic, isnt it? i tried so hard to give you the space you desired hoping it’d lead you home, only to find out that i led you straight into someone else’s home.

——-

sleeping girl, why do you cry?
i hear you when you whisper things to me in secret.
i laugh with you when no one else seems to find you funny.
i take interest in things you classify as mundane but enjoy anyway, just because you choose to.
i understand when you tell me things no one else would care about.
sleeping girl, i hear you when you whisper things to me in secret.

——-

its six oclock again.
it seems like its always six oclock these days.

i dont know where i am or who im meant to look for but i keep walking.
down the street and to the right. take another right and then a quick left.
up the stairs too many flights to count and suddenly, im exactly where im supposed to be.

its like someone knew i was coming; there are seats for me to take a breath before i break the door down.
did you know i was coming?
did you always know id end up here?
im sure you did.

i hear voices coming from behind the door. theyre edging closer and i begin to sweat.
up another flight of steps to take cover in the shadows, but im afraid you’ll recognise my scent.
did i leave my things where you’d see them?
no, no i have them with me.

you wish a stranger goodbye.
a hug that lasts too long for my brain to handle, a kiss that rips into my soul and poisons it with rage.
im not sure if i should run away or stay put until youve vanished into the comfort of a room i still call home.
undecided, i hold my breath and wait for your next move.
and then, unexpected as a hurricane, you are seated beside me, asking me what im doing there.
i tremble in your presence, an uncanny resemblance to a feeling you purged me with so many times before.
it is familiar, but i am afraid.
i lose the ability to speak and all i can manage is a smile.
you lean in to give me one of Your Hugs and i breathe you in; the first full breath ive taken in months.
im sorry for this, but that breath was the first after my coma.

these things dont last, though.
and just as quickly as it began, i am washed away. i call out to you and you instinctively reach out to save me.
youve always wanted to save me, as i you.
only this time, you cant reach me in time because while this is what you really want, youve made a decision to leave me behind and your conflicted heart cant decide what to do so you shrivel up against the wall, bent in half, sobbing into your knees.
and this time, im not there to hold you while you cry.
this time, you set your demons free but theres no one there to keep you safe from them.

they attack you, pecking at your face and hands.
they spit at you and laugh, theyre a slideshow of memories youve tried so hard to throw away.
and this time, im not there to hold you while you cry.
no one is.
not a stranger, not me.
you’ll have to find your way out of this alone.

but know this,
once you reign victorious over your demons,
ill be there,
ready to break the door down all over again.
ill be there,
just like ive always been.

oooh (2011).

 

and its true that till today, id give anything to feel your light.
id toss pebbles into the calmest seas hoping that the ripples i create reach you in time,
my precious one. 
my darkest work of art.

losing my lashes (2011).

 

they fall like ashes on a smokey terrain,
covering the ground in a grey so unmistakable.
they fall as they see fit, 
leaving my eyes unprotected.

weak hands,
we are both here.
locked in a whirlwind of what we cant and wont say :

i am content and unheard,
i am a mound of emotions.
i am sufficient and light,
i am the breeze that cools you while you sleep.



you dont have to understand a woman.
all you have to do is love her.

yes (2011).

 

i want to move,
i want to remain still.
i want to be quiet,
i want to remain until
the rain steals your breath
and the mud stains my dress.
i want to move,
i want remain still.
i want to be quiet,
i will remain until. 

untitled (2011).

 

you are an imbalance of yes and no,
you are turning from both friend and foe.
you, are i on a cold day.

you are surrounded by a bubble of mistrust,
you and your hurt turn to rust.
you are everything a woman should be.

you are fierce and unwavering,
you are gentle and sometimes unforgiving.
you are my first breath every morning. 

stagnant (2010).

 

leaves turn to ash and fall right through my hair. 
they collect at my feet and rebuild themselves into works of art.

they continue to fall apart, time and time again,
each time remaking themselves into better, more beautiful things, only to be broken down into bits and pieces, particles and finally atoms that explode with all the light of a billion stars.

every time this happens, the world stops.
there is no turning, there is no gravity, there is no breeze.
everything floats in their designated space.

every time this happens, i lose you for a little bit.
you take your place up there with the rest of the drift, while i cling onto the things that choose to stay like i do.
once in awhile, though, i take your hand and rise up with you;
but more often than not, its something you have to do on your own.
and so i stay, stagnant, silent, keeping watch,
waiting to catch you when you decide its time to fall back into my atmosphere,
to fall back into me.

of us (2010).

 

if we keep still and keep it hushed, no one will find us here.
not even the anger in us we keep stored for bitter moments.
no one knows our secret place like we do.
its the line between love and disappointment that challenges us;
the line that connects the curves of your face to the crook of my neck.

and if you keep real still, sometimes you hear our quiet desperation for each other.
this is the silence that puts me to bed at night.
this is the silence that keeps you a part of me.

the only Man ill ever love (2010).

 

i wonder what my grandpa would say about me now, if only death hadnt stolen him so many years ago.
sometimes i dont think ive done enough for him to be proud of,
other times i imagine him beaming at the thought of his little girl growing up.
growing up;
ive had to do so much of that too fast and ive recently started to feel stunted by my own growth.
but at least, im still carrying on.

i miss the smell of my gramps, the feel of his soft hands holding onto mine to keep me safe.
the concern that was a constant glaze over his eyes.
the way his middle finger was used to point things out,
the way tenderness concealed all other emotions the moment he spoke to me.
i miss coming home to him, wherever that was.