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”
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”
Leave the poem writing to tomorrow, I whispered to my hands, for today is a good day. Today a breeze kissed my cheeks and folded away all the chores.
Leave the poetry to tomorrow, where happiness would waver, where things are harsher. Leave the poetry to the sad days. Leave the poetry in the hands of broken hearts.
On any other day the metaphors may strike the paper with veined anger and the poetry might shriek of the poet’s misfortune, on other days the tears may become ink, but today the words don’t bleed, today is kinder than yesterday and tomorrow is waiting to decide, a gentle coin-toss game in motion. The day is not over yet.
Leave the crying to tomorrow, I whisper to the sorrow. Leave the ink off the sheets, forget the feeling of anti-gravity and hold on to the rails, so that you may not float off into space. Hold on to the warmth of someone’s gentle words. Hold on.
Call him back. Mute the group. Walk until you can no longer drag your feet across the burning concrete, until the sun bids farewell. Today there is no rain, no clouds, no grief. Today is kind. Today, you are invincible.
Leave the poem-writing to tomorrow, I whisper to my hands, for today is a good day. Because poems are for the bitter days, not for days like today.
Today is kind. So leave the poem-writing for tomorrow.
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”
You will sleep tonight.
The trees and the birds and the seas will let you rest tonight.
You, with your hands wrapped around theirs, around a bottleneck, will sleep tonight.
You will rest soundly, without worries, without fear, without shaking.
And you will wake. With your hands burning. And you will fight. With the strength you still have left in you. It is not over yet. You will fight tomorrow. You will live tomorrow. You will thrive again, and again, and again, and you will live out of spite tomorrow.
But tonight, you will sleep.
You will rest tonight.
You will sleep tonight.
You will sleep tonight.
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”
just so you know, i wasn’t always this way.
words are dropping from my fingertips,
so i broke the frozen blood from my hands.
Continue reading “Just So You Know”
Inspired by “Notebook Fragments” by Ocean Vuong
Older boys will kill you, mother said. I believed her.
Today I met an older boy. I’m terrified of the man I love, even though he’s the only one who believes me.
Close the door, daddy said. Turn off the lights, daddy said. You’re wasting electricity, daddy said. You’re wasting money, wasting water, wasting space, daddy said.
Listen to your dad, mommy said. You know you’re his jewel, his princess, right? Mommy said.
Note to self: The people who are killing you are also caring for you.
Continue reading “Note to Self”
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”
Lucky Lucky Lucky Me
“Don’t you know how lucky you are to have a beautiful beautiful beautiful body like that?”
Performed at the Handshake Poetry Slam organised by Word Forward, link to my performance can be found at the end of the poem.
Continue reading “Beautiful”