Performed at the Blue Man Poetry Slam, performance here
I have been swimming in an ocean of exhaustion
Fatigue has set it at last and I blame depression.
So I signed up for a slam
But I hadn’t written anything relevant to the slam
So I’d just list things that are blue.
Continue reading “The Blue Slam Bam”
Pictured: My Ball-Jointed doll, Mindy.
Submitted on Day 26 of #SingPoWriMo2017
She shimmered under the moonlight, your fingertips brushed over her rivers and valleys, the dip and rise of her mountains, forests and hills. And you breathed hot air on her neck, straining yourself to fit your hands around all of her, trying to hold everything you wanted closer.
I like to think that she had died in your arms. It’s comforting, in a way, to know that she had disappeared together with my memory of you. I’d like to think of her self-destruction as the moment you took her into your arms.
Continue reading “Dead To Me”
– Performed at the Mad Bad Sad Glad Love Poetry Slam, organised by Word Forward Singapore. My performance can be found on YouTube here.
Last night I deleted his number from my phone. I erased all traces of his existence from my gallery, cleaned out the remnants of memory still stuck between other relevant memories, like left over food caught in teeth.
Continue reading “Ghost Town”
Picture was taken from the inside of his house
I remember the bed shaking, trembling with the sounds of a fight. I remember how the walls exploded, my fists bleeding from having been clenched too tight. I held back, my tongue a blunt knife awaiting the sharpening stone.
Continue reading “From His Perspective – Broken”
Sometimes, depression is quiet. It is as silent and unmoving as a rock on the shore of a beach. Then the tide comes in. Then it is no longer depression, but anxiety.
But sometimes, depression is quiet. I liken it to living in a house full of water. See, when Anxiety is in the house causing chaos and breaking everything and hurting every houseguest, the flood is the last of my worries. But when anxiety is on vacation, the water is at my ankles, and it is raining in this flat. Depression sits in the corner, silent, unmoving, unfeeling.
Continue reading “A Storm In My Head”
Lying awake at 4.05 a.m.
I come to a very mundane conclusion
Of a fact that glared me in the face with too much conviction
And I can’t help but think that same thought over and over
Without really meaning to draw attention to the triviality of the matter
“Ah, I’m really lonely”
For once, I felt the weight of language sitting atop my tongue
Waiting for a scream.
Do not let him tell you he’s weak. And when he does, tell him he’s wrong. Don’t let him believe the lies they’ve fed him, love all of the “girly” that sits in his body. Ask him if he would like to tell you how he feels and don’t pry.
Don’t be fooled into thinking you can fix him. You can’t love away abuse, no matter how much you want to. When he asks give him your heart, do it, and tell him to hold it close on shaking nights, the hours where you can’t reach him. Don’t let him believe that you are the answer, because he’d be spectacularly mistaken. Direct him, instead, to a mirror, and ask him to search for the answers there.
Continue reading “How To Love Your Broken”
She’s beautiful. She had always been beautiful. I wonder if she knew that.
I met a girl when I was 14, she had glass for eyes and a post-it smile. Every day I sat across from her in the canteen and watch her stomach turn over and over as her friends surrounded her with rejected love and support.
Continue reading “Poem For The Broken”
The Isolation of a Song
Something’s whispering a sad tune.
Something’s whistling in the air.
Something’s whispering a lonely song.
Something’s not right there.
Continue reading “Whisper Of A Song”
What Melting Feels Like
I’m at a coffeeshop.
There is a faint smell of burnt bread in the air, dissolving in the smell of coffee and conversation.
But I’m here and wearing his hoodie,
It still bore a faint scent of freshly laundered clothes,
But that too, will become another scent that mixes with the coffee, burnt bread, and conversation.
Continue reading “Dissolving Coffeeshop”