I’ve been too obsessed on posting poetry and photography simultaneously, instead of posting poems that I’m proud of having written. So I’m going to stop being so uptight about my format from now on.
Enjoy the poem!
It’s no one’s fault
But sometimes I am feathering along the hips of a lover
Whose love will dissolve in spit by morning.
Sometimes I crave touch that must be paid for first
In the form of climaxes.
There are better ways to gain affection
There are healthier ways to be loved
Like alcoholism, because you never drink alone
Like drugs, because your doctor will always prescribe xanax
Like insomnia, because there is always someone in Texas who’s awake enough to hold a conversation with you.
Continue reading “Musings of a Slut”
And you are afraid that I am not staying forever
Even though nothing is forever
And I am too small and naive
Too full of wild dreams
To settle down with forever
Continue reading “An Afterword”
Tonight you will walk home hand-in-hand with Kentucky Fried Nonsense instead of me.
You will hold yourself close and wish I was there with home-cooked clarity
And Kentucky Fried Nonsense will be the first meal you’ve had in two days.
Continue reading “Recipe For Clarity”
When you fall in love with a witch
Rose petals and quartz points,
Clasped hands and incantations,
Whispering spirits in a tiny bedroom
Wide enough for the entire world
And the universe with it.
I need nothing else.
Continue reading “No More Love Poems”
I think what I feel, right now,
Is the quiet reverberation of words,
As they echo
Ricocheting off the walls.
Continue reading “At Midnight, The Bell Rang”
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”
– 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”